A Sea Shanty, by J.C. Kavanagh

 

The Twisted Climb – Darkness Descends 

Book 2 of the award-winning Twisted Climb series

I've just returned from a month in Georgian Bay, Canada, sailing its beautiful shores and anchoring in the most beautiful and pristine bays. So it's only natural that my creative writing turned to composing a sea shanty, which, by definition, is a work-song sung by laborers on a sailing vessel. This shanty, however, is not a reflection of my time on the water. Oh no. The only thing that is true in this sea shanty is the name of our boat, Escape Route.

A Sea Shanty
by J.C. Kavanagh
 
There once was a boat named Escape Route
She was manned by a captain who often would toot
His horn, of course, was the tooter in tow
On the rough and foggy seas, he would blow and blow.
 
One day a dear woman he happened upon
She was stately and curvy and ne’er did frown
Her skin was like bronze and her hair fell a’plenty
O’er her shoulders and chest, right down to her belly.
 
It was love at first sight and he just had to have her
He practiced and practiced his seagoing swagger.
On a starry night with the moon hanging bright
He stood before her and expressed his delight.
“You are what I need, what I want and desire
Your very face lights my heart like a fire.
Will you be mine, for now and forever
For I will be yours till the seas dry – and that’s never.”
 
He waited and waited for her response
When a deep voice growled from the shadows ensconced
Behind his true love, a figure emerged
A sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.
 
“She is mine, all mine, you seagoing cock
Go blather and dither at some other dock
My ship and my lady
Forever will be
Carved in my bow and my heart o’er the sea.
This wooden delight that makes you swoon and croon
Is my sea angel guarding me all day and all night.
So off with you now, besotted scum that you be
And leave me and my lady
To live o’er the sea.”
 
The love-struck sailor turned away from his love
As her wooden eyes seemed to glow from above
He paused and twisted for one more look
His heart swelled with sadness – his true love captive by a pirate, a crook.
And then the pirate threw his dagger and the smitten sailor dropped to one knee
As he descended into darkness, his final thoughts came to be
“Ne’er more shall I kneel
By the bow while I bleed.”
 
The pirate turned away, murder accomplished
When the heavens opened suddenly with rain and thunder
The deluge became a flood and the ship took on water.
“Oh ye gods above!” the pirate shouted and clamored
“What did I do to deserve such a fate?”
And then with dagger pointed at his wooden angel so dear
The lightning exploded into the pirate and they became one white smear
They danced and they jerked until the pirate was no more
And the carved beauty shed a tear as she sank to the sea floor.
 
They say the smitten sailor
Can be heard in a storm
Blowing his horn
For his love lost, so forlorn.

Above are three types of figureheads, each restored from an old ship.

Stay safe everyone!

J.C. Kavanagh, author of 
The Twisted Climb - Darkness Descends (Book 2)
voted BEST Young Adult Book 2018, Critters Readers Poll and Best YA Book FINALIST at The Word Guild, Canada
AND
The Twisted Climb,
voted BEST Young Adult Book 2016, P&E Readers Poll
Novels for teens, young adults and adults young at heart
Email: author.j.c.kavanagh@gmail.com
www.facebook.com/J.C.Kavanagh
www.amazon.com/author/jckavanagh
Twitter @JCKavanagh1 (Author J.C. Kavanagh)
Instagram @authorjckavanagh
 

Finding a story...by Sheila Claydon

 Click here for my BWL page

I'm often asked about writing a book. Do I plan it chapter by chapter? How do I develop my characters? Do I ever use real people? Do I ever suffer from writers block? Do I suffer from deadline stress? Yet strangely, the one thing I am rarely asked is what triggers a story? Yet to me that is the most interesting part of writing.

I can pinpoint the taking off point for every story I write, and it can sometimes be something that happened months or even years before that has been quietly sitting and waiting for its chance to shine. At other times it is almost instant. Take Reluctant Date for example. It is set mainly in an (anonymised) place where I had such a wonderful holiday that much of its geography and ambience is lifted directly from that experience. It didn't take me long to decide to find a heroine either. She more or less leapt at me from a magazine article about dating websites. I find that once I am focused on a story everything else seems to fall into place. I'm not sure if it's because I am looking or whether the characters are just out there waiting until I decide to tell their story!!

In Kissing Maggie Silver it was the photo of an interesting looking girl in an advertisement that started it. That, and yet another holiday where a countryside ranger took us on a trek. I just put them together.  Whereas  Mending Jodie's Heart was triggered by a house, a horse, and a bridle path!

As they say, every picture tells a story. And I can remember why I wrote every single one of my books just by looking at the cover. A sepia photo for Remembering Rose, a cruise from NewZealand to Australia for Cabin Fever, a magazine article for Finding Bella Blue, and so on and so on. 

Now, however, it is time to write a new book but one that is part of a trilogy, a follow-on from Remembering Rose and Loving Ellen. This makes it a little more difficult as part of the story is already there so whatever my trigger is, it has to fit with the previous two books. And that's where old ideas come in. The ones I've had on the back burner waiting until I'm ready. And this time the trigger is another photo, but not of a person. It is of an old and derelict watermill. 

The mill is at least 600 years old. I came upon it unexpectedly a few years ago when I was walking my dog in woodland, and I was so intrigued by the fact that none of the local people seemed to know anything about its history, that I took several photos and stored them away for future use. And now seems to be the right time for it to take its place in my next book. Those who have read the first two books in the trilogy will already know quite a lot about the village of Mapleby. What they won't know, however, is how times are changing for the villagers, and the old mill has quite a lot to do with that.

It's half written. It hasn't got a title yet, and it won't be published until June next year, but without the old mill it might not have happened at all. So here's to story triggers and to the writers who recognise them and store them until the time is right. In the meantime, I have to get back to my writing.

The Joy of Flying

 

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When I was ten, my parents took my sister Kate, brother Peter and me on our first trip by airplane. We traveled from New York to Washington DC. We visited museums, the OAS headquarters, and a cathedral. 

But my most vivid memory was of the Lincoln Memorial. My father stood us beside the wall of the north chamber and had us recite the words of Lincoln’s second inaugural address. I did not understand the sense of our sixteenth president’s thoughts about the national trauma that was our Civil War. But I understood the beauty of the sound of his thoughts…

With malice toward none, with charity for all, 

with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, 

let us strive on to finish the work we are in,

 to bind up the nation's wounds, 

to care for him who shall have borne the battle 

and for his widow and his orphan, 

to do all which may achieve and cherish 

a just and lasting peace 

among ourselves and with all nations.

I have shared my father’s love of flying ever since that trip.

On September 11, 2001 I was emerging from the subway in lower Manhattan when the first plane hit the World Trade Center. I rushed up the steps of the Federal Courthouse to meet with my fellow jurors, hold each other’s hands, and watch the debris bursting out of the gaping black hole like white doves in flight against an impossibly blue sky.

My father called me from his home in Florida a month later. His printer was broken.  He needed me to help him choose a new one and get it up and running. He was insistent, he’d pay for my flight, my mother was already making me a pie. He needed me right away.

So I boarded a plane, breathing deeply, telling my racing heart that all would be well, that my father needed me.

He didn’t need my help, of course. He needed me to get on a plane, to not let being an eyewitness to another national trauma take away my joy of flying.

Thank you, Daddy.

My COVID-19 Book Launch

 

                               Please click this link for author and book purchase information

For my first three novels, I had book launch parties at my local independent bookstore. Close to 100 people packed Owl's Nest Bookstore's premises for each event. Shortly before the pandemic, Owl's Nest cut its store space in half and nowadays most people I know aren't keen on packing into rooms with strangers. Last month, Owl's Nest suggested I look for a larger venue. 

Pre-COVID book launch

Venues in Calgary weren't easy to find. The libraries weren't renting their larger spaces yet. Other venues were operating at reduced capacity. My first choice currently only allows a maximum 30 people and wasn't available on September 16th, my scheduled date. Eventually I found a church meeting hall large enough for people to spread out. I felt we could host a safe event that would be fun despite the requirements that we wear masks and not share food. 

Unfortunately, Calgary's COVID-19 cases and hospitalizations continued their rise into September. The Alberta government reinstated restrictions. These wouldn't prevent the launch from going ahead, but I feared the situation would keep too many people away. Owl's Nest and I decided to move the event online, to the disappointment of one friend who was really looking forward to getting out and experiencing an in-person author reading, a novelty for her. 

Right now, I'm busy getting ready for this fourth book launch, which will take place on Zoom. I plan to do three readings from my new novel, Winter's Rage, one for each point-of-view character. I'll also talk about writing this third book of my Paula Savard Mystery Series. In particular, I'll discuss:

• Why I scrapped my first draft half-way through and restarted from scratch
• How I found the book's title
• How COVID-19 affected the story     

 All off this will be backdropped by Powerpoint slides, including pictures of the street where my fictional murder took place. It was easy getting these pictures since the street is in my neighbourhood. 

"Wintergreen Close," my fictional crime site

It's also easy -- and free -- to attend the launch. All you need to do is go to the Owl's Nest Events Page  , scroll down to Susan Calder: Winter's Rage, and click the link to register. Owl's Nest will then email you a Zoom link to join the event on September 16 at 7:00 p.m. Mountain Time. One advantage of a virtual book launch is that people can attend from around the world, as long as they're awake at that hour.    

          

Mornings at My House, by Karla Stover

 

Henry Thoreau referred to mornings as "a cheerful invitation" and I totally agree. I like to wake up at dawn and watch the trees outside our bedroom window. When we first moved into unincorporated Pierce County we lived in the country. One morning a herd of horses ran by the window. One neighbor had goats and another a pear tree with pears that were pink inside. There used to be a big wetland at the end of the street and with the window above my head open I could hear the spring peppers. Sadly, the wetland was almost completely built on and what is left has no peepers. The horses, goats and pear tree have been replaced by houses.

After dawn has done its due-diligence, we get up, get dressed, and turn on the news. When the dog goes outside, our peanut butter trees,

which are in full bloom, fill the yard with a wonderful jasmine-like smell. But the cats, Sally and Marley waste no time in telling us they're hungry. Then it's a challenge to find a food they don't turn their noses up at. My husband also checks the front porch because sometimes the neighborhood stray wants fed, too. My husband also wants breakfast (I'm a brunch eater) and eats while I wash the previous night's pop corn bowls, (I cut out after dinner sweets and my husband lost two pant sizes) check my emails and take a look at the headlines on BING. Last week I saw a funny misplaced modifier but when I went back to look for it, it was gone. Here's one from the Seattle Times: "“Microsoft, which has used its solid, boldfaced, italicized logo since 1987, is expected to unveil its new, more colorful logo Thursday at the Boston opening of the 23rd Microsoft store.”  It was actually the 23rd store in Boston. But I have to look at headlines because the local news is mostly, traffic, weather and covid. And now it's time for our walk. A lot of the land between Tacoma and the next town east of us (Puyallup, pronounced Pew all up) is undeveloped and we liked to walk in the woods on a ridge above the creek. On the way down, though, I get a 98ct. coffee with three creams from McDonalds.

When our walk is over and if we have no errands, we're home by 10:30. That rarely happens. Errands include but are not limited to: picking up a prescription, buying some groceries, stopping at the library, giving blood. Five years ago my brother had surgery and needed somewhere between seven and nine units of blood. I decided I'd replace the units so they'd be available for someone else. I took iron and vitamin supplements for a year before I could donate and now I'm about three units away from fulfilling the promise. Last week I was approached by a man asking for money. I asked if he was hungry and he said, "Oh, yes." So we went into the nearest AM / PM and I let him pick out what he wanted--chicken and a Pepsi. As a 'thank you' both our cars ended up in two different shops, the front door lock broke, and our washing machine out. Fate does indeed have a cruel sense of humor.

Once home, it's time for chores and in the afternoon I finally have time to work on my next book. The pandemic shut downs were never a problem for us. It's not an exciting life but we like it.