A Writing Place of My Own

     Before Covid-19 hit, one of my favourite writing spots was the local café. I loved seeing friends and neighbours, watching people chat and order their coffee, while I wrote. I have this unique skill, this ability to ignore everything around me and get fully engrossed in my own made up world. I took pride that some of my scenes were so engaging, I could disregard the rest of the world and fully immerse myself. I remember these times fondly.

Since March, with the cafés closed and my writing space stolen, I’ve been displaced. I’m nothing if not persistent and so I took to writing at home. The best time was early in the morning, before my family arose. I would claim the couch in the living room, coffee in hand, doing my best to shoo away the cats and dogs vying for my attention. This was heavenly, until my teenage children woke. Then they invaded, turning on the television, complaining about missing laundry and overall… just being their noisy selves, so I would stop writing.

This summer, my teenage son decided to move downstairs, leaving his bedroom upstairs empty. So… I’ve begun to dream of a writing space. Read more

Winter is Coming – Hurrah!

Don’t get me wrong. I love summer time. Strangely enough, I especially enjoyed it this year. It became a time to reconnect with friends in outside spaces, to play charades on the driveway under the stars, find new kayak paddles in crystal blue-green water and to weed my flourishing Covid-19 garden.  

But I’m kind of exhausted by summer. Like an excellent party – it’s great fun while it lasts but the clean up the next day is daunting. I’m canning my garden bounty (turns out that 40 tomatoes plants are too many), experimenting with a dozen ways to eat zucchini and discovering that not everyone loves cucumbers. Sadly, my writing got shelved during this time of outside merriment.  

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Polaroids With Words

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Dear Reader,

If you’ve been perusing these blogs over the years, you have pretty much figured out that we Ascribe writers are always keen to flex our writing muscles. That there are all sorts of opportunities for writing exercises – if you keep your eyes and mind open.


The opportunities I’ve had for practicing what I call guerilla writing forays have come from the most mundane moments: riding the bus to work; crossing a street in an unfamiliar city; hearing an exchange while standing in line in the bank; walking up rickety steep stairs in an old lighthouse. I’m sure you have had similar “aha!” moments where you think, ‘ I want to describe this experience, or that little scene would add to a story….’

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Words to Whiskey

To write is a craft.

Like any craft, there is a process or sequence of steps to create a consistently identifiable, bold and long lasting product.

The craft of making whiskey hasn’t changed much over hundreds of years and writing is the same.

To make whiskey, you need only three simple ingredients; water, barley and yeast. Yet, with so few components, there are thousands upon thousands of flavours, and just as many Coopers (those who make whiskey). Although all stories share in the same basic premise–having scenery, characters and a problem, there are innumerable genres, styles and adaptations of old story lines.

As a story writer, there are things we can learn from the process of making whiskey.

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Surprise!  How to write a plot twister (and I’m not talking about the weather)

I like a good surprised twist in a book. I love it when a book puts in a major twist that is both believable but that I did not see coming. It’s a tricky balance to manage well. Usually I can spot a plot twister before the wind even gets brisk; mostly because they are set out as if they are slowly spewing volcano.

The smoke is obvious, the billowing soot a give way, so I am not surprised when the volcano “suddenly” spits out the “surprise”.

I am looking for the kind of twist that makes a reader exclaim out loud while reading.  A moment that compels a reader to tell the stranger sitting next to them, “do you know what just happened!”  It’s the whoa – everyone is a ghost – kind of surprise.

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Now Is The Winter of Our Discontent…or is it?

Winter is not my favourite season… and it’s not because of the outrageous heating bills, the terror of driving in whiteouts, the dodging black ice in the grocery store parking lot,  the shortened hours of daylight, the cancelled music concerts,  or the wind that blew most of the songbirds south.

It’s because I need colour.

I am a devout gardener; my front and back yards are riots of colours for three seasons. Spring and summer and fall each have their own colour-filled delights and they never last long enough. And I’m a visual artist. I sell paintings filled with a range of  colours that convey every mood and emotion you can put on canvas. Every room in my house is painted a different colour.

And yet where do I live? In a Snow Belt.  Read more

The Long Journey Home

It’s the journey, not the destination—I keep reminding myself. And it’s a long journey, or at least I’m making it one. It was about a year ago that I decided to re-write the novel that I’d already written seven times. I was going back to scratch. I’d hoped it would take me three months, but now I’m hoping I’ll be done before the end of this year.

In that year, I got wrapped up in a bit too much volunteer work, over-extending myself. Of course, the writing got squeezed, but I still wrote something almost every day, just not always my novel. That’s been sporadic, at best. (I’ve been using Pacemaker so I now have a visual graph of my bad writing habits.) Read more

Writing in Quill

This spring I bought a trailer.  It’s a small, 11 foot, teardrop TAB trailer that my car can tow. I love tent camping in the wilderness.  Lately though I have been camping in parking lots and fields and decided to upgrade to a trailer. I named my new acquisition, Quill, as she has a porcupine shape to her.  And I hope she will be a productive writing partner.

I have a romantic vision of roaming the countryside with Quill, camping by lakesides and writing while the sun emerges from the horizon. Read more