Just a quick note tonight, friends, to let you know I will be away for two weeks starting this weekend.
I’m not sure if I’ll have the time to blog before I come home again, but I do know I will enjoy this break to renew and refresh, soak up some summer fun around the province, and look for new inspiration.
I finally received my editor’s developmental review of my manuscript this past week, and am pleased to say most of the changes are not actual changes, but additions to what I have, so my laptop will go with me.
But you know what? That isn’t work because, to me, it is a labour of love.
I can hardly believe it. It’s been nearly five years since my husband and I went through with our plan to trade in our old lives and move out of the city.
In August of 2010, we threw caution to the wind and put our home of ten years on the market. Paul kissed me goodbye, drove to his hometown, and began overseeing the gargantuan job of renovating his grandfather’s old two-storey in Bonavista North. When the sale of our house closed near the end of September, Maisie, Vivian and I joined him. We stayed nearby in a friend’s vacant summer home until the bulk of the work was completed.
During the first week of December that year, we finally had enough upgrades done to buy our new appliances, unpack the boxes, and begin to set up house.
Do I have any regrets? Not many. That first winter, I missed living close to my family, and I still wish I could see my children and grandchildren more often than I do. But other than that, I am happy to have relocated here to our home by the sea. Somehow, I don’t think I would have taken up writing the way I have if I’d stayed in the city, so taking this journey to fulfill my lifelong dream has certainly made it all worthwhile.
Besides that, Paul’s dream to return to his boyhood home has come true too. ❤
Looking back now, I think we can both vouch for the old saying: the best journey is the one that takes you home.
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Have you lived to see a dream come to fruition? Or are you working on one for the future?
I used to think I was a bit of a dork for liking Young Adult literature, even though my years as a young adult are long gone.
Not so anymore. Although some may be too shy to admit to it or call it a guilty pleasure, YA fiction has a huge fan base among grownups; in fact, a recent study states that 55% of its readers are actually adults. And while I also choose from a variety of other genres and often crave the more literary and classic offerings as well, I particularly enjoy writing Young Adult fiction, as two of my upcoming novels will attest.
Why do I and so many others love reading YA novels? I don’t believe it implies immaturity, but rather suggests a more “young at heart” sensibility of the reader. And I am careful about not lumping all of them together; as in every genre there is great writing and not-so-great writing. With that in mind, here is what I find appealing about most of the YA and coming-of-age literature I have read:
It draws you in and hooks you on the first page.
It is usually light on the exposition and heavy on the action and dialogue.
The drama isn’t contrived. The teenage years, with all of its growing pains, can be filled with turmoil. Ordinary situations often feel emotional, and even catastrophic.
Teens are well-known to be impetuous and curious, therefore their actions are often unexpected. This opens up all sorts of drama which may include acting on violence, sexuality, and other previously uncharacteristic behaviours.
We’ve all been there, so we can identify with many of the common conflicts that arise. Other times, we might enjoy reading YA as an escape into wish-fulfillment: a way of righting the wrongs in our own experience.
Still not convinced to give Young Adult a try? Peruse these quotes taken from bestselling YA fiction:
What do you think of the Young Adult genre?
Do you have any favourite YA quotes to share?
When most adults spend quality time with youngsters, they usually think of what they can share with them and teach them about life and the world around them.
While I spent a sizable chunk of April taking care of my two grandchildren, I did plenty of that, but – surprise, surprise – I also learned a few things about myself.
1. My addiction to jigsaw puzzles is alive and well. I had thought my love for putting them together (and the harder the better) had faded over the years, but helping and then pretty much taking over our grandson’s Skylander collection of puzzles turned out to be fun and surprisingly absorbing.
google.ca
2. It is actually possible for me to like a Justin Bieber song without being fond of the Biebs himself. My granddaughter feels the same way, so I know it’s entirely acceptable.
3. I’ve taken a shine to the Wii Just Dance video games. Great uptempo music, effective aerobic exercise, having fun like a kid with the kids – what’s not to love? And who cares what I look like bopping around with them?
4. I always thought I didn’t like Brussels sprouts, but turns out I do! They can be delicious when you don’t boil the sh*t out of them (sorry, Mom). Five to ten minutes with a dash of salt: perfection. Thanks for the tip, granddaughter! Would you believe she was the one who wanted me to buy them?
5. Apparently and according to my granddaughter, I smile whenever I check my appearance in the mirror. I had no idea, and she finds it “creepy”.
6. I believe five bucks is too generous a gift from the tooth fairy. I don’t care if she is an Immortal Guardian.
7. I no longer think there is anything wrong with wearing your pyjamas around the house all day – my grandson totally encourages it. I still draw the line at wearing them out in public. That’s a trend I will never embrace.
8. According to this little fellow, the skin on my neck is very soft and “crinkly”, and he won’t let me forget it…well, I am his grandma, after all.
9. I adore having the opportunity to indulge them. And such fun to live in the moment with them! 10. I am profoundly grateful for having these little people in my life to love.
During a conversation with my husband last week, he said, “You sounded just like your mom, the way you said that.”
This wasn’t the first time he made the observation. Along with the unmistakable signs that I have become “a woman of a certain age” (ack!), sounding like my mother seems to have become yet another aspect of my getting older.
“Hmm,” I replied. “I was always told I was like Dad and his side of the family.”
“You may look like your dad, but you have more of Carrie’s mannerisms lately,” he told me.
So, yes. I grudgingly have to admit that sometimes, when the words fly out of my mouth, or if I behave in a certain way, it makes me think I may be morphing into the woman who raised me. For example, if I defend myself when teased, it’s as if I am channeling Mom. “You proper fun-makers!” Or if I refuse to give in to someone else’s demands, the comeback that comes to my mind is “And I won’t dance to your pipes!” These are just a couple of the dear old “Mom-isms” from yesteryear.
And there’s so much more. I’ve adopted her quick laugh, as well as her sardonic humour and her no-nonsense way of handling whatever life brings. All showing up in my actions, the older I get.
There was a time, when I was much younger, that I would have taken issue and disagreed with such a comparison. The truth is, I have always thought while growing up that I turned after my father. Dad had always been my hero of sorts, and he was the parent I had always identified with and wished to emulate.
But now, I see that bearing a resemblance to my mother is a badge of honour and a cherished rite of passage. In fact, I’m realizing if I could only be half the woman she was, with her intelligent observations and her kind, fun-loving nature, I would be more than proud.
In a couple of weeks when Mother’s Day rolls around, I will be remembering my mother again for the lovely yet strong person she was, for the way she lived her life, and for each and every valuable lesson she taught me. And even though I continue to miss her every single day that goes by, I will give thanks that she is still showing up in my life in other, more subtle ways. And I will give a special thank you to the universe for giving me the dearest woman anyone ever called Mom.
When my husband Paul was six years old, he and his family moved from Newtown – the little community in which we live now – to live in the capital city of St. John’s. Their parents relocated so that Paul’s oldest sibling David could attend the Vera Perlin school for his special needs.
On the day of the big move, Paul crawled up under the house – the actual house we live in now – in a show of protest. “Everyone should be able to live where they were born,” he argued through tears, but the die had been cast. He was pulled out and packed into the car with everyone else.
On the very first day at their new school, Paul and his other brother Kevin, who is one year older, decided to walk home from school for lunch, despite being told to stay there and eat the lunch they’d brought. But when they saw other children going home, they wanted to go as well. Unfamiliar with their new neighbourhood, the two boys got lost, and Kevin started to cry.
Brave little Paul tried his best to console his big brother by distracting him. “Don’t cry, Kev. Look at the pigeons,” he said, pointing at a bunch of them as they waddled across the sidewalk, hoping the strange, tame city birds might cheer him up. It worked, and they ended up following a classmate to his house. Between the jigs and the reels, their dad had to leave work and go pick them up.
Let’s go back a couple of years when Paul was four and Kevin was five, to another time the younger boy displayed his wisdom. A new addition to the family of three boys had arrived, and this time, it was a girl! When their mom brought baby Julie Ann home, the boys crowded around to get a look at their new sister. Kevin’s eyes opened wide when her diaper came off to be changed. “Look, Paul,” he said, incredulous. “She ain’t got nar topper!” (penis)
“No, ya foolish,” Paul said, enlightened beyond his years. “She got whatever Mom got.”
Now before you think I’m beating up on my brother-in-law, I’d like to share one more tale. Okay, two. When Paul was about nine and enjoying his summer vacation in Newtown, Kevin saved him from drowning. Paul was diving with some other boys off of Burnt Island, but he tired in the deep water and panicked. Kevin grabbed him by the hair on top of his head and pulled him to safety.
Years later, when Kevin was just beginning his teaching career, he and Paul were driving along in St. John’s one evening. Without warning, Kevin pulled over, stopped the car, and jumped out. He’d spied two teenage boys in a fist fight near the local hockey rink, and he wanted to stop them. Paul watched as he parted the boys, reasoned with them, and ended the scuffle.
It was a day he never forgot. Where most people would just keep going and not get involved, Kevin stepped in and tried to solve the problem. It made Paul really proud of his brother.
Paul confessed there were other boyhood fights where Kev stepped in and rescued Paul himself, fights my husband started and couldn’t finish. I would say he’s grateful for those too. And so am I. 🙂
L to R: David, Paul, Julie, and KevinThirteen-year-old Paul
These days, few of us experience the old-fashioned pleasure of receiving a letter by standard mail. So imagine my joy to find, tucked inside a Christmas card from my aunt in the U.S., a handwritten note, along with a handful of photos sent to her from my father.
She writes:
“Dear Jennifer – A note to enclose with these snapshots sent to me many years ago. They are precious to me, but belong in your heart and your home. It was a great adventure that Ralph shared with me over the phone lines. – Lovingly, Irene.”
Discussing this with my aunt recently, she was unable to nail down the year they were taken, but she believes Dad made the trip to Labrador in the mid to late fifties. That would make him, at the youngest, twenty-one, and still single.
An added bonus: his familiar handwriting scrawled on the back of each snapshot. ♥
I have captioned each one with his words.
On Gander Runway
A closer look:
I love his outfit. Lots of layers, warm boots, yet he is wearing a jacket, shirt and tie, and his hair is perfect.
Our plane at Gander before takeoff 4:30 pm
This begs more questions: why did he fly out of Gander and not St. John’s? Who was he with and who took the pictures? Why did he make this trip to Labrador? Unfortunately, we are fuzzy on all the details.
Crossing the bays to HopedaleDeserted shack and our dog-sled at Big Bay between Hopedale and Davis Inlet.At Makkovik with “husky” pups.
No surprise to me at all that Dad would love the little animals!
If only he and I could sit down and have a chat together about his adventure in “The Big Land.” In any case, I cannot put into words how good it feels to see my father’s young face again. ♥
Have you ever gotten mail that made your day?
Is there someone you love and miss with all your heart?
For several reasons, 2014 was a happy and productive year for yours truly, and probably the most pleasant since we moved to Bonavista Bay North four years ago.
Fittingly, the most popular song of 2014 turned out to be “Happy” by Pharrell Williams. With its simple, exuberant message and its cheerful beat, perhaps I’m not totally surprised it has become one of the bestselling singles of all time (Personally, I liked his hit “Get Lucky” a little bit more).
However, I find myself partial to the version below by Walk Off The Earth, a band from Burlington, Ontario. They are accompanied in this video by the American pop rock band, Parachute. Have a listen, and tell me what you think!
Thanks to Denise and Dave for introducing them to us a couple of years ago, and kudos to Paul for “feeling the endorphins release”. 😉
What was your favourite happy song of 2014?
Was it a good year for you, or one you are glad to put behind you?
With a new school year beginning this week, I urge those of you who are parents of young students to broach the topic of anti-bullying.
Perhaps you have had the talk before, but it bears repeating and reinforcing. Start a dialogue on all aspects of bullying, including cyber-bullying. A child’s future well-being may be at stake.
Consider having your child take the following pledge:
educationworld.com
As the pledge states, it is also important not to turn a blind eye when you witness bullying. Yes, it takes courage to speak up, but as parents and teachers, we have to teach our kids to be compassionate.
Bullying is deliberately hurting another person with your words or actions. Would you want someone to treat you that way?
Jennifer's Journal 