School Days by Helen Henderson

Windmaster Golem
Click the title for purchase information

The blistering heat of summer is fading and the cooler nights are perfect for sleeping. No matter what the calendar says, it is autumn. Leaves start to change color, crops start to be taken in, and there is one more thing that comes with this time of year. Back-to-school is also a September ritual for many students and parents. The students may be excited or dreading their return to the classroom. As far as the parents? Let's just call it anticipatory. 

The experience of back-to-school time has changed as has the methods of education itself. In the 1800s, many students did not learn their lessons in 100-room structures with an auditorium, inside plumbing, cafeteria, and gymnasium with weight room. The school was a modest one-room building. In addition to books, handheld slates and chalk to write on them made up their supplies. Today in schools, computers and digital books replaced the print ones.

A great-grandparent reminiscing with the next generation could be the topic of a social media meme today. The tale starts with with the obligatory, "You kids have it so easy today. Back in my day we had to walk to school, " Then comes the, "Five miles each way, in the snow, both uphill."

In my own version of the story, in good weather we rode bicycles (or walked) the long lane from the house to the road. Inclement weather meant driving us out not only so that we couldn't trudge through the mud but have a warm, dry place to wait in for the bus. Later, as we became of age, the oldest drove a resurrected Volkswagen beetle bug. A small pull-off just big enough to park the car in was hacked out of the brush hat lined the edge of the lane. The area had a line-of-sight further down the hill so that when we saw a flash of yellow, it was time to run out and reach the road just as the bus stopped.

In the world of Windmaster, there is formal schooling and more detailed studies using the apprenticeship system. But not everything is book learning, magic has a requirement of its own ... to recognize it. A brief snippit from Windmaster Golem of the recognition ceremony where an apprentice receives the tools they need as they progress from apprentice to journeyman. To set the stage, Kia heard the ethereal summons but fought it until deciding to attend to support her students.

“There are those who wish to respond but do not yet feel free,” Dal called with both voice and mind. “Let anyone who hears the summons of the fire, come forward.” A rustle went through the crowd as some shifted from foot to foot.

Dollag left the students he had been standing with. His first hesitant steps grew surer the closer he approached the fire. Pride in her student fought with worry that he would select “her” blade. Anger rose over the other emotions. They are unworthy of the Oracle, Kia reminded herself and sought a more harmonious center.

Within heartbeats Dollag had blade and element in hand and presented them to Dal. As the boy rose from the blessing to stand between Dal and Ellspeth’s first apprentices, Kia felt the archmage’s approval of the new journeyman and added her own silent well-wishes.

 ~ I hope you enjoyed the snippit and thoughts on education. Until next month, stay safe and read.   Helen

To purchase the Windmaster Novels: BWL

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.

Fall is coming or is it here? By Nancy M Bell

 

To see more of Nancy's work please click on the image above.

September 2024 is almost half over. Do you think the calendar decides when summer is gone and fall is upon us? I honestly don't think nature pays much attention to our human machinations. I remember an August day back in 1978, I was sitting on my horse having just come out of the wooded valley behind the barn and looking over Bruno Bijoni's  huge bean field. It was only mid August, but as I sat and let the sun fall in slanted beams around me and the breeze sweep across the land to lift my hair, there was the unmistakable scent of autumn in it. It's a hard scent to describe, more experienced than described. It's a mix of dry grasses, disturbed leaf litter under the trees, a cooling of the air moving over the tasseled heads of ripe corn waiting for the reaper and so many other  nebulous but unmistakable nuances.

In my middle years, I so looked forward to the shortening of days, the cries of the wild geese overhead and the whisper of the wind in their pinions as they lofted off the trout pond. Summer was always full to the brim and the dusk of ten pm often found me still teaching a riding lesson, or schooling my own horses. Not to mention the myriad of  chores that spring and summer brings. Haying in June when the weather was always hot and humid, repairing fences, showing horses, braiding manes and tails until after midnight with my own horse always done last after the students. So yes, the shortening days were welcome. A promise of respite and a chance to recharge. 

When I was much younger, fall meant the time we spent at the cottage on Davis Lake in Haliburton was drawing to a close and that was not met with such relief. But oh, the glory of the maple trees burning orange and red and gold against the dark spruce and pine. Their colours reflected in the mirror stillness of the lake. In later years, it was the Rouge Valley that gifted me with the palette of autumn colour as I rode my horse along the well known and loved trails. Even now, so many years later, I can close my eyes and ride down Mosquito Alley, climb Spyglass Hill, look over the flats on the east side of the river from Souix Lookout, ride down the broad avenue that ran along the top of the ridge, the place where I could find  trilliums and lady's slippers in the spring.

Some falls have been open and warm, holding autumn at bay and spreading honey-gold light and heat across the western prairies. Clouds of dust rising into the Alberta blue sky heralding the work of many combines bring in John Barley Corn, wheat, canola, rye and other crops. On those days, fall seems far away and winter even more distant. There is one thing I can always be certain of though, no matter when it arrives, fall will be a'comin' in with crispy days and sharper nights. Jack Frost will paint the trees with colour, although out here in the west it mostly shades of gold and yellow. I trust my nose and my senses rather than the calendar to tell me what season it is. 

Here are some images to get you into the mood.

Until next month, stay well, stay happy.

Writing Gone Astray by Janet Lane Walters #BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor #writing #Thinking

 

I'm working on a new book The Horror Writer's Demise and halfway through, I discovered a problem. Not with the writing but what I forgot. This is a mystery with a budding romance built into the first of the stories. The heroine and hero will begin noticing each other. The problem came when I realized I'd become so involved with the murder, I forgot the romance. I'm more than halfway done with the book but I'm going back and finding places to focus on what will be a growing relationship.

Was it age or was having the mystery explored that caused the problem? I'm not sure but back to the beginning I go. Then I will start the Regency story I began probably 20 years or more ago. Thi story was put aside when I was taking courses to finish my BA in Nursing. I found this and several other starting outlines for other stories when sorting out my file cabinet. So now it's off and running with romance on my mind.

Spoiled? by J.C. Kavanagh

 

The award-winning Twisted Climb series is available here:
https://www.bookswelove.net/kavanagh-j-c/

What is your definition of spoiled?

There are multiple definitions found in The Canadian Oxford Dictionary but I'll use the one that I'm referring to in this blog: pamper; pay attention to the comfort and wishes of a person.

My definition is similar - but more specific. 

The J.C. Kavanagh definition of spoiled: doing your partner's laundry.

I've always been the 'laundry-lady' and am quite content to wash, dry, fold, and put-away all our clothes. So, after living in our new home for about five months, and after I'd spent the afternoon completing the laundry chores, my partner, Ian, walked in from the garage. He was quite dirty from cutting trails on our property. 

He stood there for a moment, watching me fold the last of his gitch.

"Oh," he said. "You've done the laundry."

I nodded. Yah, I knew where this was going.

Ian smiled his best-winning smile. "I'd really like to wear these work clothes tomorrow."

"Sure," I replied, smiling back. "Yours are the only dirty clothes, so..." I waited a moment. "The machines are all yours."

His smile faded. "Oh," he repeated. 

I watched him retreat to the laundry room. He remained in there for some time and finally came out, looking rather sheepish. Gone was the radiant smile.

"Um... well," he fumbled for words, then took a deep breath. "Which one's the washing machine?"

I burst out laughing.

"But they look the same!" His excuse made me laugh even harder.

Washer and dryer - I guess they do look the same :)

Ah, life with Ian is always fun. (And I will spoil him as much as I can!)

Georgian Bay sunsets on our sailboat.

Keep smiling and don't forget to tell the ones you love that you love them :)

J.C. Kavanagh, author of
The Twisted Climb - A Bright Darkness (Book 3) Best YA Book FINALIST at Critters Readers Poll 2022
and
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
Voted Best Local Author, Simcoe County, Ontario, 2021
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

What I am working on now by H. Paul Doucette

 

My newest release

Click to visit my BWL Author Page for details and purchase information

            Hello everyone. It has been a while since I was last here. My only excuse being busy being a writer (lol).

            I am currently working on two stories; the first, a suspense novel set during the Cold War, taking place in Canada in 1959. It follows RCMP Inspector Jesse Thompson from the force’s Intelligence Section as he investigates possible Soviet espionage attempts to acquire information on the latest Anti-Submarine Warfare Systems being developed by the Canadian navy in Halifax.

            As you see, I am sticking with my interest in history and my home town. Remember, I mentioned in a past blog that history, including your personal one, is a fertile field for story ideas that cross all genres.

            I am also working on the next Matt Murphy novel set in the 1970s in Toronto, Ontario. All this is on top of many hours of background research – my favourite part of writing. Fortunately, I am old enough to have lived through a goodly part of that history but I still discover and learn new things which often culminate in new story ideas.

            If you are curious about these backgrounds may I invite you to take a look at one of the Matt Murphy PI stories excerpts on the Author page listed on the BWL website. I think you will like Matt, as I know some of you liked John Robichaud (Robie). Matt is younger and living in a different city and at a different time. But, like Robie, he is dealing with a universal truth: crime is still crime; the ‘meat and potatoes’ of mystery writers.

            As a PI, he is not hamstrung by the rules and conventions of the regular law enforcement agencies and as a result, his cases take him into various areas of a major city’s underbelly as you see in the first book. He is drawn into the world of aspiring and professional dancers with their high spirited sense of self and sexuality, or as some might rather call...sensuality. He also experiences just how fragile and sensitive their egos can be threatened and how vicious they can become. He soon discovers the degree which their competitiveness will push them to achieve ‘the role’ in a production.  

            To illustrate the point, here is a brief excerpt.

 

                        ‘The woman sat at the dressing table, looking down at the pair of worn

                        pointe shoes and a small soft wooden box in her hand. She knew what

                        she was about to do could possibly destroy the girl’s future as a dancer,

                        but she didn’t care.

                        Opening the box, she extracted three shortened sewing needles and eased

                        them into the stiff toes of the shoes one at a time. When finished, she

                        slipped a finger into the shoe, making sure enough of the pins protruded.

                        Satisfied with her work, she returned the shoes to the locker then slipped

                        silently away.’

 

     I think you will also find the backdrop of Toronto during the years of the counterrevolution as personified by Rochdale College and Yorkville – The Village was then.

            If you read the story, I hope you enjoy it and, remember; history is calling.

 

            ‘Til next time.

            Paul