Some Pre-Release reviews for Chance's Way and A shout out to When Words Collide by Nancy M Bell

 

To learn more about The Alberta Adventures series and The Cornwall Adventures that proceeded it please click on the cover above.  

First, When Words Collide, that wonderful and very affordable writers festival has wrapped up for another year. This is the second year we've gathered online and all things considered it seems we are getting better at managing Zoom calls. The wonderful thing about WWC is that all the presenters and hosts and organizers volunteer their time and expertise which makes this amazing event accessible to everyone. Hopefully next year we can all meet in person again in Calgary. I sat on several panels and did a presentation on Character Development which was well attended. Thanks to everyone who tuned it and participated.

Now, for a bit of shameless self promotion. As you may or may not know reviews are so important to an author. Chance's Way releases on September 1, 2021 and I have been lucky enough to get a couple of pre-release reviews. So, just to whet your whistle, so to speak....

From KC Finn of Readers Favorite

Author Nancy M. Bell has crafted a great YA drama that will introduce readers to country life in Canada, with sweet romance and highly relatable protagonists. Chance’s journey was intelligently penned and well-balanced to give a heartfelt but not overdone approach to his big life turnaround. The issues surrounding his ne’er-do-well father were so interesting to explore, and you could really feel Chance’s family conflict coming through. I also enjoyed the presentation of Laurel immensely, and her dialogue and charm made me want to read the rest of the books in the Alberta Adventures series to see her personal journey too. Overall, I would recommend Chance’s Way to fans of the existing series and new readers seeking emotional tales of young people just setting out to carve a future for themselves despite their setbacks and adversities.   

Till next month, stay well, stay happy   

Treasure or Trash - Partial manuscript found #BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor #Partial Manuscript

 

Treasure or Trash

 

When finishing up a manuscript before sending it off, I look through my files at the manuscripts begun and not continued to write. This time I came across one and sat to read the words. I decided this was really good and wondered why all I had was three chapters and a synopsis. This is a book akin to Code Blue, thus the reason for that cover. A medical suspense again hopefully with  twist as different as Code Blue.

 

Not being able to decide whi I’d gone no further, I took the thought to bed with me. With a blinding flash, the reason came to me. Committee of Angels came about in a number of ways that fit together like a tapestry being woven.

 

The first thought was because of an article I read that opened with these lines. 5 to 10 percent of the physicians in this country are unfit to practice medicine. For days those words percolated. At the time I was working at a local hospital as a nurse. Several times I ran into situations where I realized the doctor was incompetent. So did my colleagues. We spent several lunch times in the break room talking about the latest incident. This was added to what was simmering in my head.

 

That year I went to a writer’s conference and managed to snag an appointment with an editor. We talked about the book I was currently working on but then out of the blue, I thought of Committee. I spoke about the idea behind the book. “Send me three chapters and a synopsis.”

 

I sat down and finished the mterial for the proposal and sent it off and waited. One day the material came back with a rejection letter I still have in a box with enough rejection letters to paper a room. Here goes.

 

Your writing is great and the idea is very interesting. I have one problem with the story. One of the nurse characters is frankly a slut. Nurses would never behave the way she has in the story.

 

I laughed. Having just interrupted a fellow nurse and one of the new doctors making out in the stairwell that afternoon made me wonder about the editor. So I had in the meantime gone on to a different story and I put the partial in my file cabinet and forgot it until I decided I was looking for a new story. I’ve decided to pursue this book and see what I can make of it.

 

Another little comment about the book. I was talking about the idea at the nurses’ station when I doctor overheard what I was saying. “You can’t write that book,” he declared and stomped off. Since thirty years has passed, I decided to try again.

 

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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.