Short Stories and Contests by Nancy M Bell

Second book in the Longview Romance series. Calgary Stampede is canceled this year, so why not take a visit in the pages of Come Hell or High Water? Click on the cover to find out more about my books and where to get your copy of Come Hell or High Water.

I thought I'd share a workshop I did for the Airdrie Public Library on short stories and how to get them ready to enter a contest.

Short Stories and Contests

What is a short story?
A short story is usually narrative prose. It typically focuses on a single self-contained incident and includes a small cast of named characters. The short story makes use of plot and other components used in the longer novel, just to a lesser degree.

Types of short stories are determined by word count or topic. For the purpose of short story contests there is usually a minimum and maximum word count which needs to be strictly adhered to.
Short Story Lengths in words:
Traditional: 1,500 to 5,000
Flash Fiction: 500 to 1,000
Micro Fiction: 5-350
It is most common to sell a story that is 1,500 to 3,000 words long.

Short Story Contests.
Should you enter? YES! Of course, you should. Even if you don’t win or get short listed, often you will receive valuable feedback from the judges.
How to decide which contests to enter? First decide what market you are writing for. Fiction or Nonfiction. Then look at what is open for submission and what is coming open in the future. Read the guidelines carefully, paying close attention to the rules and guidelines. Generally, these will include topics or focus of the contest, minimum and maximum length of the entry, entry deadline and method of delivering the entry. Generally, this is by electronic means these days including the use of the Submittable website, although some still ask for hard copy entries. Also pay attention to the entry fee asked for and decide if the cost is within your budget and if you feel it is worth the cost of entry. There is a list of 2020 short story contests online, the Writers Guild of Alberta also lists contests in their newsletter.

Crafting the Short Story.
Now, you need a plan. Again, this is going to be different for everyone. There are two basic ways of going about The Plan. This is what is referred to in author speak as Plotting or Pantsing.
There is no right or wrong way, just what works best for you. What is Plotting and Pantsing?
Plotting is just what is sounds like. The author plots out their story using what ever method works best for them. The plot plan will include, in some form, the following elements:
The Beginning of the Story/The Exposition
Rising Action
Climax or Turning Point
Falling Action
The End of the Story/The Resolution

So, now to start:
Generate the core idea. Ideas are all around us, you just need to learn to recognize them. This often starts from a memory, a fear, a problem, or an incident that resonates with you, stays with you and keeps nudging you to share it.

Write it down. Get it out of your head and onto paper. Rough first drafts are always just that rough. Write everything and anything that comes to mind, don’t worry about word count at this point.
Create the characters from people you know, or sometimes the characters just present themselves to you. Go with whatever feels natural to you. If you’re having trouble, it is easiest to base your character on people you are familiar with and grow them from there.
Trust yourself, believe in yourself. We are all writers and creators.

Now you have the basis, you need to add some structure and start to put things together.
Basic story structure is outlined below:
The Opening
Incident that changes things, sets things in motion
Series of crisis or events that builds tension
The Climax
The End

There are various examples of story structure: The Hero Journey, The Three Act Structure, The 7 Point Story Structure. You can look at these online if you want to delve deeper into them.
The structure should assist you in sorting out your conflict, climax and resolution.
In short: The Hero Journey
Call to Adventure
Challenges and Temptations
Revelation- death/rebirth
Transformation/Atonement
Return

In short: The Three Act Structure
Set Up- establish characters and setting
The Confrontation- appears simple with underlying complexity
The Resolution- a good ending contains high stakes, growth and transformation and a solution

In short: The Seven Point Story Structure
Hook the starting point
Plot Turn 1 conflict that moves the story to the midpoint
Pinch Point 1 pressure on the your protagonist- stumbling blocks in the pursuit of the goal
Mid-Point character responds to conflict with action
Pinch Point 2 more pressure and stumbling blocks between protagonist and the goal
Plot Turn 2 moves story from midpoint to resolution
Resolution where everything up to this point has been heading. Goal achieved and loose ends tied up.


Some other forms of Short Stories.
Anecdote: This is a short account that tells a story about a real person or actual incident. It can be amusing or interesting or both depending on the subject. Anecdotes are often used to support a point in larger work, for example an essay or article.

Drabble: This is a very short work of fiction, generally exactly 100 words not counting the title. This form is used to demonstrate a writer’s ability to express something meaningful in a confined number of words. It is an exercise in brevity.

Fable: This form uses anthropomorphic creatures to illustrate a story with a mora. These may include animals, plants, inanimate object, forces of nature etc) Burgess Thonton’s work in the early 20th century is a prime example, as well as Asesop’s Fables. The moral is usually spelled out for the reader at the end of the story.

Flash Fiction: This is short literary work. No widely accepted word count but usually between 300 and 1,000 words. Generally I have seen then around 500 words in contest rules. Pay close attention to the guidelines of the contests you wish to enter.

Frame Piece: this is not generally used now but has been used in the past. In Walter Farley’s the Blood Bay Colt one of the characters is bed-ridden and reads a book whose contents are shared within the context of the larger story.
It is also useful for introducing the main narrative or setting the reader up for a series of short stories that follow. Flashbacks- the dreaded and should be seldom used flashback- is also an example of this form.

Mini-Saga is a short story of exactly 50 words. A good exercise to learn to remove all but the most pertinent parts of the story or scene.

Story Sequence: this isn’t a novel, but rather a series of short stories within an over all timeframe that together tell a larger story while still remained complete stories in their own right. This is sometimes referred to as a composite novel.

Vignette: this focuses on a single character, setting or scene. No emphasis on conventional structure or story development. Can be stand alone or part of a bigger work.

We can go deeper here and look at three distinct types of short stories. The Epical Story, The Lyrical Story and The Artifice Story.

The Epical Story: realist short fiction. Commonly withholding a part of the narrative. Generally, the best of this type are the ones where in spite of the obvious clues within the narrative, the reveal of the missing part is unexpected from the reader’s POV. The revelation must serve to highlight what came before it, shining light onto what was just latent beforehand and locking with it seamlessly and showing it in a new way. The big reveal is always at the end, the quality depend on the unexpectedness of the discovery, the twist.
indefinite range of things, if not everything.

The Lyrical Story puts the emphasis on a central recurring image or symbol that the narrative revolves around, rather than focusing on the plot. The ending is considered to be ‘open’ as the focus doesn’t insist on one meaning but is open to many depending on the readers’ perspective. This form needs an external plot (often of the epical form) which flows alongside the development of the image. The central focus fills in where an expression is wanted but didn’t show up. There is a need to express what the protagonist won’t or can’t, to cry, or express joy, or grief.
The Artifice Story is the weaving together of two apparently non-compatible things. This can be two story lines, realities or perspectives. This can be used as an over-arching metaphoric device or it can be an abruptly introduced incongruity. This is inserted into the otherwise conventional narrative at the beginning, the larger meaning comes directly from the unexpected symbiosis between the deliberately inserted incongruity and the conventional plot.

Until next month Stay well, stay happy. YOu can also find me at http://www.nancymbell.ca

Glad to be human?

find my books here!

A good, galloping plot, beautifully written, peopled by compelling characters: my idea of a novel.  In these perilous days, reading a good novel also my go-to escape pod!  Fiction is a great place to enter into other times, other lives and explore the or the "why's," when well-researched facts are not enough.

But at times like these, I also give thanks for poets, those distillers of essences. They find grace in moments, vibrancy in a smile, joy through the senses. My friend Irene O'Garden is a poet. In her latest collection Glad to Be Human she answers those of us who sometime put a question mark at the end of that affirmation. Here's some of her wisdom, distilled:

There's always time if you do it now

Imagine a way in rather than out

Meaning appears in response to our attempt to grasp it

Art supplies

What makes me glad to be human?  Living in a world that has people like Irene in it.

E-Biking Though the Pandemic

                                    Please click this link for book and purchase information

COVID-19 prompted my husband Will and me to buy e-bikes. Our thinking was that with most of our usual activities likely to be gone or restricted this summer, it would be good to expand the ones we'd be able to do. This included cycling. We'd always enjoyed getting out on our twenty-five-year-old bikes and hoped electric bicycles would let us ride longer and farther and handle steeper hills.

I didn't quite know what an e-bike was before I bought one. Since then, I've learned they have motors that provide pedal-assist. You still pedal the same as with a regular bike, but get more for your effort. E-bikes can go up to 32 kilometres per hour (20 mph) to be classified as bicycles, not mopeds. After each use, you plug them in to recharge the battery.

The motor makes e-bikes heavier than regular bicycles. Usually the battery is attached to the frame. We chose models with built-in batteries. They aren't much heavier than our old regular bikes. This will make them easier to load in our car for outings and easier to ride if the battery ever runs out. I'm especially glad we got the lighter bikes after hearing about a friend's holiday in Paris. During her first day of renting a heavy e-bike, it toppled onto her and broke her leg.
 

I chose an upright cruiser style, with a comfortable seat and handy front basket.  

Will and I bought our bikes at a local bicycle store, which has been doing a steady business this spring. Some companies are thriving during the pandemic and I see lineups outside of every bike shop in Calgary, where I live. We walked to the store to pick up our e-bikes, rode them home, and tried them out on our quiet, flat neighbourhood streets. The next day, we went for a longer ride on a city bike path, with a hill I previously couldn't ride all the way up. Half way, I'd have to get off and walk my old bike. On the e-bike, I cruised to the top, passing a group of fit-looking riders in their twenties. What a thrill for a senior citizen! 

Will chose a racier model. We'll enjoy the lunch box on the back for picnics. On a ride to downtown, we had our first look at Calgary's kayak course on the Bow River. 

Calgary enjoyed a couple of weeks of fine weather after we bought our bikes. Will and I took them out every day or two. We conquered numerous hills we'd have struggled with or walked up before. I could still feel the cardio exercise as I pedalled to the crest. We could also do longer rides, to parts of the city we hadn't previously biked to from our home. I returned feeling less tired than I used to from my regular bike rides, although my sore muscles suggested I'd had a workout. 

I'm still cautious about riding a more powerful bike. Wind from the higher speed makes me cooler when I ride. I've had to wear more layers of clothing this spring, but this might make biking on hot summer days more comfortable. My e-bike has nine gears, which are easy to change with the paddles on the handle. The power level button on the frame is trickier to use. I still haven't got the knack of pressing the button 1,2 or 3 times to shift the power up or down while riding. 

Colourful, layered clothing in the cool wind.

E-bikes aren't cheap. Ours were in the lower price range and each one cost more than Will's first car. But with this spring, summer and probably fall of non travel, e-bikes turn staying at home into a vacation. When Calgary's weather warms up again, we plan to load our e-bikes into the van and ride in the rolling countryside, tackling hills with ease. Not much beats coasting to the top, leaving those twenty-somethings in our dust.  

               

Orphans of the Storm: a True Story by Karla Stover

A Hood Canal Mystery based on the memoirs of a San Francisco Madame
Orphans of the Storm

Wind out of the south, whitecaps washing over the floating bridges, the ferry system shut down—a Pacific Northwest storm.  And one post-storm, spring morning while driving to work, I heard that the previous night’s gully washer caused another problem:  squirrel’s nests knocked out of trees leaving a surfeit of orphaned babies.  An animal welfare organization put out a call for foster parents.

Wow!  That sounds like fun, I thought.  I can do that.  I love squirrels.  When I hit the first stop light I wrote down their phone number.

At work, I found a place where a box of the family Sciuridae could sleep while I worked, and where I could retreat to give them little bottles of food and some TLC.  Then I called the rescue group.

“I heard about your need for squirrel baby foster parents,” I said, “and I’m really interested.”

“Well now, isn’t that nice," a lady said, "but before adoption can be considered, I have a few questions.”

“Sure.”

“Your name?”

“Karla Stover.”

“Where do you live?”

“Tacoma.”

“Oh well, now, that’s a bit of a problem.”

“How so?”

“Well, the babies were orphaned in Seattle.”

“I can drive there to pick some up.”

“And there are their physicals.”

Say what?

“Well, who administers the physicals?”

“A vet.”

“We have lots of vets in Tacoma, and running water and everything.  My husband and I have gone to the same vet for years.”

Levity wasn’t her strong suit.

“Yes, but it has to be a wild animal vet.”

I sensed roadblocks—possibly the result of animosity and disdain Seattle feels for Tacoma.

“Well, I’ll ask our vet if he can give them their physicals,” I said.

“No can do, I’m afraid.  We already have an approved wildlife vet ready to take them on.”

“Maybe I can drive to your vet, then.  Where's the office?”

“Lynnwood.”

Lynnwood!  That’s a hundred miles away. Up North. Driving through Seattle's horrible traffic.

Still, I persevered.  “I could do that.”

“Every week?”

“What?”

“Every week. The orphaned babies have to be checked and weighed weekly.  We want to make sure they’re getting the best possible care.”

“Will they be vaccinated for hanta virus and Lyme’s disease?” I asked.  “Do they need Frontline?”

Perhaps sensing my sarcasm she said, “I’m sorry, but we have strict rules and regulations about who qualifies to adopt our orphans and how they are to be raised.”

“They’re rodents, for gosh sake.”

“You see, that statement shows a flippant attitude.  I’m sorry but you don’t qualify.”

Jeez! Take it down a notch, lady, I thought as she hung up on me.

About a week later, I heard a knock on the front door.  It was two little kids with three squirrel babies in a box.  “Here,” one boy said, “Mom said we should give them to you.”

I didn’t know who the kids were, who their mom was, or why she thought I should have the care and responsibility of three hostile-looking rodents.  Their unattractiveness knocked the romance of the idea right out of the ring. Nevertheless, I took  the box and carried it to the garage.  Then I attempted to put dishes of water and sunflower seeds—shelled, I might add—in the box.  Nasty little buggers.  Their only interest was in trying to bite the hand that was attempting to feed them. 

After a few days, when it didn’t look like they were eating, I decided to turn them loose among the apple, cherry, pear, and filbert nut trees in our backyard.  They scampered for safety.

  Ever since, we’ve had squirrel families eating the filberts, biting holes into the fruit and, digging up my bulbs.

And all without physicals or mailed reminders for booster shots.

A Tacoma Washington murder with trips to Seattle and the Olympic Peninsula
 a Gothic novel in the good old tradition

Color my world conflicted

Get it here!

https://books2read.com/Dreamcatcher-Barbara-Baldwin

                If you’re like me, you’re tired of hearing about the Covid virus, quarantine and food shortages. You’re ready to get out – ANYWHERE – just to feel like your life is your own again. On May 3, Diane Bator wrote on the BWL blog about some of the trouble some writers are having staying on track. It seems ridiculous that with all the hours in a day we can’t sit down and crank out novel after novel.  While I should be writing, my creative efforts have shifted. Instead of the computer, I have been sitting at the sewing machine finishing some quilt tops that had been started, or purchased, some time ago. As I cut and sew, it is impossible to miss my use of color. No pale or pastel colors for this quilter and that made me think more about the use of color in writing (and life).

Remember when you got that first box of crayons for Kindergarten? Big chunky colors – red, blue, green, yellow, black, brown, purple and orange. As we colored, we’d pick yellow for the sun and green for the grass because colors often cause us to think of particular physical things.  As our pictures progressed through the years, we probably added some orange to the sun; red if there was a sunset, and the grass had patches of brown or blue-green and colorful little flowers began sprouting everywhere.   

Color has also often been used in song titles. Though using particular titles may be dating me, do you recognize “A Yellow Submarine”, “Blue Suede Shoes”, or “Purple Rain”?

But colors can also make us think of non-nouns; in other words things like emotions. Red might communicate anger or heat; whereas pink, which is a shade of red, is a more gentle color; perhaps like lavender. Green is often the color of envy or jealousy; yellow might make one think of a cowardly person. There are plenty of idioms that use color – “the pot calling the kettle black”, “blue in the face” or “white knuckled.” Yet no one color is exclusive to a particular arena. For example, red can be both “red tape” and the “red carpet” and those two expressions can be opposites rather than synonyms.

                I urge you to try a writing exercise using color to describe something not normally associated with color? What color is rain or the blowing wind? How would you paint hunger or homelessness or grief? How would you describe a rushing river with color?

                My writing is similar to my quilting – full of color and no two are alike. I write contemporary and historical, time travel and short story. I invite you to visit http://www.bookswelove.com/romance-authors/baldwin-barbara/ for a full listing of my novels with Books We Love.

Here’s to our early release…or at least to the opening of the local liquor stores!

Barb

http://www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin

http://www.bookswelove.com/romance-authors/baldwin-barbara/

Natural Disaster by J. S. Marlo

J. S. Marlo's BWL Books

This week has been tough (I'm writing this post on May 2, 2020). It brought back lots of heartbreaking memories.

This weekend is the anniversary of the 2016 wildfire that  devastated Fort McMurray, destroying entire neighborhoods, and forcing the evacuation of more than 80,000 people  in just a few hours. The fire was so intense, it created its own weather system, producing fierce winds and smoke clouds that generated lightning. It cost the life of one person, a young woman who died in a traffic accident as she drove out of town through a curtain of fire. Though the death toll could have been way higher, her death was still one too many.

I flew out on the last plane of the evening before the full evacuation was ordered. It was a fluke as my granddaughter was sick and my daughter needed help. I didn't know I was on the last plane or that the airport would close its commercial flights after we departed.

From the air, I could see the wild fire and the raging flames burning the forest. The fire was later nicknamed The Beast. It looked like a giant open mouth ready to engulf the entire town. At that moment, I was certain I would never come back home. The firefighters had to bulldozer rows of houses in order to create a firebreak. In the end, the fire surrounded the town and many neighborhoods were lost, but they saved the hospital (in blue where the arrow points in flood picture), the water treatment plant, and the other essential buildings, and the town survived. The air quality, which usually runs on a scale of 1 to 10, as 10 being extremely dangerous for your health, was above 40.

The fire started on May 1, 2016, burned out of control until July 5, 2016, and was fully extinguished more than a year later on August 2, 2017. It destroyed 1,456,810 acres of land (roughly 5 times the size of Los Angeles). It took years to rebuild, but we can still see vacant lots where homeowners or businesses just left town without rebuilding. The Covid-19 pandemic was just another bump into our recovery. Many stores closed, but essential services were still open, and there was no shortage of anything (except toilet paper for the first week...which I still don't understand.). People were awesome at social distance and we had  less than twenty cases in the last two months. Then this week happened...

The river broke when it was still cold outside and it created an ice jam of 25 km (15 miles).

On the fourth anniversary of the wildfire of the century, and during the pandemic of the century, we're in the middle of the flood of the century.

The river didn't just overflow, it flowed backward, which was something the elders had never seen, submerging neighborhoods that had never seen any flood water since their creation a century ago. Some of the neighborhoods under water were the same ones that were destroyed by the fire. Some people lost their houses again, houses they'd just finished rebuilding, More than 13,000 people had to be evacuated and re-lodged wherever they could in town. Social distancing went down the river. Water turned brownish and we're under a boiling water advisory that won't be lifted until September 2020.  And most of the stores that were still open went under water.

Amid all this, my family is among the lucky ones. My home survived the fire and the flood, and my husband didn't lose his job. The ice jam broke yesterday and the water receded. Again we lost one person, one too many. Today the destruction will be assessed and the cleaning will start. As a community, we will survive, but it will be another big scar over the huge one that had just barely begun to heal.

It's scary how destructive nature can be, but it's also amazing how resilient people can be, and how such tragedies can bring out the best in all of us.

Stay safe. Many hugs!
JS

 

J. S. Marlo's Website

Upcoming Blog Tour by Eileen O'Finlan

Click here for purchase information

Click here to visit Eileen O'Finlan's website

I am super excited to embark on my first blog tour set to run from May 21 – May 30, 2020. The tour will include reviews, excerpts, spotlights, interviews, a guest post from me, and a couple of guest posts from characters in Kelegeen.

A second tour will be planned for Erin's Children when it is released in December of 2020.

My thanks to all the wonderful bloggers who have offered me a spot on their already bursting schedules and a special thanks to Lori of Great Escapes Virtual Book Tours for organizing this tour!

May 21 –My Devotional Thoughts– REVIEW
May 22 –Baroness’ Book Trove– SPOTLIGHT
May 23 –eBook Addicts– SPOTLIGHT
May 24 –Literary Gold– EXCERPT
May 25 –Celticlady’s Reviews– SPOTLIGHT
May 26 –Rosepoint Publishing– REVIEW
May 26 –Christy’s Cozy Corners–CHARACTER GUEST POST
May 27 –Jane Reads–GUEST POST
May 28 –Gimme The Scoop Reviews– EXCERPT
May 29 –Ruff Drafts– SPOTLIGHT
May 29 –Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book– AUTHOR INTERVIEW
May 30 –StoreyBook Reviews–CHARACTER GUEST POST
May 30 –fundinmental– SPOTLIGHT

To learn more about Rosemary please click on the cover above.

Gardens and Gardening

My interest in gardening and history extends to Garden History and the effect of changes in climate over the years.
I am reading A little History of British Gardening by Jenny Uglow.
It begins with a mention of the Iron Age in the first Chapter: 'Did the Romans Have Rakes" and is a mine of information. Ms Uglow describes gardens large and small, the plants and the gardeners. She writes: "I wish there were medieval monastic gardens for us to visit, to wander from the cloister to the orchard, the infirmary to the fishponds, the paradise where flowers were grown to the rows of kale and leeks. But even if we cannot visit them, we know that the monks and nuns enjoyed their gardens.
At Winchester the clerk of works had a private garden called 'La Joye'. And in 1108, on the day that he died, the ailing archbishop of York walked in his garden to breathe the air and the scent of flowers.'
Every time I go into my private, organic garden I appreciate the legacy of fresh air and the scent of flowers also enjoyed so long ago by the archbishop.
Self-isolated due to the corona virus, the pleasure growing my own herbs, soft fruit, stone fruit, vegetables and ornamental threes shrubs and flowers is more important than it has ever been.
Sitting outside on a pleasant day listening to birdsong, watching birds drinking from my tiny pond and seeing the cheeky squirrels fills me with peace and a sense of well-being.




Classic Historical Fiction by Rosemary Morris

Early 18th Century novels: Tangled Love, Far Beyond Rubies, The Captain and The Countess

Regency Novels False Pretences.

Heroines Born on Different Days of the Week Books One to Six, Sunday’s Child, Monday’s Child, Tuesday’s Child, Wednesday’s Child, Thursday’s Child and Friday’s Child.

(The novels in the series are not dependent on each other, although events in previous novels are referred to and characters reappear.)

Mediaeval Novel Yvonne Lady of Cassio. The Lovages of Cassio Book One

www.rosemarymorris.co.uk

http://bookswelove.net/authors/morris-rosemary

The Great London Fire by Katherine Pym

Buy Here

 ~*~*~*~

London Fire reached Ludgate, September 4, 1666

I understand this is a subject that may have been slightly overdone, especially since 2016 marked the 350 year anniversary of the vast destruction that occurred within a short 4 day timespan. To celebrate, London had a lovely old city effigy burned on a barge in the Thames. BBC had a television show on how it happened, where it started. It looks like Pudding Lane wasn’t quite where we thought it was all these years. The bakery was a block or so farther away. A marker that shows where it was is in a nice, clean street where cars now parallel park.

My current work in progress (WIP) takes place in London 1666. Since the fire was a big event in that year, I cannot not mention it, now can I? The reader would wonder why I’ve listed every other important moment but not that one, which to this day marks many souls as a living catastrophe.

In 1666, England was at war with the Dutch (fought entirely at sea). It was really a merchant’s war, caused by skirmishes over ports of call in the East and West Indies. The English felt the Dutch should share in the profits of spices, new fabrics (cotton), exotic fruits, differently manufactured furniture and fine pottery. After all, the Indies included vast areas of land and people. It wasn’t fair that one country take everything. 

 

Fighting fire with a 'squirt'. It held 4 pints of fluid, and took 2 men to operate.

Almost 18 months into the war, as the English fleet prepared to meet the enemy in a pitched battle, on September 1, 1666, a gale entered the Channel. A wind so strong, it felled the fleet. Sails ripped from masts. Bowsprits shattered. Ships collided and listed. Gun ports were closed to keep the seas from flowing onto the gun decks, swamping everything in its wake. The winds tore the fleet to shreds, then moved onto England. In the wee hours of Sunday morning, September 2, London winds whipped a spark and London began to burn.

The fire was so fierce, it created its own weather. Lightning slashed, thunder boomed. Warehouses along the Thames contained oils, pitch and tar, which burned fiercely.

People weren't this calm as they ran

Most homes were squeezed along narrow, dark lanes, cantilevered so that top stories were only inches apart. Made of half-timbers, wattle and daub, a material that if maintained did not burn easily, many houses were not maintained. Leased houses and shops were the responsibility of the renters. They had to fix anything that broke, burnt or toppled over. They were responsible for the walkway and road outside their doors. Not many followed these regulations. And with the winds so fierce, it was fodder for fire.

People took their goods to neighbors’, thinking the fire wouldn’t reach them. They took furniture and clothing to churches, thinking the walls were too thick for fire to burn them. As the fire moved west along the river and northwest through town, people removed what they had stored and moved them farther away, into a neighborhood they were sure would not burn.

Black smoke could be seen over 56 miles away. The city looked like daylight when it was nighttime. A contemporary wrote the firestorm sounded like “a thousand iron chariots beating on stones”. It was deafening. Stone facades exploded like bombs. Church steeples engulfed in flame toppled over onto streets and houses.

Booksellers lived in the vicinity of St. Paul’s Cathedral. They sold their wares in Paul’s Yard. Their parish church was St. Faith’s located under St. Paul’s church in the undercroft. They called it St. Faith’s under St. Paul’s. They took their presses, paper and books to St. Faith’s knowing with the massive pillars of Paul’s it would never burn. By the time the flames licked Paul’s outer walls, St. Faith’s was stuffed. St. Paul’s was filled with goods up to the choir loft.

St. Paul’s was in disrepair. Over time, the heavy, lead roof had spread its walls outward. Pillars were crumbling. Scaffolding supported some of the pillars and the outside of the church. Just a few days prior, a meeting had been held to discuss renovation of the building. 

The Burning of St. Paul's Cathedral

By 8 o’clock Tuesday evening (September 4), fiery debris had fallen on Paul’s roof. Shoddy repairs of timber caught and burned so hot, a gentleman who stood over a mile away saw the inferno.

“Large parts of the roof, both stone and burning timber fell in, and the Cathedral became a roaring cauldron of fire…”

“Molten lead dripped in silvery beads from the roof, raining down upon the broken stones and tombs that strewed the Cathedral floor, and there collecting, ran out into the streets in a stream.”

Paul’s choir and lower floor crashed into St. Faith’s. When St. Paul’s collapsed, the whole building exploded with an earsplitting roar. Burning papers and books sailed in the air, some of the pages landing miles away in the English countryside.

St. Paul’s was a mass of smoking ruins within an hour.

London after the fire. It poured beyond the old Roman walls into west London.

 

~*~*~*~

Many thanks to Wikicommons, public domain,

By Permission of Heaven, the True Story of the Great Fire of London, by Adrian Tinniswood, Riverhead Books, NY 2004

The Story of London’s Great Fire by Walter G. Bell, Butler & Tanner, Ltd., Frome and London, 1923

Writing and reading in times of... Whatever this is. by Diane Bator

Writing and reading in times of... Whatever this is....

By Diane Bator

There have been hundreds if not hundreds of thousands of blogs and articles written already about how readers and writers are coping with the Covid crisis. Lately, I've found myself on several virtual lectures and meetings discussing what our world looks like as authors.

Do we have the same struggles with concentrating while our world is in a constant state of change?

Are any of us immune to what happens outside our front doors on a daily basis?

Are we staying sane or losing our marbles in solitude?

Our local library had to cancel our Open Mic night featuring local authors. Instead, we each recorded ourselves doing short readings for library staff to air that night. As well, the continued their Storytellers Series in the same way. Each month an author or local celebrity is doing a 20 minute chat for library patrons. I'm looking forward to trying my hand at doing my first video this week.

Toronto Sisters in Crime held their first ever Zoom meeting last month, which was a blast! I was grateful for the opportunity to be a part of this because physically joining in the meetings is difficult. What a great time we had talking about what we are or are not currently writing. We commiserated about the struggle with inspiration now that we have all the time we need. Like all meetings lately, the mood was heavy until then talk turned to what we're watching on Netflix. It was helpful to hear of mystery series I've never read or seen. I left that meeting feeling much lighter and not so worried about creating when I didn't have the energy for it. Darned if right after I got off the meeting, one of the shows we talked about was on television. Vera. I'm a fan!

Another great discussion I got to listen to was put on by the Writers' Trust of Canada   https://www.facebook.com/writerstrust/  Five great Canadian authors gave some great advice to writers of all levels. On this call was Tanya Talaga (the moderator), Eden Robinson, Heather O'Neill, Michael Crummey, and Miriam Toews. The chat was filled with comments about Eden's amazing laugh but my best takeaway from the whole thing was the sense that they are all dealing with the same day-to-day struggles we all are. And they're keeping a sense of humor about it all!

As authors, they are used to solitude and working alone, but the loneliness is a whole other thing. All of them are fortunate to be self-isolated with family members and have lots of human interaction via digital means. Where Michael and Heather are working as normal, keeping their routine as usual. For the rest, there are family members and things they have to work around.

One very funny moment was when Eden admitted her biggest challenge was eating her own cooking. Since she's traveled so much before this all hit, she was used to eating out all the time. The general consensus was that cooking takes up an awful lot of writing time!

Heather pointed out that stories written BC (Before Covid) would not reflect the changes in society we currently see, but she feels there will be a demand for literature and the voices we all have in order for things to feel normal again. As for writers who want to know how to become published, there are as many different routes to becoming a published writer as there are writers.

The best advice they all had for fellow writers the reminder that we all need to sit for long periods of time "doing nothing." It's been said that 95% of writing is staring out the window. Of course, that nothing time gives us space to create before we put our thoughts on paper. The second best was simply:  Stay Optimistic and Keep Writing!

Diane Bator
Author of Wild Blue Mysteries, Gilda Wright Mysteries, Glitter Bay Mysteries
and the NEW upcoming Sugarwood Mysteries!

Hard to Believe

That we're still sheltering at home.  I pray this ends soon. Not to mention the weather hasn't been all that great. Sure would like some warm weather. I swear it was nicer in March. And the rain doesn't help. I know, I know, April showers bring May flowers.
The only bright spot is the beautiful daffodils. Bright yellow sure helps brighten the yard even through the clouds and rain. And they seem to be lasting a longer time than usual. I love the clusters along the fence. There's also some white/cream colored ones in the back corner of the yard. Looks like a big bouquet.
I think I've mentioned before we had a lake in the back yard. Okay, not an official lake, not even a pond although the width and length of it could qualify for a pond but the depth would disqualify it.  Of course the ducks liked it.
So my younger son suggested I order some dirt. Not terribly expensive, he said, and free delivery. So I went online and sure enough it wasn't terribly expensive but it wasn't showing free delivery. So I called them.  The lady said free delivery was only with a whole truck load. I was ordering 7 yards. I asked what was a truck load. She said 8 yards. Well heck I knew the yard could handle it. Truth be told I could probably use another truck load.
So I asked my son when I should order it since he and my other sons were going to haul it from the drive to the back yard. No way my husband and I could do it. Especially not my husband, who suffers from COPD.
At any rate, son said whenever you want. Any Saturday.  So I called and lo and behold, they could deliver it that Saturday (last week). I text messaged my son and told him to line up his brothers.
It was a chilly day, which was probably good because no one worked up a sweat.  Dirt got hauled spread. Like I said I could probably get another truck load. Not sure the boys would be too anxious to spend another day hauling dirt. Oh, and my daughter in law helped also, God bless her.
So there's some puddling and it probably drowned the grass seed in that area. I'm either going to have to order more dirt, or buy bags of dirt. But at least I don't have a swamp out there now and it looks a hundred percent better.
Next week we have to pick up 3 flats of flowers we ordered through the high school. 32 plants to a flat. Going to be busy planting them and I have some seed to put in also. Problem is, I have to weed first and it's been so wet, I hate the thought of doing it. I will have to get out there soon.
The plants probably can't go in right away as there's still a danger of frost. All those plants are going to take a while to plant, not to mention figuring out where to put them all and which ones where. I'm looking forward to it, though. It's going to mean warm weather and since we still have to shelter at home, warm weather will be much appreciated.

Excerpt from Elusive Mission  For this and a list of my other books go to:
  Books We Love

Vanessa’s stomach tensed. She had to get out of here. Needed some air, needed to escape.

She got in her car and started driving, to where was anyone’s guess. The quaintness of Strongsville, Ohio, especially the town square with the gazebo and all the Christmas decorations, brought tears to her eyes. Vanessa wiped them away and parked the car. Shoppers and carolers filled the sidewalks. Ignoring them, Vanessa hurried past decorated shops until she came to a small church. St. Matthew’s Lutheran Church, the sign out front said. Two huge wreaths hung on the heavy oak doors. The small white building beckoned to her.

Vanessa opened the door, walked up the steps and stood at the entrance. The quiet of the empty church filled her soul. It had been too long since she had attended services. Charles wasn’t particularly religious, but at least he had allowed her to have Alyssa baptized. She should have gone to church more often by herself, but after spending Saturday evening at the club, it was all too easy to sleep in on Sunday morning.

Light showed through the stained glass windows, illuminating the red carpet-covered aisle way. A nativity scene at the front captured her attention and drew her forward. Memories from her childhood flashed through her mind.

Her father always helped set up the nativity at church when she was a little girl, and they let her put Baby Jesus in the crèche. A noise from the side aisle interrupted her thoughts. Vanessa stopped, saw a flash of red and the side door slammed. Funny, she hadn’t noticed anyone else when she came in.

Oh, well, Vanessa shrugged and continued to the front and knelt down. What in the world? Next to the nativity scene sat a car seat. An infant, three, maybe four months old with dark curly hair, opened its almond shaped dark eyes and reached its chubby arms out to her.

“What have we here?” Vanessa unbuckled the seat belt. “Hello, precious.” She picked up the baby and a note fell on the diaper bag next to the car seat. Vanessa picked up the paper and read the scribbled words.

Please take care of my baby. Her name is Grace. Mary.

“Who could leave someone as precious as you?” Vanessa looked around. No one lurked in the shadows. Who left the baby? How long had she been here? God, what should she do? The baby cuddled against her. Vanessa inhaled the sweet smell of baby lotion, bringing back memory of Alyssa. Tears filled her eyes. For a minute, she was tempted to take the baby and leave, but she couldn’t do it.

Startled, when the door at the back of the church slammed, Vanessa turned toward the sound. A shadow loomed at the entrance and moved toward her. A tall figure walked down the aisle, checking the pews along the way. Vanessa hugged the baby against her, held her breath, and let it out when she saw who it was.

“Father, I’m glad you’re here. I came in here and found this baby. I was just about to call the police.”

“I’m a minister, not a priest. Pastor Dan Jacobson, Pastor Dan will do,” he said. “You found a baby?” His brown eyes sparkled with a glint of gold below raised eyebrows. “Who do you suppose it belongs to?”

“Yes, I ... uh.” The look on his face told her he didn’t believe her. Heck, she could have pretended Grace was hers. He wouldn’t have known. “When I came in someone ran out through that side door. I came up here to see the nativity scene and….” Vanessa walked away and sat in a pew, cradling the baby against her chest. What was the use, he didn’t believe her. She didn’t need this. Not now. She had enough problems of her own.

“I see, pretty little thing, boy or girl?” Vanessa stood and took a step closer to him. “Girl.” She stopped next to him. “You aren’t suggesting this child is mine, are you?” Vanessa looked him straight in the eyes. How dare he? Minister or not, what gave him the right? “Look, I came in here and found the baby. I told you someone ran out that door.” Vanessa took a deep breath, let out an angry sigh. “Here.” She pushed the note toward him. “This was lying on the diaper bag. I didn’t touch anything else.”

Pastor Dan stared at her, like he was studying her.

Vanessa stared back at him. Disbelief showed in his face. Like she’d try to pull off such a stunt? Imagine her abandoning a baby like this. The memory of Alyssa, clinging to her when Charles tore her away, flashed in her mind. Even now, Alyssa’s cries when Charles slammed the door ripped her apart.

Pastor Dan brought her back to awareness. “I see. Well, I guess we’ll have to call Social Services.” He read the note, then picked up the diaper bag and looked through it.

Grace squirmed in Vanessa’s arms and began to cry.

“Probably hungry.” Vanessa hummed and cuddled the baby and rocked her.

Pastor Dan pulled out a bottle of formula.

The warmth of the baby against her chest opened a hole in her heart, missing Alyssa even more. Her insides trembled, tears burned her eyes, threatened to fall.

“You have children?” Pastor Dan’s tone softened.

A tear escaped, fell on her cheek. She nodded, a lump caught in her throat.

“How many?”

“One.” Vanessa choked out the word.

How old?”

“Two.” The tears burst forth as if a damn had been unleashed. “I’m....” Vanessa couldn’t speak. She turned away, held back the tears, and paced across the front to the nativity scene, leaving him standing there.

***