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| Find most of my books at BWL HERE |
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| amazon - B&N - Smashwords - Kobo |
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| amazon - B&N - Smashwords - Kobo |
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| Find most of my books at BWL HERE |
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| amazon - B&N - Smashwords - Kobo |
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| amazon - B&N - Smashwords - Kobo |
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| amazon - B&N - Smashwords - Kobo |

https://books2read.com/u/mKJxdd
https://books2read.com/u/mYgK6x
https://bwlpublishing.ca/donaldson-yarmey-joan/
I am a proud Canadian author of over twenty fiction and non-fiction books in my long writing career. But I am just one of thousands of published writers from this huge country. Canada has had a long and illustrious history of producing world renown authors and books going all the way back to the 18th century.
Frances Moore was born in England in 1724. She was a well-known poet and playwright in England before she and her husband, Reverend John Brooke moved to Quebec City in 1763, for John to take up the post of army chaplain. During her time there Frances wrote The History of Emily Montague, a love story set in the newly formed Quebec province.
The story is told through the voices of her characters by way of personal letters between the two. This is known as epistolary (of letters) type of writing and it was popular during the1700s in Europe. The Brookes’ returned to England in 1768 and the novel was published in 1769 the London bookseller, James Dodsley. The History of Emily Montague was the first novel written in what is now Canada and the first with a Canadian setting. Frances died in 1789.
Quebec
Marie-Rose-Emma-Gabrielle Roy was born on March 22, 1909, in Saint Boniface, Manitoba, which is now part of Winnipeg. After her early education she took teacher training at the Winnipeg Normal School. She taught in rural schools in Manitoba until she was appointed to the Institut Collegial Provencher in Saint Boniface. She saved her money and moved to France and England to study drama but after two years returned to Canada when WWII broke out in 1939. She settled in Montreal and earned a living as a sketch artist while writing. She became a freelance journalist for La Revue Moderne and Le Bulletin des agriculteurs.
Ms. Roy’s first novel, Bonheur d'occasion (1945) was an accurate portrayal of Saint-Henri, a poverty-stricken neighbourhood of Montreal. It was published in French, earning her the Prix Femina award in 1947. The book was also published in English under the title The Tin Flute and won the Governor General Award for fiction as well as the Royal Society of Canada’s Lorne Pierce Medal. It was the first major Canadian urban novel.
The novel sold almost a million copies in the United States and the Literary Guild of America made the novel a feature book of the month in 1947. Because of all the attention the book received, Gabrielle moved to Saint Boniface to escape the publicity. There she met a doctor, Marcel Carbotte and three months later, in August, they married. They headed to Paris for the next three years where Carbotte studied gynecology and Roy wrote. On their return to Canada in 1950, they settled in Montreal for a couple of years and then moved to Quebec City. Carbotte took up a position at the Hôpital du Saint-Sacrement and they lived in an apartment. Wanting a quiet place to write, Grabrielle bought a cottage in Petite-Rivière-Saint-François, Charlevoix County. There she wrote the bulk of her work. In total, she wrote twenty books.
Gabrielle and her husband didn’t have any children. Besides writing she travelled around the world and spent time visiting her family.
Gabrielle Roy is considered to be one of the most important Francophone writers in Canadian history and one of the most influential Canadian authors. She became a Companion of the Order of Canada in 1967 and won many awards, including the Governor General Award three times. She was on the panel in 1963 that gave the Expo ’67, Montreal World's Fair and Canada’s 100th birthday celebration, its theme: Man and His World (Terre des hommes).
Gabrielle Roy died of a heart attack on July 13, 1983, at the age of seventy-four. Her autobiography, La Détresse et l'enchantement, was published posthumously in 1984 and the English translation, Enchantment and Sorrow won the Governor General Award in 1987.
In 2004 the Government issued a $20.00 bank note in its Canadian Journey Series which had a quotation from her 1961 novel, The Hidden Mountain: Could we ever know each other in the slightest without the arts?
Mordecai Richler was born on January 27, 1931, in Montreal, QC. He was raised on St. Urbain Street and learned how to speak English, French, and Yiddish. He studied at Sir George Will College (Concordia University) but left before getting a degree. He moved to Paris at nineteen and lived there for two years before returning to Montreal. He worked for the Canadian Broadcasting Company (CBC) for a short time then moved to London, England in 1954 where he married Catherine Boudreau. She was a non-Jewish French-Canadian divorcee who was nine years older. Just before their wedding he met and was infatuated by another non-Jewish woman Florence Wood Mann, who was the wife on his close friend, Stanley Mann.
While in England he wrote and had published seven novels, the most well-known one being The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz (1959). The story was about Richler’s favourite theme: the hardships of Jewish life around St. Urbain Street in Montreal in the 1930s and 1940s. He wrote a screen play for the novel and it was made into a film in 1974 starring Richard Dreyfuss. In 1960 Richler divorced his wife and Florence divorced her husband and they were married in 1961. Mordecai adopted her son and they had four more children.
Richler and his family returned to Montreal in 1972. A compilation of his humorous essays was collected into Notes on an Endangered Species and Others (1974). He also wrote the Jacob Two-Two series of children’s fantasy books (1975, 1987, and 1995). His novel Joshua Then and Now was published in 1980 and made into a film in 1985.
Besides writing novels, Richler also contributed articles to magazines such as The Atlantic Monthly, Look, The New Yorker, and The American Spectator. He wrote a column for The National Post and Montreal’s The Gazette and wrote book reviews for Gentleman’s Quarterly.
His last novel, Barney’s Version (1997) was based on the events surrounding his divorce and remarriage. Barney’s Version was made into a film in 2010.
Richler was awarded the Order of Canada in 1999. He died of cancer on July 3, 2001, at the age of 70.
I was born in New Westminster B.C. and raised in Edmonton.I have worked as a bartender, cashier, bank teller, bookkkeeper, printing press operator, meat wrapper, gold prospector, house renovator, and nursing attendant. I have had numerous travel and historical articles published and wrote seven travel books on Alberta, B.C. and the Yukon and Alaska that were published through Lone Pine Publishing in Edmonton.
One of my favourite pasttimes is reading especially mystery novels and I have now turned my writing skills to fiction. However, I have not ventured far from my writing roots. The main character in my Travelling Detective Series is a travel writer who somehow manages to get drawn into solving mysteries while she is researching her articles for travel magazines. This way, the reader is able to take the book on holidays and solve a mystery at the same time.
Illegally Dead is the first novel of the series and The Only Shadow In The House is the second. The third Whistler's Murder came out in August 2011 as an e-book through Books We Love. It can be purchased as an e-book and a paperback through Amazon.
i live on a small acreage in the Alberni Valley on Vancouver Island.
Folk wisdom says you can't tickle yourself. That said, my wife walked while I was staring at the computer and laughing. "What's so funny?" she asked.
"Sparky and Wendy's wedding," I replied.Cocking her head inquisitively, she asked, "Have you added to it since the last rewrite?"
"No. I'm just doing a final pre-publishing read through."
My bride looked troubled. "But you're rereading it for like the one-hundredth time. It still makes you laugh?"
A bit embarrassed, I replied, "Yep."
Shaking her head as if she thought I've lost my mind, she walked away. This is a daily occurrence at our house. It may have something to do with me spending too much time with fictional friends and not getting out of the house much.
The reality of creating fictional characters is that you become connected with them. They become imaginary friends to me, as well as my readers. As friends, they have the ability to make me laugh and cry. Yes, really. The Hulda Packer character in Whistling Pines is a composite of many relatives. You have them, the ones who don't have a filter between their brain and mouth. They say (and do) things that make you cringe. The next week you're laughing while telling your friends about them and the things they've said or done.
My real-life Aunt Hulda had a warning phrase, "I probably shouldn't say this..." Hearing those words, everyone within earshot braced themselves for some politically incorrect, and usually embarrassing proclamation. After Hulda left, we'd look among ourselves, shaking out heads. "I can't believe she said that." Then, we'd laugh.
I've tried to capture the essence of Aunt Hulda's political incorrectness in a variety of the Whistling Pines characters. In "Whistling Wedding", there's a whole plethora of potential verbal landmines stemming from Wendy's out-of-wedlock pregnancy and her impending shotgun wedding to Sparky, the Two Harbors fire chief.
Having Wendy (an outgoing fireball) and Sparky (a clueless bachelor who's been living with his mother) moving in together next door to my protagonist has provided endless opportunities for more unfiltered utterances as they walk through the minefield of adults living together. Those opportunities range from Wendy's surprise pregnancy, consummated in an unlikely location, to Sparky's mother's insistence that Wendy is a harlot who tricked her son into getting her pregnant. There is a grand array of cringeworthy verbal exchanges.
Add to that, two librarians eager to help solve the mystery that arrives in the form of a puzzle box found inside of a donated piano and we have real Minnesota North Shore history, culture, and Scandinavian humor.
And yes, I literally laughed out loud as I reread some of the scenes. It's not quite like tickling myself.
I hope my readers find the vignettes funny and entertaining along with an engaging historical mystery revealed by the puzzle box contents.
Check out "Whistling Wedding" at BWL Publishing's home page, B2R, or Amazon. The eBook is available for pre-order with a September 1, release.
Hovey, Dean Whistling Pines series - BWL Publishing Inc. (bookswelove.net)
https://www.amazon.com/Whistling-Wedding-Dean-L-Hovey/dp/0228631572
https://books2read.com/Whistling-Wedding
Dean Hovey
I will post something more substantive in the coming days, but I've too much other BWL business to attend to just at the moment, so this is me jamming my electronic foot in the digital door.
TTFN,
JD
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Windmaster by Helen Henderson |
Conflict is an author’s stock in trade. Our job is to throw roadblocks into their characters’ lives. A number of years ago there was a syndicated comic strip called Li'l Abner. Among the character were Li'l Abner and Daisy Mae. To picture Daisy Mae, picture a peasant shirt and cut-off denim shorts. For a more contemporary example of the costume, think Daisy Duke from the Dukes of Hazard television series. Another character in Li'l Abner was a small (read short) raggedy figure. The world's worst jinx, Joe Btfsplk had a perpetually dark rain cloud over his head. Misfortune followed him around enough that people would say "if he didn't have bad luck, he would have no luck at all." Not only did the jink apply to Btfsplk, instantaneous bad luck befell anyone in his vicinity.
For many years the standing joke among those who knew me was that the character Btfsplk was based on me. Among the reasons were the successful job interview that resulted in an offer. Only to be rescinded when the company closed the day before I was supposed to start. Or the time I went to work on a happy note expecting to celebrate my birthday with a weekend away, not being able to login to my terminal did not set of any alarm bells. Two of the computer guys liked to lock people out of the computer system just to see how long it took us to hack our way back in. I had already read the pair the riot act and they knew better than to mess with me. All they said when I braced them was to see the company president. Instead of the fun I expected later that day, I was home by noon. Everyone was being laid off as they reported in.
The cloud hanging over my head struck again when I tried riding our pony bareback and fell off. No soft landing for me. I landed on the only rock in the plowed field.
The final blast of bad luck? The sound of wooden hull scraping against wooden hull. Pirates!
To purchase the Windmaster Novels: BWL
~Until next month, stay safe and read. Helen
Helen Henderson lives in western Tennessee with her husband. While she doesn’t have any pets in residence at the moment, she often visits a husky who have adopted her as one the pack. Find out more about her and her novels on her BWL author page.
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| Click here to order your copies of the award-winning Twisted Climb series |
https://www.bookswelove.net/kavanagh-j-c/
Hiking to the top of Casson Peak, a 554 ft. granite- and tree-adorned mountain overlooking Frazer Bay, Baie Fine (Bay Fin) and McGregor Bay, was a physical feat that soothed the soul and gratified the spirit with its mind-blowing beauty.
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| West view from Casson Peak: McGregor Bay |
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| South west view from Casson Peak: Baie Fine |
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| East view from top of Casson Peak: Frazer Bay |
But what made this hike even more special was the woman I met at the top of the mountain. We exchanged small talk which led to serious talk. She pointed to the expansive bay to the west and proudly stated that she was a descendant of the man whose namesake graced the bay: McGregor. In 1850, Captain Alexander McGregor, a Scottish fisherman, settled in the area with an Indigenous woman. Centuries later, Ms McGregor, an accomplished assistant professor at the Northern Ontario School of Medicine University (NOSMU), Sudbury location, revels in her native heritage. Naturally, I told her about my Twisted Climb series, and in particular, the final book of the trilogy, A Bright Darkness. The plot, for those who have yet to read it, revolves around the main characters - Jayden, Connor and Max - who are swept into the 'un-World,' a dark place inhabited by the mythological creatures and legends of the Anishinaabe people.
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| Mishibeshu image from the National Museum of the American Indian |
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| Roots of old cedar trees growing over rock, on the Casson Peak hike. This root-on-rock imagery is in the walls of the 'un-World's' tunnel system. |
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| Me at the top of Casson Peak. Behind is Baie Fine and McGregor Bay. |
Revolution
Ch.1-
I
will be gosh darned if that morning alarm seems louder on a Monday. Louder and
angrier too. I shouldn't complain I suppose, at least I have a job to wake up
to. So many Americans are out of work thanks to old man Reagan's economic
disaster. Mr. Coffee and a little music will help set my mind right before
class. Ever since I was a young man, music has always been my safe haven from
outside stressors. I turn the giant nob of my record player and it clicks on,
still set to FM I don't bother flipping on a record and just leave the radio to
play while I drink my coffee and collect my supplies for today's lesson. Sleigh
bells, glockenspiel, tambourine, triangle, maraca; all these elements are
necessary to make an adolescent symphony of inadequacy. Oh, it's not the kid's
fault, bless their little hearts, it's the lousy school system that can't
afford to get me real instruments. That and of course, the Ocotillo County
school board's strict censorship of any music that might be deemed offensive.
Shake it off, Pete. The kids need you, even if it is a watered-down version of
you. The radio cuts from the latest Bruce Springsteen track and instead is
replaced with the voice of an old man babbling about a revolution. I figure it
simply must be a programming error at the station downtown and flip the player
to auto-drop the next record. As the needle pops and hisses over the dead air
of the first cycle before Greg Allman's voice breaks the near silence; I’m
pushed back a few decades to my father explaining what r.p.m meant. I'm eight
and my father had just purchased our family's first record player, I bother him
with countless novice questions about the machine's mysterious inner workings
including the meaning of the stamped letters r.p.m next to some fantastic
switches. Revolutions per minute, he says. Revolution is something going around
in a circle he tells me. Like the record playing its worn-out song. Like me
wading through the days for my life to take a turn. I dump out the generic
music instruments onto the sofa and slide in a few Bob Dylan records. To heck
with the school board. Today the kids will learn about real music.
Ch.2-
Piece.
Of. Shit. That's all it is, just a piece of shit. One headlight, only two
windows can roll up, stalls out at every damn red light. Mom should have just
trashed it instead of pawning it off on me for a phony sweet sixteen gift for
her baby girl. She's a piece of crap too. Her and the car both. If it breaks
down on the way to work again Mathers is goona fire me for sure. Skeezy old man
always eyeballing my ass when he thinks I'm not looking. Penny Mart ain’t much
of a job but it least it pays. Besides I get to sneak Crunch bars all the time.
That squealing sound from under the hood is getting on my last damn nerve. The
radio might drown it out. I turn the mettle peg where the nob used to be and
static fills the air. The car backfires like a shotgun as half a word squeezes
through the static. Sounded kinda like "revolt." To Hell with it. I
click the radio back off as I pull into the parking lot. Revolt, ya that's
exactly the word for how I feel about this place. The engine sputters for a few
seconds after I turn the key off. This job is revolting, this car is revolting,
and my life since I dropped outta high school is revolting. I can't do this
anymore. The Y.M.C.A. down the road offers free classes, maybe they could help
me get my diploma and get a better job. I'm going to sign up for classes right
now. That creep Mathers can take this job and shove it! I’m outa here. If my
piece of shit car will make it there of course.
Ch.3-
Never
have I been accused of being an impractical person. My colleagues have
frequently made note of my reliability and tactfulness. I have, however, been
considered too restrained. Too methodical and analytical in my thought process.
I place great value on the criticisms of my peers because it helps me define
and refine my self-concept. As far as the previously stated peer critique is
concerned, I choose to exercise a wide breadth of individual perceptionallity.
I choose to view their complaint as a compliment. Being restrained emotionally
has helped me achieve positive effects in my life. This job for instance. Could
any average 25-year-old get his first job directly out of college as an
assistant editor? No. I can conduct myself in a mature, non-emotional way that
shows a depth of character that far surpasses the competition. That is why I am
trusted by the head editor of Sunset Press's reference department to put out
the final product for mass production. In other words, I'm so good that I get
to hit the precious and all-powerful print button. More often than not I hit
the print button on conservative self-help books or the latest world atlas.
This week is a 200-page cookbook with 120 color photos. Sunset Press is a small
publishing house but it’s at least a job in the industry of my choice and it
looks favorable on a resume to future employers. The next cubicle over I can
barely make out the low mumbling of voice from a radio set. It is against
policy to play any music on this floor because it greatly distracts from the
writing /revising process. The theory is that subconsciously you might end up
typing the words to a popular song instead of your assigned work. Despite this
possible pitfall, someone has snuck in a small AM/FM radio. With its antenna
concealed under a desk it isn't getting very good reception and the only thing
that comes through audibly is the gruff voice of a man saying what sounds to
the word "evolution" or maybe it was "revolution." What a
reckless decision to bring in a radio to a workplace that requires so much
mental focus. doesn't that jerk realize how distracting that is? As I try to
focus closer on the green block letters forming across the black screen of my
computer monitor, I can't help but hear the radio's wordplay over again between
my ears. Which was it? Revolution or Evolution? Maybe it is both. Revolution is
evolution. Mindlessly correcting spelling errors, I am compelled to let my mind
wander into the seldom-seen outback of hypothetical thought. If evolution is
slow growth, and revolution is fast change, then is it possible for the two
forces to have a symbiotic relationship, one needing the other to perpetuate
itself? like the predictable biological mechanism that I have become, I hit the
print button without thinking. Another future forgotten masterpiece sent to the
printing department. I notice that the radio isn't playing anymore and hasn't
for a short time. How much time passed since my imagination took over? damn it,
that’s why radios are forbidden in on the editing floor! Apparently, I have to
teach that bastard in the next cubicle about acceptable work conduct. As I
begin to storm out of my cubicle my eye catches something unfamiliar on the
monitor. I sit back down for closer inspection. Oh god. This… can’t be… I don't
make this kind of mistake, it goes against all that I am. In my absent-minded
delirium, I typed "revolution is evolution is revolution is
evolution" in a repeated sequence directly in the middle of page 200.
There it is, interrupting the recipe for the green chili pork roast, is my huge
glaring mistake. I can feel all of the blood drain from my face. My heart seems
to stop beating and then start again twice as intensely. I am going to be fired
for this.
Ch.4-
Dad
comes to pick me up early from school today. It was real early before I even
get to go to Monday music class. He never comes to get me early, not even on my
birthday. He says school is pointless after sixth grade anyway, but I can’t
stay home and I can’t go to work with him yet. this must be a big deal cuz he
never misses work. "No work - no food," says dad. The first thing I
notice is our dog Rambo is in the back of the truck and so is the green wool
blanket we use to wrap up my riffle. Dad's eyes are red. The truck is loud, and
I raise my voice to ask him what’s going on. "This is the big one, boy.
Yer uncle Mike came by the job site today and told me about what he heard on
the radio. Says the communist bastards are trying to overthrow the government.
Some kinda revolution and we gotta get out to yer uncle's place real
quick." I look over my shoulder, in the bed of the truck I see the barrel
of my 22 sticking out of the green blanket and all my dad’s hunting gear, and
his gunny sack full of other stuff. "It was on the radio for real
dad?" I ask. He ignores my question, “Yer uncle and yer cousins are
hunkering down out at his place and after we meet up we are going to head to
our spot at Redfish Canyon." His breath smells sour and now I know why his
eyes are red. I scoot the beer cans on the floor with my foot. He usually only
gets red-eyed when we talk about mom. Those times he cusses a lot and falls
asleep on the couch on the back porch. "Don't be scared boy. We been
talkin' about the rooskies dooin’ something like this for a while now."
I’m not scared. I didn't want to go to Monday music class anyway.
Ch.5-
Margie
at the front desk tells me Carl got here an hour early today. She hands me the
rest of my messages on small slips of paper and I say, "better than his
usual hour late." She smiles sympathetically and I start down the
long corridor to the production booth. The walls are covered in painter's
plastic and lift with the draft of my passing. The remodeling has taken longer
than I was promised, but image is important in the radio business and you can't
try to convince today's hit rock stars to come to your radio station if it
looks like a damn library. When me and Carl went into this business together a
year ago we never thought it would take this long to convert an educational
radio station into a top ten pop chart station. It would be easier if Carl didn't
have Jack and Coke breakfasts and whiskey sour lunches. He wanted to be the
D.J. so damn bad. All the fun and none of the responsibility. Responsibility
that falls into my lap. I flip on the lights to the production booth and there
is Carl, laid out over his control board. I sigh so loud I want him to hear it
through the glass in the studio which no doubt reeks of booze and body odor.
Partially surrounded by an odd assortment of records, and tapes from the old
educational collection and some newer material, Carl appears lifeless. I flip
on the intercom mic and say as calmly as I can, "ok. Carl old buddy, time
to get to work." Without moving an inch he mumbles "Way ahead of
ya." That's when I noticed the on-air button was lit. In a panic, I switch
to the live feed. It's playing on a loop, just some old guy repeating
"revolution". By Carl's leg is the case for an album called "The
History of Revolutionary War as Read by Charlton Heston." That deadbeat
couldn't even get the right album on before he passed out on the control board.
Immediately I flip off the feed. Running my fingers through what’s left of my
hair I try to calm down. I say, "OK this will be fine. What’s the worst
that could happen?"
-END-
Welcome. We're happy to see you. Visit our website and if you like our books please do subscribe for our ebook special every month.
Writing can a lonely business. Book promotion need not be, if you have a partner in crime! I have partnered with many of my favorite fellow authors over the years.
Currently, I've teamed up several times with fellow BWL author Eileen O'Finlan, who lives in Western Massachusetts, driving distance from my Vermont home.
Together we:
* Share the load on presentations-- half the work,
twice the fun!
* Share expenses and driving on book tours
* Advise each other on writing and promotional tips that work
* Go to conferences and enter awards contests together.
(I'm happy to report that both of us have several winning books)
* Are each other's biggest fans!
Lately we've found a link between our latest novels...the fascinating research we've encountered about New England witches and vampires. We developed presentations complete with projected power points and are taking it on the road throughout our area. Along the way we've had enthusiastic audiences and have even met a direct descendant of Salem witch trial victim Rebecca Nurse.
So, extend your friendship with fellow authors and put your wonderfully creative heads together. Find your partner in crime!