The Outing

Alison Hall Leave a comment

I’m sitting in the parking lot at the grocery store watching a senior couple load their purchases into their antique car. A refurbished red dodge convertible.

1970-dodge-challenger-convt-azclassics-350

Something makes me relax and decide to watch them. I’m sucked into the scene when I notice that this couple is different than the usual parking lot shoppers, the ones who have just gone in for a few things and have a bag or two to throw in the front seat, or the ones in high gear trying to get the shopping task done as fast as they can.

It has taken them ages to organize the mechanics of this task, he’s opened the trunk, and packing it properly is obviously important – like they’re going on a long trip -a combination of bags and a case of G2, his wife is waiting, gazing at the sky with a smile on her face, holding loose bags of munchies to pass to him when he’s ready. He packs those and she takes trays of baking from the cart and stands there waiting again.

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First Million Words

Bernice Connell Leave a comment

‘The first million words are never very good.’ says Brian Henry, editor and creative writing instructor who also publishes Quick Brown Fox, the hugely popular Canadian blog for writers.

Without doing the math, I imagine a million words would be equivalent to at least ten novels or a legion of short stories. Couldn’t hazard a guess where I might be on the continuum but the target is a long way off. Read more

A Sense of Place

Diane Ferguson Leave a comment

 

20160528_083639The world is a sensual place and our job as writers is to grab those senses and give our readers enough of a taste to spark their own imaginations. How do we do that? First, by being good observers. All artists must observe the world around them in order to translate it into their art. But there is also a deep inner world, a resource full of memories, not to mention the internet; to help us imagine our world without leaving the house.

There’s also the place you write in. And here on this fine May day, there’s no better place for me then on my screened-in porch, or on the attached deck. The breeze is blowing through carrying the perfume of the lilacs at the base of the step. I can see their purple blossoms bobbing in the breeze against a backdrop of multi-shades of green. May is our reward for suffering through the pains of winter: the silence of white, the quiet absence of life now broken by this overabundance, this bursting forth. The crows are cawing, the sweet tweet of the chicadees, the incessant questioning of the mourning doves: whoo, whoo, whoo; and the twittery chatter of the rest of the bunch. When the Grosbeak shows up, then we’ll really have song! The hummingbird hovers by my window wondering when the feeders are coming. Read more

Getting Past Your Own Preconceptions

Andrée Levie-Warrilow 2 Comments
Two Roads
Divergent Creativity

So I’m working with some of my writing colleagues on an anthology of short stories.

We agreed on a common theme to give the stories context and cohesion, and the ideas were brilliant and coming fast and furious. As anyone who belongs to one knows, the best thing about being in a writers’ group is it inspires you to hunker down to your own work. As soon as they come up with ideas out loud, you find yourself spurred to create and contribute your own. So many ideas – it whets the appetite of the imagination.

I made an outline; I made notes. Copious notes. Dialogues. I could see the characters in my head, I could imagine where they lived, the routes they moved along on. The words came, the pages filled up. Read more

Behind the Thoughts of a Contest Judge

Lori Twining Leave a comment
Judge's Contest Sheets
Judge’s Contest Sheets

 

Truthfully, I’m a writer most of the time, sometimes I’m an editor and occasionally I judge writing contests.

I’ve judged numerous contests, but during the past few weeks of May, I’ve had the honour of helping judge both, a short story contest and a novel contest. I’ve discovered some important things that make a winning submission and also a few things that turn judges off immediately.

Here are a few things judges check for when judging a writing contest: Read more

Home sweet home

Logan Pellerin Leave a comment

home

The Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary defines home as “one’s place of residence” but also as “a place of origin”, which are often two very different places.  If this is the case, where truly is home? The concept of home is a familiar theme in many stories.  Characters often need to return home for one reason or another.  Perhaps to take care of a loved one, or because of a death.  Sometimes it is to find their way home during a long adventure, or even to fight an evil murderous clown.  Over the years I have left and returned to the Owen Sound area for various reasons, though thankfully none of them was ever an evil clown.

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A Writer’s Dream

Seana Moorhead 1 Comment

And What Happens When You Find Yourself Without Time to Write.

               Beware! Your Dream Self may have Plans of Her Own.

                               This is based on a true story (more or less). 

                                             While sleeping Friday night…  

I’m enjoying a fantastic ride along a vivid dreamscape. My dream self, with my dream sisters, impulsively decide to charter an enormous cargo boat to cross the Atlantic Ocean to Europe. Excitement runs high and they dance along the decks, giggling and high fiving each other as the boat cruises through the water.

The Captain, a wire thin man with a hunched shoulder, occasionally removes his eyeball to nibble on the backside, like a nervous habit whenever he’s stressed. After, he slips eyeball back into the socket with a sucking sound, chewed end towards his skull so no one can notice. There’s a First Mate, but he’s sly and mute fellow, never quite seen clearly, like a shadow. The only other person on board is The Engineer, who drives the boat like he’s drunk, often getting it stuck in shallows and taking the curves at high speed so he could bank the boat on its keel (I know, we’re technically in the ocean, but dreams tend bend reality). With all the twists and turns, he ends up getting them lost.

They come upon an unknown land. On the cliff banks, there’s a semi-deserted town, half in ruins. Children hide in doorways and cats lick their paws on cinderblocks. They discover a back laneway leading to two-story building that sells scraps of junk.   The owner has a short beard, a kind voice and invites them to wander through his yard of wonders. As they trudge deeper into fray, it extends on and on like an unwinding skein of yarn.

This is when my dream self slips away from the others, on the excuse of looking for a bathroom. She enters a steel constructed building and in its depth, she discovers a windowless room. Inside, there’s a tub holding a sleeping baby. Like in the historical pictures of Inuit children, the child is bundled in layers of fur and circle the face giving the baby an owl like appearance. There’s a tiny toilet – which my dream self uses – slightly disturbing to me, but no, I didn’t pee in the bed. And where a counter and sink might be, instead is a desk with a flat screen computer.

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