tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61987754156105333092024-02-19T10:28:31.152-05:00Phyllis L HumbyMusings of a WriterPhyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.comBlogger175125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-83472177404513894452024-02-18T14:32:00.003-05:002024-02-19T10:27:29.192-05:00A Valentine Gift of Memories<p> It was
February 14<sup>th,</sup> and I was waking up in Niagara Falls. Not that I was
surprised, it’s where I fell asleep. Just saying. Hubby and I went away for a
change of scene, but mostly to re-connect with friends we don’t see nearly
often enough. We had a good first evening of food, libation, and catchup
conversation. Yes, getaways with long-time friends are always heartwarming.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There’s
something else I look forward to on these retreats. And I can’t remember a time
when I didn’t feel this way. It sounds odd because most people don’t sleep well
when they’re away, but I LOVE sleeping in a hotel. I always get a great night’s
sleep. I know, right? But that’s the way it is with me. I’ve never truly
duplicated the experience at home. No matter how high the thread count is, or the
number of pillows on the bed, or the quality of the mattress, it doesn’t feel
the same. Maybe it’s the duvet. I’ve had comforters, bedspreads – I love
chenille – but I wonder if I should …. Never mind, I digress, as usual. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So, I woke
up feeling good (naturally) and after stretching, squirming, and positioning my
three pillows, I reached for my iPad. What’s new, I wondered. Just then an
email came through. I frowned when I saw it was from my son. Strange for him to
email me. This can’t be good, I thought. But I was very wrong because when I
realized what it was, it made my entire day. That’s pretty great considering it
wasn’t even 8:30 AM yet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGjhKnryNEEv1wbBzbSN2owfwSYLWO6NFAHVkQkerpucFt56OcQNnKKKBhr7jHo3HspJFzGZ4-VIVvMhEiIWIWpedW0CuWmKatW0yz7xNM-MtQASP6xm0rC_WPYn2HPDT9HXz6uo7jKuCp6JqQpFn89hr2QwZHbionq-4rdkZsiL0zpjXe6X70wJBa8KFb/s640/cassette-4103530_640.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGjhKnryNEEv1wbBzbSN2owfwSYLWO6NFAHVkQkerpucFt56OcQNnKKKBhr7jHo3HspJFzGZ4-VIVvMhEiIWIWpedW0CuWmKatW0yz7xNM-MtQASP6xm0rC_WPYn2HPDT9HXz6uo7jKuCp6JqQpFn89hr2QwZHbionq-4rdkZsiL0zpjXe6X70wJBa8KFb/s320/cassette-4103530_640.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />A few
months back he’d mentioned an old cassette tape he’d come across. Had he
found it in his childhood memory box? Most likely he rescued it from a junk
box filled with once-favoured collectibles. I’m not sure. Anyway, I did recall
making tape recordings with him when he was a toddler. The first one we made
together was when he was two years old and a little chatter box. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The email
he sent to me on Valentine’s Day was an audio file of one such recording. Now,
every parent out there can imagine how precious it is to hear a recording of your
child from over forty years ago. I mean, time just stops.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I texted
him immediately. I’m not crying, you’re crying, I joked. I won’t deny how
emotional I felt listening to it. Memory overload. I’m sure he felt the same
way. Part of the recording was a conversation – as only a saucy four-year-old
can converse – with his dad (now deceased). When he told his dad we’d gone roller
skating that day, I cracked up laughing. Oh, I remember that day. A day I hadn’t
thought of in…well, forever. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I loved listening
to our duet of a song I’d made up for him when he was a couple of years old. We
sang that song umpteen times on the drive home from his daycare centre. It eventually
disappeared from my repertoire only to leap back to life when my granddaughters
were toddlers, and I shared the song about their daddy with them.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6H_28lskBNIVYfr70faCyUECtcE2f7pbaOzfysTzsNbN2Fy2W_QkX9bn_XEe6WQ3FJn84prYhJGuM2JCxT_vrwVSVjVcuUqwF9p5hyHFupBvwSmO2l0uVhCrSonKEztBJ4jiov7NFA0ThwxPpASkHMBGu_a7VR9bwx9IjceN1Ch5KredVhB7XHShBhl2o/s430/gpo-162b-portable-cassette-recorder-tbh.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="430" data-original-width="430" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6H_28lskBNIVYfr70faCyUECtcE2f7pbaOzfysTzsNbN2Fy2W_QkX9bn_XEe6WQ3FJn84prYhJGuM2JCxT_vrwVSVjVcuUqwF9p5hyHFupBvwSmO2l0uVhCrSonKEztBJ4jiov7NFA0ThwxPpASkHMBGu_a7VR9bwx9IjceN1Ch5KredVhB7XHShBhl2o/s320/gpo-162b-portable-cassette-recorder-tbh.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Our memory
is a funny thing. We couldn’t have every event of our lifetime constantly
active in our minds. Some hide in the shadows until one spark brings them to
light. Hearing that little rascal’s voice brought it all back. The bedtime stories,
bathtime struggles, pets, and discarded apple cores. The journey of one
precocious little boy. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And we’re
still making memories.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-16029311794762502152023-10-08T16:12:00.005-05:002023-10-11T15:36:51.023-05:00Road Trip<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Suspecting it might be our last topless (the
car, that is) tour this year, we took advantage of the warm temperatures last
week and escaped to the Southampton area for a couple of days. Nothing puts me
in a better frame of mind than to head north on Highway 21 through Grand Bend to
Bayfield and Goderich. It’s my attitude-adjustment area. So I guess that would
make Southampton my feel-good zone, and I looked forward to the brief but rejuvenating road
trip.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I loved travelling along the water and stopping
at our favourite beaches along the way. THAT, my friends, was the best part of
the trip. My husband snapped this pic in Point Clark.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4-mtS86HWdwynPfbeFucIlGI5swEijq4n7yqNJFZ96xemxjuLjsO8qVMJkdNYS8YdJNrzQC-gqZ-QawNCCPNKalZcZwEyASk9oAU0R_eQYG4IT9feVrWAkSeKFrwawOCO42zgLtRPVR3IvE2rb9ZFz-4ea0TvVtjmkxtWA_njbRCEZ45fzOEjc3n4n9kW/s4656/20231003_183140_Burst01.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4656" data-original-width="3492" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4-mtS86HWdwynPfbeFucIlGI5swEijq4n7yqNJFZ96xemxjuLjsO8qVMJkdNYS8YdJNrzQC-gqZ-QawNCCPNKalZcZwEyASk9oAU0R_eQYG4IT9feVrWAkSeKFrwawOCO42zgLtRPVR3IvE2rb9ZFz-4ea0TvVtjmkxtWA_njbRCEZ45fzOEjc3n4n9kW/w240-h320/20231003_183140_Burst01.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsQ9c26tnK9TVqzVvr3-1zxhN-81-mTkIzjHaCLLm4LcqQyBaXE5lcQICzuCIYUOkCQbKtkrsdNQ8gunHgeJ3tkdwESjuOgkX5q1nCdSOA7igNVeqUuCOcvH5D07ylbhQKd1cjWuY99U09rNLr-TvaXnCg7ZBXtxpasEIFiC4-HQmWDYE20Kk2i8Sax2dj/s2560/20231003_102948.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1440" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsQ9c26tnK9TVqzVvr3-1zxhN-81-mTkIzjHaCLLm4LcqQyBaXE5lcQICzuCIYUOkCQbKtkrsdNQ8gunHgeJ3tkdwESjuOgkX5q1nCdSOA7igNVeqUuCOcvH5D07ylbhQKd1cjWuY99U09rNLr-TvaXnCg7ZBXtxpasEIFiC4-HQmWDYE20Kk2i8Sax2dj/w113-h200/20231003_102948.jpg" width="113" /></a></div><br />There’s something so comforting about being near the water. I spent a few moments on ‘my rock’ at Bayfield, a beach I frequented
often for many summers. And in just those few moments of taking in the sights and sounds, I felt the urge to write
something…anything. Nature has always inspired me. Especially bodies of water.
It doesn’t seem to matter if it’s a river, lake, or creek. To be honest, even a
bathtub of water has cleared minor writer’s block for me.<o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="text-indent: 0cm;">We’ve always enjoyed visiting Meaford and were
delighted to see the town celebrating a scarecrow festival. Scarecrows
everywhere! Even hanging from lightposts.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbkq7pRuMsrAGYidCQvLcHJEF1PKOUD25KgW4surjnBJcgRCMTFk39FvdOHEih5RP1cm3zYee4AUgqXkjBKgbOa5w3YAytAQOaLF67QqIjJMrKycnJieTSFvrRSam38eDdwATbXM-ishuWYS0fiOa5-3WH7xs8xR7SwRHvoQzyRAc3moNGIGWtz2KQZ_rq/s2560/20231003_150329.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1440" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbkq7pRuMsrAGYidCQvLcHJEF1PKOUD25KgW4surjnBJcgRCMTFk39FvdOHEih5RP1cm3zYee4AUgqXkjBKgbOa5w3YAytAQOaLF67QqIjJMrKycnJieTSFvrRSam38eDdwATbXM-ishuWYS0fiOa5-3WH7xs8xR7SwRHvoQzyRAc3moNGIGWtz2KQZ_rq/w113-h200/20231003_150329.jpg" width="113" /></a></div><br />An all out effort throughout the
town. Even in the residential areas. <p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="text-indent: 0cm;">We stopped downtown to admire the displays
and then headed to the rocky shore of Georgian Bay where I basked once again in
the restorative setting. I believe I left my bum imprint on the rocks of at
least five beaches. So, yes, it was the most relaxing of tours and the weather
couldn’t have been better.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgslCFqLMmXk3Hp_sVuWMTYczWS06CLExJ9Amxh7d0XCQs-hF7QwpqbN8xT8nFa0H4SKwTeB5Jmpwpjbq4iBBUWwNH6pMbnq4y0bXPN2l8WXgdkpg2yELbqEq-53lP2WLIXbAMoNB-5PJeEi5QHofA7z0Mg4ach1-dcZg7118LhtIRmdwCr5Vdw3ktKMdJB/s3492/20231003_152458(1).jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3345" data-original-width="3492" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgslCFqLMmXk3Hp_sVuWMTYczWS06CLExJ9Amxh7d0XCQs-hF7QwpqbN8xT8nFa0H4SKwTeB5Jmpwpjbq4iBBUWwNH6pMbnq4y0bXPN2l8WXgdkpg2yELbqEq-53lP2WLIXbAMoNB-5PJeEi5QHofA7z0Mg4ach1-dcZg7118LhtIRmdwCr5Vdw3ktKMdJB/w200-h192/20231003_152458(1).jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /> The evening temperatures were still favourable for a
stroll along the beach. We walked down to the benches at the end of the main
street in Southampton to catch the sunset. Words don’t do it justice and, alas,
no pictures. I guess we were too absorbed in the magnificent view. That
experience was more satisfying than the chicken alfredo I ordered for dinner. And
everyone knows how much I LOVE fettucine alfredo. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Here and there were splashes of red along the
road during our travels but it was too early for the trees to have changed
colour. We’ll wait a a couple more weeks for that treat. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;">I’ll share more pictures and memories of some of those beaches later. Maybe when the snow drifts turn to mind drifts and I remember standing at the shorelines of Lake Huron, gulping in the lake air, cool and refreshing, as receding waves suck the sand from beneath my bare toes. Yes, that’s when I’ll dig up those photos, slap them on Facebook and say, ‘back in October we ….’</p><br /><p></p>Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-68023239123224941852023-09-11T03:09:00.000-05:002023-09-11T03:09:16.745-05:00My Summer Timeout From Writing<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="color: #1c2b33; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">I enjoyed a refreshing respite from the office this summer. When hubby and I weren't motoring around Southwestern
Ontario on fair weather days, we spent time together at home. Mostly he worked in the yard while I watched. I think he prefers it that way. He loves trimming, cutting, and planting, so I leave
him to his pleasure without thought of ‘helping’. He has an incredible green
thumb and I LOVE his garden of robust, colourful flowers, not to mention the picture-perfect
vegetables he leaves on the kitchen counter for me to oooh over. His offering
of green peppers and tomatoes became stuffed peppers for last night’s dinner
and it appears I’ll have to dust off my squash recipes soon.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3X4DhXc9DVnJxS9zFQLqTump7ilfgG9lqJeBMcJ1Y81EcKkGYQjl5DbHpb7CofC8k9GkC08QgprMUH3w9VZ2qNRW7PQZYiX8Uuy1XNTLbN996owej413RDIQg3kBfnIeNmEZMESoWBgzaLaN0ATbAaFCeXfiPzacxA2vzIdT2BtbbNKzsSe6y9fqjcX5U/s2432/20220915_150618.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2432" data-original-width="2432" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3X4DhXc9DVnJxS9zFQLqTump7ilfgG9lqJeBMcJ1Y81EcKkGYQjl5DbHpb7CofC8k9GkC08QgprMUH3w9VZ2qNRW7PQZYiX8Uuy1XNTLbN996owej413RDIQg3kBfnIeNmEZMESoWBgzaLaN0ATbAaFCeXfiPzacxA2vzIdT2BtbbNKzsSe6y9fqjcX5U/s320/20220915_150618.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="color: #1c2b33; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">With no writing schedules
or deadlines to worry about, we welcomed long afternoon visits with family, friends,
and neighbours. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I especially enjoyed
a fun shopping trip with my teenaged granddaughters. We had a great
time together as they spent their summer wages on the 'must have' apparel for
the new school year. We even took in a movie while we were in London. You
guessed it...Barbie!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="color: #1c2b33; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">And, of course, I
occupied many pleasurable hours reading. I should say re-reading. Yes, I
plucked some <b>old</b> favourites from my bookshelves. That's a comfort thing, right? Reading your favourite books again? It's like eating mac and cheese or drinking tea with milk and sugar. Anyway, it makes me feel good. It had been forever since I read a Stephen King novel. Noticing that <i>The
Green Mile </i>had been added to the Netflix movies list urged me to select that particular book
first. I admit that after I’d finished the book, I watched the movie again.
They couldn’t possibly include everything in the movie, but I was satisfied. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="color: #1c2b33; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">Then I reached
for <i>To Kill a Mockingbird</i>. Loved it – again. And I'm not sure how many
times I've read Margaret Laurence's classic, <i>The Stone Angel</i>, but it was
my next choice after Harper Lee. Then I moved on to Nina George's first book in
the Death Trilogy, <i>The Little French Bistro</i> and, of course, I then
re-read the other two books in the series. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="color: #1c2b33; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">I'm currently captivated
by the first book in Diana Gabaldon's <i>Outlander</i> series. As happened with King’s
<i>The Green Mile</i>, I turned to the film for comparison. I’d only read a
hundred pages or so when I spent an evening with Netflix watching some episodes
from Season One. What a love story! When I’m finished reading <i>The Outlander</i>, I'll return to recently released publications in search of more favourites to add to the collection that I'll reach for again in years to come.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="color: #1c2b33; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">My idyllic
summer was made even better by an invitation to a book club meeting. There’s
nothing more exciting than meeting readers and answering their questions, and
it’s especially interesting to hear their perspective on the storyline and
characters in <i>Old Broad Road</i> and <i>On The Rock</i>. To make the evening even more
perfect, the members also requested copies of my memoir <i>Hazards of the Trade</i>. What’s
not to love about book clubs? A shoutout of appreciation (and a warm hug) to the welcoming members
of all the book clubs who have invited me to spend an afternoon or evening with
them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="color: #1c2b33; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">It's been a relaxing summer, but now my
leisurely timeout has drawn to a close and I’m back at the desk. And that's
okay. I'm looking forward to the business of writing, deleting, writing, and
deleting some more. Because from all that writing and deleting, I'm hoping a
new story will emerge. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="color: #1c2b33; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">Hoping you had
some sublimely memorable hours this summer, too, whether it was reading,
travelling, or spending precious time with family. </span><span style="color: #1c2b33; font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">🥰</span><span style="color: #1c2b33; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-42563596875476750012022-11-01T15:37:00.000-05:002023-03-14T12:47:43.749-05:00Halloween 2022<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">I always fuss over what to buy
for handouts. I’ll never forget the year I bought juice boxes, and what my
granddaughters said about my handout choice. <i>Juice boxes? Nana, you actually
bought juice boxes for Halloween? </i>I thought it was a great idea. I still
do. But I didn’t buy them again. If any of you know of a healthy snack that’s
an appreciated treat, let me know. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">When we lived in the country we
didn’t have many children come to the door trick-or-treating. At a discount
store I purchased colouring books, crayons, little crafts, and fun toy thingies.
I invited the children in to pick out what they’d like. It really didn’t go
over as well as I’d expected. Back to the sugary treats.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">This year when I bought cans of
pop I wondered if kids still drank cream soda, orange crush, and root beer
(they do! Root beer is the favourite), bags of candies (next year I won’t get
any licorice), wee boxes of smarties, those little chocolate bars – which <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to re-stock before the 31<sup>st </sup><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(eyeroll) – and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>boxes of potato chips. I second-guessed myself
as I put them all out on folding tables in the foyer. I’ll give the smarties
and little bars to the toddlers, pop or chips to the older ones. Then I considered
giving out a few candies with a can of pop, some chocolate bars with the chips…
And so it went.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">That night it took only a couple
of trips to the door for me to change my mind about everything. This is<span></span></p><a href="https://phyllishumby.blogspot.com/2022/11/halloween-2022.html#more"></a>Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-13882452729357161662022-10-28T13:23:00.003-05:002022-10-28T14:03:40.714-05:00My Imaginary Friends<p> I miss the people from the pages.
Do other authors feel the same about their characters? They must. We get inside
their heads, and that’s as close as you can get to anyone. Someone questioned
this point, though. Do we get inside the heads of our characters, or do
characters live inside our heads? I firmly believe in the former. There were
days when I needed to write but, uh uh, their voices were silent. But then my
characters were always very much in control. Of everything. It was all I could
do to keep up. To a non-writer that probably sounds crazy. Think what you will.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">At a book club meeting to discuss
the Newfoundland series, one of the members thought it was hilarious the way I pondered
– in the same manner they did – how a character might react in a different
situation. <i>You talk like you don’t know these people any better than we do.
You made them up!</i> I prefer to think of it as giving them life. <i>Whatever</i>.
Okay, maybe I do give my ‘creations’ too much lead and that’s why I never know
what will happen next. I’m definitely a pantser, not a plotter. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Yes, I miss the gang from <i>Old
Broad Road</i> and <i>On The Rock</i>. Who wouldn’t? Sylvia Kramer, especially.
It was the whole lifestyle that she’d built for herself in Newfoundland that I
admired. We became quite close over the time it took me to write these novels. I
might have connected more solidly with Sylvia<span></span></p><a href="https://phyllishumby.blogspot.com/2022/10/my-imaginary-friends.html#more"></a>Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-90748418747889212162022-09-05T14:39:00.010-05:002022-09-05T14:48:20.694-05:00Fireside Collections Review: Old Broad Road/On The Rock by Phyllis L Humby<p> </p><h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: #fff9ee; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0.75em 0px 0px; position: relative;"><a href="firesidecollections.blogspot.com ">A Fireside Collections book review </a><br /></h3><div class="post-header" style="background-color: #fff9ee; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 12.6px; line-height: 1.6; margin: 0px 0px 1.5em;"><div class="post-header-line-1"></div></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-4711140889795137396" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: #fff9ee; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 570.023px;"><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinW0uV2AA-w_KUzX80Gk7gGCXJOStY7_PHJuQ-aoP9VKogCg-zFR9XsnP2b0QSLf9OPVOxvZsQU8CgGrqfMX73xZc5o78SuomAy4M1RK20ndXSu3sXgOCT8XBbwDoqWhBeG10vH3G8sX0ioDEHQOZyzXEkuBlBwP7fLgVe1VZKUMoETwFHPoqgXbWr-A/s554/Screen%20Shot%202022-09-01%20at%201.30.47%20PM.png" style="clear: left; color: #993300; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="554" data-original-width="344" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinW0uV2AA-w_KUzX80Gk7gGCXJOStY7_PHJuQ-aoP9VKogCg-zFR9XsnP2b0QSLf9OPVOxvZsQU8CgGrqfMX73xZc5o78SuomAy4M1RK20ndXSu3sXgOCT8XBbwDoqWhBeG10vH3G8sX0ioDEHQOZyzXEkuBlBwP7fLgVe1VZKUMoETwFHPoqgXbWr-A/s320/Screen%20Shot%202022-09-01%20at%201.30.47%20PM.png" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 1px solid rgb(238, 238, 238); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1) 1px 1px 5px; padding: 5px; position: relative;" width="199" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica;">When 63 year old Sylvia Kramer showed up in Chapel's Cove, Newfoundland she was far from ready to embark upon another love affair. That, however, is exactly what happened. Still in shock over her recent divorce from husband Paul, after what was perceived to be a marriage rooted in love and respect, and estranged from her adult children and grandchildren, Sylvia was broken and in need of an escape. A one way ticket to an east coast destination is what Sylvia seems to need; a place where she would be embraced by warmth and friendliness, eclectic people and unknown dialects, new delicacies waiting to be explored. A healthy dose of the North Atlantic is indeed the tonic that brings new life to Sylvia but evil lurks in all corners of the world and Sylvia is certainly forced to endure her share of the worst, plunging her into a tailspin of depression and doubt and experimentation with unorthodox coping strategies. <i>Old Broad Road</i> and <i>On The Rock</i> by author Phyllis L. Humby is the two part, two novel story of one woman’s will to survive and to make sense of her seemingly senseless world.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><blockquote style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><i>On Route 60, I pulled the truck over and walked to a bench at the shoreline. My breath quickened at the natural beauty of Conception Bay as I gazed across the horizon. The drizzle had ended and the sun was remarkably warm. I removed my jacket to soak up the rays and then stretched my legs out in front of me until I settled into a relaxed position. My eyes grew heavy. </i></span></blockquote><blockquote><p><i><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><span style="font-size: 13px;">I could see myself, arms outstretched, walk to the water's edge. Cautiously hop from rock to boulder. The blue sea lapped around my feet. The water crept up my legs past my knees. It stretched up my thighs and circled my hips, the silky surface luring me to its depths. My feet drifted off the rocks. My body submerged into the mysterious wet underworld. The icy water warmed me as I succumbed to the zenith of serenity.</span></span></i><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><span style="font-size: 13px;"> </span></span></p></blockquote><blockquote style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><i> (</i>Old Broad Road)</span></blockquote><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">In this two part series, Humby crafts a beautiful story that is masterfully written in the first person. In many respects,</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMI2CcA0-XI_mG5TGzOcBK9s4YNrvyX1wpvIcdaa5yKP82mqkRKsIXPFxiY58mA_xGgv5lzadzQRjhG4_1mW0KWSl4f3HUsoPscvc_M6wHcvUFeJ48eW1G12hwURav1lesoaGi6-koCV0OxtnErFj4IBeSIlhiOa33ynlhzC_eDnrHa3uYjd3smnnGaw/s476/Screen%20Shot%202022-09-01%20at%201.30.26%20PM.png" style="clear: right; color: #993300; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><img border="0" data-original-height="476" data-original-width="316" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMI2CcA0-XI_mG5TGzOcBK9s4YNrvyX1wpvIcdaa5yKP82mqkRKsIXPFxiY58mA_xGgv5lzadzQRjhG4_1mW0KWSl4f3HUsoPscvc_M6wHcvUFeJ48eW1G12hwURav1lesoaGi6-koCV0OxtnErFj4IBeSIlhiOa33ynlhzC_eDnrHa3uYjd3smnnGaw/s320/Screen%20Shot%202022-09-01%20at%201.30.26%20PM.png" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 1px solid rgb(238, 238, 238); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1) 1px 1px 5px; padding: 5px; position: relative;" width="212" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;">the story has an “Eat, Pray, Love” feel with the main character Sylvia embarking upon a voyage of self discovery and new beginnings. Though there are some heartbreaking incidents throughout both books that test Sylvia’s resolve,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>this amazing piece of Canadiana is more about how love and friendship can conquer all. It is very much a feel good story that the reader just won’t want to put down and the tragic events are just part of that story. Humby also pens beautiful descriptions of an outport lifestyle that would be the envy of any writer. Her descriptions are factually accurate and truly invite the reader to become part of the story. Likewise, the author creates a wonderfully diverse cast of authentic characters that are as colourful as the jelly bean row houses located in old St. John’s. Instrumental to the development of the story and to Sylvia’s own personal development, the characters are funny and joyous, humble and adventurous. They are a wholesome mix of hearty Newfoundlanders (and some “Come From Aways”), a group I secretly wished to be a part of especially when they got together for celebrations and dinner parties.</span><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><i>Old Broad Road</i> and <i>On The Rock</i> by Phyllis L. Humby is the story of one woman’s love affair with a place and with people who are just good for the soul. This book will leave you laughing, smiling, and crying and definitely booking your next adventure to Newfoundland.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Phyllis L. Humby lives in the municipality of Lambton Shores, Ontario. She is the author of <i>Hazards of The Tree, Old Broad Road </i>and <i>On The Rock </i>published by <a href="http://crossfieldpublishing.ca/" style="color: #993300; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Crossfield Publishing</a>.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Book Reviews shared from </span><a href="firesidecollections.blogspot.com " style="font-family: helvetica;">firesidecollections.blogspot.com</a></p></div>Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-84679954593927801882022-08-26T10:46:00.002-05:002022-10-28T13:57:26.623-05:00Cathy Marie Buchanan marks anniversary <p>Cathy Marie Buchanan’s Facebook
post this week celebrating the thirteenth anniversary of becoming a published
author brought back warm memories for me.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">It was during her book signing
tour for <i>The Day the Falls Stood Still</i> when she popped into a small local
library on an escorted trek around the city. During the author’s impromptu visit, the
librarian mentioned my manuscript! <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">I was at the stage of giving up. Discouraged by query rejections, I was
ready to burn the manuscript, convinced I’d never find an agent or publisher.
This librarian, who had generously agreed to read my manuscript, felt moved by
my novel and must have still been under its spell. Whatever she told the New York
Best Selling Author prompted Cathy Buchanan to hand over her phone number with
instructions for me to call her. Can you believe it??<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Of course I phoned, but not
before rushing out to purchase her book. I read it thoroughly and
appreciatively, gulped, and dialled her number. During our thirty minute
conversation, she offered<span></span></p><a href="https://phyllishumby.blogspot.com/2022/08/cathy-marie-buchanan-marks-anniversary.html#more"></a>Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-37805991522550229122022-08-08T13:23:00.007-05:002022-08-08T13:37:09.114-05:00Old Broad Road and On The Rock – Inside Scoop<p><span style="text-indent: 0cm;">The novels Old Broad Road
and On The Rock are written in First Person Point of View. This might account
for why some readers associate the protagonist Sylvia Kramer with me, being the author, and her life with mine. But this
series is fiction and not based on any drama or characters in my own personal world.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;">Here are my answers to some of the most frequently asked questions: </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1FwZDgge60KB_abTrRMe2qmjPhe4nKgKn5ruGzzazpqlafmRG-JPpIOHffbRx9XT4m49Qyjlxz7krJd_hK-AM3KDRrPMFnTvXJncNbkUaAFthBsB2mW2AzvSUO_bZsbwTmZPEhjtRP2pVkr8S54vLA__7usK1_3NsY2rjUGsBdnmYBwvousy8_ZUlbA/s284/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="177" data-original-width="284" height="125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1FwZDgge60KB_abTrRMe2qmjPhe4nKgKn5ruGzzazpqlafmRG-JPpIOHffbRx9XT4m49Qyjlxz7krJd_hK-AM3KDRrPMFnTvXJncNbkUaAFthBsB2mW2AzvSUO_bZsbwTmZPEhjtRP2pVkr8S54vLA__7usK1_3NsY2rjUGsBdnmYBwvousy8_ZUlbA/w200-h125/images.jpg" width="200"></a></div><br><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;"><u>Q: Why was it
important for your main character to share your love of cooking?</u><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;">(throat clearing)
I love eating, but cooking…not so much. It’s true that in both Old Broad Road
and On The Rock, Sylvia Kramer effortlessly throws together spectacularly
delicious meals. One reviewer even warned people not to read these books on an
empty stomach. I love it! If you were salivating reading about the meals,
imagine how it felt doing the research. Of course, I’d sampled many of the
Newfoundland and Labrador delicacies during my vacation there. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;"><u>Q: How long did you
live in Newfoundland?</u><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;">I’ve never lived
in Newfoundland. It was through my several pleasurable vacations in the province that
I was inspired to write Old Broad Road and subsequently On The Rock. As a sidenote, I'd never visited Chapel's Cove, NL, which is the setting of these books, until after I'd written them. I'll always remember how I felt standing on Sylvia's beach for the first time. It was a profound and magical moment.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0cm;"><u>Q: Do you have
tattoos?<span></span></u></p><a href="https://phyllishumby.blogspot.com/2022/08/old-broad-road-and-on-rock-inside-scoop.html#more"></a>Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-30765078563096437712021-02-06T10:47:00.015-05:002022-07-19T13:56:11.151-05:00You're Only an Oddball Until You Find Your Tribe<p> Nine years ago I wrote my first blog post. Reading it now reminds me how it felt to be without a tribe. My tribe. The storytellers. It also brings back the rush of realizing my passion for writing fiction.</p><p>Here is an excerpt of the post I wrote as I began my journey as a writer. </p><p> All my life I have been the oddball.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not quite fitting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Different from the rest−the rest of the family, the rest of the class, the rest of the co-workers.</p><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">I was the one staring off into space−lost in thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">It was not that I wasn’t focused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was too focused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not on what was happening around me, but what was going on in my mind....a whole other world.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">I am not sure at what age I started recording some of my daydreams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose the first stories found their way to paper when I was a child living in Sarnia, Ontario and later as a teen, in Cambridge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even<span></span></div><a href="https://phyllishumby.blogspot.com/2021/02/youre-only-oddball-until-you-find-your.html#more"></a>Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-82989611812937310362020-12-17T12:09:00.042-05:002022-07-19T13:56:30.660-05:00'Feel Good' Birthdays<p> In past years, I indulged in the ‘feel good’ things on my birthday. Lingering over a coffee downtown Sarnia always brought memories of when I was a kid waiting in line at The Odeon with my friend Barb. We’d pay a quarter for a movie and then stay to watch it over and over. Good times.</p>And at the end of one summer I spent all my babysitting money on clothes at Pacesetters. Wow, that was a lot of babysitting. My special day usually included a visit to the library for a couple of hours to luxuriate in the smell of books and the pleasure of having literature of every kind at my fingertips. There would be shopping, too. I’d drift in and out of stores looking for nothing in particular and being delighted to find some small thing that I couldn’t live<br>without. My day normally included lunch with friends and… well, the list of things that pleased me about my birthday could go on forever. <br>But this year, ye gads! What to do? Not to worry, my friends. I tossed my scarf, gloves, and hat in my<span></span><a href="https://phyllishumby.blogspot.com/2020/12/feel-good-birthdays.html#more"></a>Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-49215827363649763602020-12-11T15:33:00.009-05:002022-07-19T13:57:02.287-05:00Tis the Season to Try to be Jolly<p> These last few years decorating for Christmas has become
less important to me. We generally go to our son’s for a dinner celebration and,
since we don’t often entertain, it’s a thankless chore hauling the bins of
decorations upstairs to sort and allocate. And then there’s the cleanup process
to eradicate the sparkle and glitter off floors and carpets. Only to reverse
the whole process a few weeks later. To be honest, I’ve become resentful of
this ritual.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Two or three years ago, I gave away our gorgeous large tree.
Yes, an artificial tree, but it had beautiful drooping branches and at first
glance it looked ‘real’. It was pre-lit so there was no fussing with strings of
lights…don’t even get me started. But the tree was extremely heavy and although
it was in three pieces, it was an effort to assemble. It was glorious, but for the
short time it was up it hardly seemed worth it. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Besides, I also had three tall, skinny trees that I
decorated each year. They’re gone, too. I decided that<span></span></p><a href="https://phyllishumby.blogspot.com/2020/12/tis-season-to-try-to-be-jolly.html#more"></a>Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-28228178025882274582020-08-30T11:35:00.005-05:002022-07-19T13:58:21.416-05:00My Journal, My Confidant<p> <span style="text-indent: 0in;">It’s tough to resign this book of inked confidences
to the shelf. More than five years of my most intimate musings are contained
within the bindings of this journal. I remember the day I bought it; it was my
birthday and I was treating myself to all the things I loved. Naturally, that
included a visit to the library and a meandering through the bookstore.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I’d paused at the display of journals. A polished
stone or jewel, and fancy tooling, decorated the front of most. They were
beautiful. The textured pages, rough to the touch, were laced to the spine. A
new journal was the most perfect treat for my birthday. Some might indulge in a
piece of jewellery or a spa</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ00Rwfm75jjClYrQvQI41NjTNNgv2W0mn3yzMK3QQ7eLILH3jYlUAmKUaPR58tgMrlcmpoyOvjkxUHwUSromWEoi-ehug9wqG8MdFbNt7L7s9iRmJSTh35fJdVxB0cWbuNUI6LXkZlRoY/s1475/20200828_102611+%25282%2529.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1475" data-original-width="1140" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ00Rwfm75jjClYrQvQI41NjTNNgv2W0mn3yzMK3QQ7eLILH3jYlUAmKUaPR58tgMrlcmpoyOvjkxUHwUSromWEoi-ehug9wqG8MdFbNt7L7s9iRmJSTh35fJdVxB0cWbuNUI6LXkZlRoY/w155-h200/20200828_102611+%25282%2529.jpg" width="155"></a></div><br> package, but nothing pleased me more than purchasing
this book. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Over the years, I never left home without
packing it in my overnight case, or tucking it inside my tote for a trip to the
beach or park. It most definitely accompanied me on all people-watching
excursions. It often went untouched, but it was there for me if I felt the
urge. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Months might go by without a single note, and
then I’d write<span></span></span></p><a href="https://phyllishumby.blogspot.com/2020/08/my-journal-my-confidant.html#more"></a>Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-80808579008118772882020-07-04T12:54:00.042-05:002022-07-19T14:26:49.940-05:00When Your MC Comes Knocking...<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0cm 0cm 1.0pt 0cm;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; line-height: normal; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0cm 0cm 1.0pt 0cm; padding: 0cm;">One of the
writers from the #writingcommunity that I follow on Twitter, posed a most
interesting question: If the MC of your book knocked at your door, what would
you do?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; line-height: normal; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0cm 0cm 1.0pt 0cm; padding: 0cm;">Immediately
my mind went to Sylvia Kramer, the main character of Old Broad Road – my gritty
novel set in Newfoundland that’s due for release this summer. Actually I’m
working on the fourth draft of the sequel at this very moment…well, I’m writing
this blog right now, but you know what I mean. Where was I? Oh, right.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; line-height: normal; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0cm 0cm 1.0pt 0cm; padding: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;">This
was my response to the Twitter question about a visit from the MC of my book: I
would invite her in. Normally, I would hug her too, but with Covid... Then I'd
pour each of us a brandy. Thought I don't often imbibe, this is Sylvia's drink
of choice for those special and reflective moments and since she's the perfect
host, I want to do my best to accommodate her.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; line-height: normal; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0cm 0cm 1.0pt 0cm; padding: 0cm;"> We'd settle in for an evening of candid
conversation. I'd commiserate the tragedy/of her life and<span></span></p></div></div><a href="https://phyllishumby.blogspot.com/2020/07/when-your-mc-comes-knocking.html#more"></a>Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-31949378739480815672020-05-12T06:39:00.004-05:002022-07-19T14:01:41.057-05:00My Publishing Journey<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">A writer’s life is indeed a
journey and despite the potholes and detours, the scenery makes the trip
worthwhile. Years later, though I hadn’t attracted a traditional publisher
enroute, my efforts had fulfilled me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Only a
seasoned writer can make that statement with conviction.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Let me explain. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
I was eager to do whatever it
took to get my novel noticed. I started blogging, opened a Facebook page, and
most importantly, I joined a local writers’ group.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
They convinced me to submit short
stories, which for me were more challenging to write than novels. I was
fortunate to find homes for most of them in anthologies and journals. The contest
wins encouraged me to continue. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Then I penned some exposes of my long
ago career as a small-town lingerie boutique owner to share at weekly writers’
meetings. The members urged me to keep writing these stories, insisting I was
onto something. Each memory led to another until I was re-living the 80s and
90s fashion trade, a different<span></span></div><a href="https://phyllishumby.blogspot.com/2020/05/my-publishing-journey.html#more"></a>Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-63752481790956644662020-04-23T13:36:00.008-05:002022-07-19T14:29:06.956-05:00Life Doesn't Have to be Perfect<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">It was prophetic that I changed
my profile Facebook Banner when I did. It reads ‘Life doesn’t have to be
perfect to be wonderful’ or something close to that. I was surprised at the
number of positive reactions to this picture because we were, and still are, in
the middle of COVID-19, a deadly and highly contagious virus that is keeping us
apart from our loved ones. Our children and grandchildren aren’t within hugging
reach. But Facebook posts and pictures prove that most families are finding
alternate ways of showing love. It is touching and deliberate. I like that. Not
perfect but still wonderful.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNbSx6d286ewDhQTxr31Eqi0Y_bJDQs7-I1h6lpzChK7VB1yijhH0y4fTZErl-E1-wwRwWa4tUd_1OzVNnuCiTXdow852zORZ7Dv4Y42o3P7_qsAlZccGpr_2EAcuo3UJj-rnXmNM0adpi/s1600/Hazards-FrontCover-Web.jpg" style="clear: left; display: inline; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1036" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNbSx6d286ewDhQTxr31Eqi0Y_bJDQs7-I1h6lpzChK7VB1yijhH0y4fTZErl-E1-wwRwWa4tUd_1OzVNnuCiTXdow852zORZ7Dv4Y42o3P7_qsAlZccGpr_2EAcuo3UJj-rnXmNM0adpi/w129-h200/Hazards-FrontCover-Web.jpg" width="129" /></a>Aside from my own restrictions to
family, I no longer had a book launch to anticipate. Social distancing… But
then my publisher came up with a scheme. A midway-point gravel parking lot
where we could meet. An open hatchback with champagne (nice surprise) and boxes
of books. And she made a <a href="https://youtu.be/6m2sjVxajrU">phone video</a> for YouTube of me seeing my book for the very first time. A
monumental moment. Come on, I’d waited years for this day. I was excited. It
didn’t matter that there were only the two of us present. I was there for the
big reveal and it couldn’t have been more gratifying than if I’d been in a
bookstore filled with supporters.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Life doesn’t have to be perfect
to be wonderful.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
We are finding that out, each in
our own way…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><i>Hazards of the Trade is a
personal disclosure of nearly twenty years of humorous and sad reflections from
the naïve start up of a small-town lingerie boutique to the ultimate
farewell. <o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><i>The era began with retailers
in impossibly high heels and designer suits attending the Ontario Fashion
Exhibitors market at the prestigious King Edward Hotel in downtown Toronto and
ended with buyers in rubber-soled shoes and sweatpants at the Congress Centre
near the airport. While high-end fashion shows and buying trips might seem
glamorous, evading a stalker and trying to evict a rabid squirrel from the shop
might not. But it was all part of being in the Trade. That, and so much more.<o:p></o:p></i></p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<o:p><b>Available at your local indie bookstore</b></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<o:p><b>and also</b> <a href="https://www.amazon.ca/Hazards-Trade-boutique-intimate-lingerie/dp/1999177932/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=hazards+of+the+trade&qid=1587589827&s=books&sr=1-1">Amazon</a></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<br />Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-45470882762325145942020-03-09T10:49:00.004-05:002022-07-19T14:25:59.673-05:00Better than the Write Shoes<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Maybe you can relate to my latest
First Monday column.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Have you ever had the week from
hell and it’s only Monday? That’s how I felt. I needed something to ease my
nerves. My usual approach to restoring my equilibrium wasn’t an option. I’d
already had so many baths that my fingers were permanently pruney. The next
best calming tactic was cooking. There’s something about chopping, dicing, and
simmering. But my husband headed me off. Please, not another pot of soup, he
said. That only leaves shoe shopping, I told him. He tossed my purse over to
me. I was surprised he preferred another pair of shoes in the closet to another
pot of soup on the stove, but who was I to question it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Truthfully, I needed to get out
of the house. On the nicer weather days, I’d been holed up in my office, more
commonly referred to as my nest. My work was now finished but I was nursing a
headache that refused to stay away. And I’d been in pyjamas for days.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">I dressed and climbed behind the
wheel for the hour’s drive. It would clear my head, give me some fresh air, and
a brand new pair of shoes.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">I was already in a better frame
of mind when I pulled up to the curb in front of my favourite store. It didn’t
have the outcome I’d expected. The shoes I liked didn’t fit, and the ones that
fit I didn’t like. Determined to stay upbeat, I remembered the chocolate shop
just up the street. It’s fact that chocolate is<span></span></p><a href="https://phyllishumby.blogspot.com/2020/03/better-than-write-shoes.html#more"></a>Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-74097368657197400212020-01-25T14:40:00.000-05:002020-01-25T14:40:51.190-05:00A Magical Phenomenon<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; tab-stops: 219.25pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
I was lounging in an attitude
adjustment bubble bath when I focused on the picture at the end of the tub. I
love how it makes me feel. How it’s always made me feel. A shady verandah with
tall plant stands, greenery, and a wooden swing bench. A blonde toddler,
her chubby bare feet peeking beneath her nightdress, sits with her teddy bears.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
This picture has hung in every
room, nook, and cranny of my home for the past thirty years. It has adorned the family
room, the landing of the stairs, a front entrance, and for a few years it graced the
laundry room. Actually, it was hanging over the washer and dryer when I posed the question to my granddaughter. Who is that in the picture? She didn’t hesitate to name her younger sister. I smiled. That’s what I think,
too, I told her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkyVQeuzsCCC_jl6j-RlQwN4lYmhQCRJ45lGZZFZZ4-Y1ReNidnAXlTgj1t2Tx9m9g8k7WwxX92ogrwrQrFtmwXFlBsvWZauCuKiPMBw-QIrUFo47QD_wmZHU1FcOBnsEKCDzECqH9WhSe/s1600/original.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="750" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkyVQeuzsCCC_jl6j-RlQwN4lYmhQCRJ45lGZZFZZ4-Y1ReNidnAXlTgj1t2Tx9m9g8k7WwxX92ogrwrQrFtmwXFlBsvWZauCuKiPMBw-QIrUFo47QD_wmZHU1FcOBnsEKCDzECqH9WhSe/s320/original.jpg" width="320" /></a>I went on to explain that her
daddy had bought me that picture for Mother’s Day. He was maybe thirteen at the
time, I said. Aside from the fact that it was a gift from my kid, for some reason I never could
part with it. It was twenty years later that the image in the picture made my
eyes widen. How could that be, I wondered. I couldn’t stop staring at that sweet
child. She was indeed the image of my son’s youngest daughter. </div>
Hearing her
older sister confirm the likeness gave me goosebumps. So it’s not just me, I thought.
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
At the end of my mood-altering,
fingertip pruning soak, I smiled as I tapped my heel against the tub stopper
to release the now tepid water. My cantankerous mood was gone. Sometimes when I’m
feeling irritable or grumpy all I need are warm suds. Today, I’m not sure if I
should credit the bath, or the picture. Of course, you realize the good vibes
are from more than a pleasing toddler pic. It’s mostly the wonder of how my young son
bought a picture the likeness of his future child. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Serendipity. Coincidence. Fluke.
I prefer Magic. Yes, I believe in magical moments.</div>
<br />Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-5477733034943439372019-12-18T10:08:00.003-05:002019-12-18T10:08:44.878-05:00Tis the Season<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
So the big holiday is almost
here. I laid the xmas presents out on the table for wrapping. That’s where they
are now. Not wrapped, but they are ready to be wrapped. I have paper somewhere.
It’s leftover from last year. There should be a bin downstairs with gift bags
and wrap. I’ll check tomorrow. Or maybe I’ll just wrap some tissue paper around
them. I’m sure I have ribbon somewhere. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
We need to make a grocery list I told
my husband. And we have to make a trip to the bank. It’s a bloody nuisance not
having a bank within a thirty-minute drive. That’s just one-way. So considering
the wait time in the bank, we’re looking at an hour and a half to pick up some
cash. There’s a grocery store next door to the bank I reminded my husband. We’ll
get it all done in one trip. He agreed and suggested I might like to take a
drive over the next couple of days. We need a plan, I said, as I returned to my
nest with a fresh coffee. He agreed and went back to his renovation job in the
basement. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
We’re skipping the big xmas meal for a relaxing afternoon with
appetizers. I jumped all over that idea. I’d be happy to bring some delectables.
There are so many great recipes now, I crowed. Bacon wrapped brussel sprouts.
Even the kids love brussel sprouts in this family. Everyone agreed that they
sounded good. I poured over the online sites showcasing party hors d'oeuvres
and spent a couple hours reading recipes from Turkish figs and walnuts to mini
corn dogs with cranberry mustard… <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixTCRD5aG5MPmMy73pTBZbfv3wvnnB_7espqKAvbUUVVDy0GqrOaeRiynXysYb0Gjvb4fF1ui8t6KBkH_zhhZskFikhdbdMmuUmfjEWrV9YxqjvUrZ6-ZtbN3BPk3M6RHAs6nBL6yID7RX/s1600/mini-corn-dogs-cranberry-mustard-crop-su.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixTCRD5aG5MPmMy73pTBZbfv3wvnnB_7espqKAvbUUVVDy0GqrOaeRiynXysYb0Gjvb4fF1ui8t6KBkH_zhhZskFikhdbdMmuUmfjEWrV9YxqjvUrZ6-ZtbN3BPk3M6RHAs6nBL6yID7RX/s200/mini-corn-dogs-cranberry-mustard-crop-su.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Worn out from the exertion, I decided to put some frozen meatballs into
the slow cooker and mix up chili sauce and grape jelly. If it was good thirty
years ago, it’ll be good now. Right? Let’s not experiment. And who doesn’t love
meatballs? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Hubby and I mentioned our recipe for chicken sliders. Really tasty
and simple to make. We could assemble them at home and rather than take up a
lot of room in their fridge, keep them in the car until we pop them into the
oven. It would certainly be cold enough outside. They wouldn’t get soggy,
right? Oh, maybe we’ll just stop on the way and pick up a cheese ball. A box of
crackers. Who doesn’t love a cheese ball?</div>
<br />Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-30875626468289585382019-06-13T12:25:00.003-05:002019-06-13T12:25:26.707-05:00Get Away to Write<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
If I were to plan the perfect
writing getaway, it would include rain. You can’t plan the rainy weather but I
take advantage of it whenever possible. I’m more prolific listening to a
downpour or even a steady drizzle. Not a pluviophile? Maybe warm breezes on a
sunny day would work its magic for you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next most important consideration when
planning a retreat is nourishment. I like to eat. Especially when I’m writing.
Not so much when my fingers are pounding the keyboard, but during that time
when they’re suspended above the keyboard and I’m thinking through a plotline.
Food really helps with that process. You too?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
I’m not a junk food eater. No
thanks to potato chips and dips, and those sour peach slice chewy things. Okay,
but only one. I prefer to have readymade salads on hand. And ciabatta bread! If
I forgot everything else and just had ciabatta bread, cheese, and wine, I would
survive. Flourish, actually. Going over the contents of my fridge in my mind, I
see fresh fruit and veggies washed and ready to eat as I research gunshot
wounds, or cafes in Paris...oh, to see my browser history. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Coffee, too, is a priority. Water
is another, and that’s usually my go to in the afternoon. But not late
afternoon. No, in the late afternoon, I take a meaningful break. Time for a
plate of crackers and hummus or cheese – extra old cheddar or goat cheese, heck
even peanut butter in a pinch, and a glass of red wine. No wine for you? I’m
sure you can come up with a substitute. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Then I like to sit outside and listen
to the rain – if it’s still raining – and you can lie on the grass and look up
at the clear skies or better yet, rolling clouds – those fluffly white ones,
not the dark rain clouds. Ruminate on the plots, character, and dialogue until
you’re ready to get back to the keyboard. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
For me, a retreat produces more
words than I could accomplish at home. Think about it. No distractions. No
rules. If you’re planning a getaway, remember to eat when you’re hungry,
whatever food you want – don’t look at the clock. I had greek pasta salad one
morning before ten and toast near midnight. Keep in mind, there are no calories
when you’re writing. I know. At first, I found that hard to believe, too. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Sleep when you’re tired, and when
you wake up, start writing. You’re still <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in
the zone. </i>It doesn’t matter if you’ve slept for two hours or six hours. Again,
don’t look at the clock. And don’t worry about getting ready for bed. You’re
writing in pj’s anyway. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2EXhFq75kp1CxNSBvzbgDxjnnIoBqffhaC4bmJoan8V4caTVsww7Mv0N35kKyN_L9vUE2yrqVLz436tfcH3Djnx6J1mIJZ_gb-ODQvGdOKhJRb6uVcqoHxga33Fl5OXIN3a-fOW87ZEBP/s1600/ComputerDarlin.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="441" data-original-width="480" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2EXhFq75kp1CxNSBvzbgDxjnnIoBqffhaC4bmJoan8V4caTVsww7Mv0N35kKyN_L9vUE2yrqVLz436tfcH3Djnx6J1mIJZ_gb-ODQvGdOKhJRb6uVcqoHxga33Fl5OXIN3a-fOW87ZEBP/s320/ComputerDarlin.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
You’re always ready. That’s the other great thing. You
don’t worry about appearances on these solitary retreats. No one is going to ‘drop
by’. And if you’re away, it doesn’t matter who sees you traipsing around in
your flannels. They shouldn’t be looking in the windows anyway. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
Think of what it would take to
open the door of imagination for you and stir the creative juices. Three or four days are usually the max for me to be holed up writing and still come out
fairly civilized in the end.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
If you’re able to hide away from
people and schedules for any period of time to focus on writing, I highly
recommend it.</div>
<br />Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-28496104466207371352019-05-11T07:41:00.000-05:002019-05-11T07:41:22.135-05:00Mother's Day Suggestions from MomEvery newspaper ad, radio commercial, and Facebook post is focused on Mother's Day. I thought I'd jump on the bandwagon. Here's an abridged version of a column I wrote for First Monday a few years back. In case you're still floundering about what to do, these are some heart melting ideas for Mom.<br />
<br />
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<span lang="EN-CA">If the gift you
had in mind for Mother’s Day has to be watered or dusted, think again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That might not be Mom’s preference.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>When asked to
think back on their most memorable Mother’s Day, the mom’s I surveyed insisted
the day did not involve flowers, jewellery, or candy! As Debbie so aptly phrased in her response, ‘<i>material goods are just clutter that
distracts us from what’s really important’</i>.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2GzKpRxo0w0Wk_2rQNb33EhdViQDAoCG4yB7251h2rVDu5EquW4O7WF3WB5LExyouu91tMOdrQUodXFWguBkBg1F85xlBGDFcPdCA2t0f_UvwFWfCsJXlGBqfY3wg3yvhBMxmPptYS1HY/s1600/images+%25284%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="164" data-original-width="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2GzKpRxo0w0Wk_2rQNb33EhdViQDAoCG4yB7251h2rVDu5EquW4O7WF3WB5LExyouu91tMOdrQUodXFWguBkBg1F85xlBGDFcPdCA2t0f_UvwFWfCsJXlGBqfY3wg3yvhBMxmPptYS1HY/s1600/images+%25284%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">If your last one-on-one
dinner with Mom was The Dairy Queen in 1981, it is time to book a reservation
for two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Discuss current movies, your
favourite books, new hobbies...<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">As for a
meaningful gift, a framed picture of you with your siblings would be a
winner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trust me on this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s in the survey. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, Barbara mentioned personal artwork.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Exert yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will leave a lasting impression. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">Remember when
you were a kid?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A piece of paper with
waxed crayon scribbles hung on the fridge for a month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hearts melted over a few dandelions clutched
in a grubby little fist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">What?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re not a kid anymore?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, your Mom is still your Mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A handwritten letter or card would mean more
to her than a Hallmark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Memory boxes
around the world embrace handwritten poems and homemade cards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Susan attests to that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">Before you ask
your secretary to call the florist, think about picking Mom up at lunchtime and
heading to the fry truck under the bridge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Time is our most precious commodity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Go for a walk together along the river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Tell her how much those outings meant to you as a kid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stop at the florist on the way back and
present her with a fragrant bouquet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
will love you for it.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">If your mother
has passed on, perhaps a spray of white carnations on your table or desk would
be a lovely tribute in her memory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">Another suggestion
from my survey involved a tour of the old neighbourhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Recollections flood back with a stop at the
corner store for a cold drink and ice cream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A nice way to say thank you for a great childhood.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">An idea that sounds
great to me is hosting a dinner party or luncheon for Mom and her friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think she would mind if you hosted
the meal at her house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be sure to set an
attractive table–it’s all in the presentation−and do the cleanup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not a cook?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Order Chinese and break out the chopsticks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, that is a memory maker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the thought, the time, and the sincerity
that counts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be original. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mothers like to feel special and coddled.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">If it is
impossible to be together to celebrate Mother’s Day, make time for an unhurried
phone call or skyped visit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA">However you
honour your mother on her special day, please do not hang up the phone, do not
disconnect skype, and do not drive away from the house, without telling her
what she already knows but never tires of hearing... <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I love you, Mom</i>. </span></div>
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Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-91753622108684434322019-03-21T12:22:00.000-05:002019-03-21T12:22:24.739-05:00Happy News for this Writer<br />
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Is that a drum roll I hear?? </div>
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Okay. Here it is…I would like to
announce the upcoming release of… <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wait
for it…Wait for it… <b>my first published novel</b>!!! </div>
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Yes, my friends, it’s finally
happening. A publisher, who called my book ‘wonderful’ (just saying) is
releasing my first novel for you and the entire world to read. </div>
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Boom! That’s what I’m talking
about!!, as my granddaughter Sadie says. She does this cute little arm pump
thing that I’ve never mastered. Anyway…</div>
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Sure, it was exciting to see my
short stories published over the years. It was. But novel writing is what makes
my heart beat a little faster. All those characters. All those lives
intertwined. Unfolding their history and foreseeing their future. Sounds like a
power trip when I say it like that. At the very least, controlling. Hmmm… I’ve completed two other books and
have two more that are nearly finished. To have a novel go to press has
encouraged me to continue doing what makes my heart smile.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc-41qFBepMRAuaO9e5GzXt77DUcaRUA0Qfm_fRlvMxOKuIjYVsUmMKORCk1mLOlXFfiug-YACw_bTzdF8-IO2zZNrhR-tNgGl5-AAUnGFEGiLK7_PhW0i6RuxfsQKDeYW1L2yqS3POM8n/s1600/ComputerDarlin.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="441" data-original-width="480" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc-41qFBepMRAuaO9e5GzXt77DUcaRUA0Qfm_fRlvMxOKuIjYVsUmMKORCk1mLOlXFfiug-YACw_bTzdF8-IO2zZNrhR-tNgGl5-AAUnGFEGiLK7_PhW0i6RuxfsQKDeYW1L2yqS3POM8n/s320/ComputerDarlin.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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And who is the publisher, you
ask. Well, they’re in the States. Delaware, to be exact. Devil’s Party Press
celebrates the mature author. Fortunately, I’m over forty. Ahem. Otherwise, I
wouldn’t meet their criteria, as much as they like my work. And it appears they
do. I feel good about my relationship with the folks at DPP. We’ve never
personally met but they respond promptly to emails (that’s huge), and their
professional demeanor while working with them on my accepted short story for
the crime anthology ‘Suspicious Activity’ impressed me. Did I mention they won
seven awards last year for their work? I’m fortunate to be an author on their
roster. </div>
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February 2020 is the projected
release date for ‘Old Broad Road’. To some, the release date seems a long way
off but to me it’s frighteningly near. Anyone who’s had a book published knows
the preparatory work involved. I took a break from writing my column for First
Monday so I could focus. Also, I have a sequel to this book that I’m currently
polishing. </div>
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With a deep breath and auditory
sigh, I embark on the next leg of my writing journey. </div>
<br />Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-80977385926002355292019-02-19T11:38:00.000-05:002019-02-19T11:38:49.656-05:00Paranoia, Cabin Fever, or Reality Check<br />
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">My every move is being watched and recorded. And
it’s freaking me out!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I research living room drapes on my computer and by
the next day sponsored ads are EVERYWHERE. I’m inundated with furniture ads.
Rugs and runners. Give it up. Leave me alone! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Doing research for my novel is stressful. Normally,
I love the research – but not now. Checking out resorts and fly-in lodges for my
story leaves me swamped with ads for inns, resorts, and lodges all across Canada.
And sure, while I<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">’</span>m at it, I check out spots for a Valentine’s getaway. Ads with heart-shaped bathtubs are plastered across my screen for a week. I
peer to see if that is actually me in the tub. It isn’t. But it wouldn't surprise me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It’s really getting to me. I have more ads on
facebook than I do friends!! </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBGym-naBwJCNTxiJB020iKDCju0-XwoZ9-ilqa0j43t4D-n98n_JL3Bq7cpxDFfuSf4wQq79hE8RTE8zJ0BOgjBvG1Dexvk2-iMLGqeYmdM3X7sW_HL_7qapzTe18ZCzkdmmFME-FxOzA/s1600/im-a-writer_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBGym-naBwJCNTxiJB020iKDCju0-XwoZ9-ilqa0j43t4D-n98n_JL3Bq7cpxDFfuSf4wQq79hE8RTE8zJ0BOgjBvG1Dexvk2-iMLGqeYmdM3X7sW_HL_7qapzTe18ZCzkdmmFME-FxOzA/s320/im-a-writer_small.jpg" width="312" /></a></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">More research is required for my crime story. I
can put it off no longer. Prisons – the how to and the what to of visiting a
prisoner, where might a certain crime or sentence land a prisoner, medium or
maximum security, and I even check videos showing the inner workings of a
prison. I need to know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The search engine used to be my biggest ally and now I cringe every time I key something in.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span>I feel as if I should send a note to the
RCMP telling them I’m a writer. Just a writer wanting to get the </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
details
perfect. And by the way, the hitman I referred to is in my story. But don’t
worry, he was caught, and so was the guy who hired him. I tell you, I’m just
the writer.<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Someone online told me to check my privacy settings.
I did. But I don’t understand. Nothing seems foolproof. I can delete my
browsing history but that sounds like closing the gate after the horses are out.
I could search incognito and it doesn’t show up in my history, but isn’t that
like sounding an alarm that I’m searching something illegal or harmful? I guess
I am, sort of. But I’m just a writer I tell you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-44008637155630645682019-01-26T12:43:00.000-05:002019-01-26T12:43:04.446-05:00Memories Evoked by Throwback Picture<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A throwback picture on facebook this morning showed ‘the
girls’ arm in arm like a trio of happy musketeers – smiling like they knew
something no one else did. Knowing them, this was probably the case. Their eyes
reveal mischief and fun. Especially the older two. The teasing and pranks they
played on each other tug at my memory like a collection of disjointed snatches
of laughter and a </div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPUMWj12J1y2jBt15uwD4YdpYxjpcQHRZFSDN7gxcPwEKEIeoMjsUlwAEcHmmJTBt1pCqvZLQTtnJ9CATb1yE9iL3ueKRv0ej7MY45OJw_hHR4LGamqWR7eb3qghy55ItDRnixkVH6K5e5/s1600/FB_IMG_1548516898455.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="526" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPUMWj12J1y2jBt15uwD4YdpYxjpcQHRZFSDN7gxcPwEKEIeoMjsUlwAEcHmmJTBt1pCqvZLQTtnJ9CATb1yE9iL3ueKRv0ej7MY45OJw_hHR4LGamqWR7eb3qghy55ItDRnixkVH6K5e5/s320/FB_IMG_1548516898455.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eileen (L) Marion (C) Doris (R)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
flurry of activity. I was the baby and so don’t remember
witnessing first hand some of the earlier shenanigans but I do recall the
family reminiscing about a few calamities.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
One that stands out in my mind was the time the older one,
Marion took a love letter from Eileen’s dresser drawer. They were just better
than a year apart in age and they hung out like best friends and carried on
like sisters. Their love for each other never interfered with a chance to
torment. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Apparently, Marion proceeded to read this letter to whatever
family members happened to be in the kitchen at the time. Eileen fairly flew out of her
chair and Marion ran from the house waving the letter in the air. Screaming
could be heard up and down our street as the chase ensued. Mom would shake her
head. ‘Those girls’, she’d say. I heard that story so often I can see it
happening. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Seeing the picture of ‘the girls’ this morning sent me back
to the time our mom passed away. I was still living at home. There are two
vivid memories of what we found going through her belongings. One involved ‘the
girls’ – Marion, Eileen, and Doris.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not sure why this first one has stayed in my memory house all
these years but when we were going through her belongings, we came upon dozens
of nylon stockings – not pantyhose – single stockings that were held up by
garters. Nearly a drawer full. I knew immediately why this collection of
stockings with runs and snags had been saved. It was her stash. Much like the
trunk of wool I now have in the downstairs storage room. Mom braided these
stockings into rugs. Soft, warm, and durable, we had several throughout the
house. Again, I’m unsure how this stash has stayed prominent in my mind. Maybe
because I had the answer to what seemed a puzzle at the time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The other significant discovery is more understandable. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It wasn’t so much the shiny gold clutch purse as what it
contained. All purses were checked for content before discarding. Mostly they
held change for the bus, tissues, perhaps a nearly finished tube of red
lipstick. But inside the gold clutch was an envelope. The words ‘For the Girls’
scrawled across the front. Though there were five girls in the family, we all
knew she’d always referred to the three oldest in the family as ‘the girls’.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s an interesting concept. So many years ago, an envelope
tucked inside an evening bag was discovered and passed on. Today would we be so
careful inspecting everything left behind? If I left a note tucked inside my
favourite book, or the inside pocket of my best jacket, or forever loved
sweater, would it be discovered and passed on. Of course not. These days, our
possessions don’t hold the same value and we have so many ‘things’ for family
to dispose of that there’s never enough time to go through everything. And, let’s
face it, it’s a painful process. </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 32px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thank my niece for posting this throwback picture on
facebook this morning and for my time travel excursion. Two of ‘the girls’, Marion and Eileen, have
passed on but the memories remain.</div>
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><br /></span></div>
Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-48832098921591570182019-01-01T12:34:00.000-05:002019-01-01T12:34:57.240-05:00New Year Reflections<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlaW6Cw6FsZU-YB9gEbt5EgEzaxvYarKTs6T363XfK5QoJIQcP2Aaf6LjKTvldoh2ynidHCg9DTJqFKgi6YtcNPyH9aX7ngVEJmExG_1gnHuhIRdweOuswp-ptSbE-RpLJ4P951BNjfsDr/s1600/20181203_171505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlaW6Cw6FsZU-YB9gEbt5EgEzaxvYarKTs6T363XfK5QoJIQcP2Aaf6LjKTvldoh2ynidHCg9DTJqFKgi6YtcNPyH9aX7ngVEJmExG_1gnHuhIRdweOuswp-ptSbE-RpLJ4P951BNjfsDr/s400/20181203_171505.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For me, bringing in the New Year begins with a reflection on
the past year. A life-changing year. For more than a couple of decades, in a
labour of love, our rural property took on a park-like atmosphere with numerous
species of trees. The perennial gardens ranged from flowering bushes and riotous
colour to calming green gardens of fern and hosta. We decided to sell our home (gulp)
and make a move. It was time. Life is about change and renewal. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Leaving our rural area awakened us to new experiences, introduced
us to community living, congenial people, and a fresh outlook. We moved far
enough away that the area is all new to us but we’re close enough to keep in
contact with long-time friends. I am content – happy even.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometime during all that packing and moving and changing, I’d
decided to limit my writing to personal pleasure. Over the past ten years, I’ve
had moderate success with my short stories, but my writing threatened to become
all-consuming. Not just the writing, but the writing life. Organizing workshops, retreats, meetings, dinners. Actually, I
realized I had less and less time to write. My focus had shifted and I’d lost
my momentum. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to continue. I went so far as to tell my
husband of my decision. Of course, I couldn’t NOT write, I’d perish. I simply wouldn’t
send my work out. Not anymore. And I had decided years before that I wouldn’t
publish my own work. No, I was going the traditional route – with the hundreds
of rejections that come with it. In my mind, I was done.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I received an email with a tip about an acquisitions
editor with a well-known publisher who might be interested in my work. How
could I not follow up. And yes, he said two of my novels sounded ‘exciting’ and
I should send the full mss. When I never heard back after several months, I
tried contacting him. He’d left the publisher. The End. My last hurrah.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another email arrived suggesting I collaborate on an
anthology with two other Canadian authors and two from the States. <a href="https://www.amazon.ca/PLAN-SAVE-WORLD-Frank-Sikora/dp/1387520180/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1546362148&sr=1-1&keywords=our+plan+to+save+the+world">Our Plan to Save the World</a> features four of my short stories. My last hurrah.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then another email arrived informing me of a contest in the
U.S. I placed second and am proud to be included in the anthology <a href="https://www.amazon.ca/Suspicious-Activity-Dianne-Pearce/dp/0999655841/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1546362291&sr=1-1&keywords=suspicious+activity">Suspicious Activity</a>. My last hurrah? Maybe not.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aside from a health glitch, the year 2018 has been gratifying. I look to the positive, or at least try, and am thankful for the goodness in my life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In 2019, I will continue to enjoy our community neighbourhood
and pursue promising friendships. I look forward to summer verandah lounging with
our park friends just a little farther north. </div>
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As for writing, I have set a goal
(oh no, not a goal) to finish a novel. It will be a huge challenge to pick up
the thread dropped so long ago. But I’m sure the love for my characters will
see me through.</div>
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I look forward to 2019 with renewed vigour and hope. There’s
a touch of determination peeking through, as well. I feel good. I feel strong.
I feel like writing.</div>
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Happy New Year!</div>
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<br /></div>
<br />Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6198775415610533309.post-34650980936323450102018-12-15T19:52:00.000-05:002018-12-15T19:52:58.411-05:00Suspicious Activity - Crime Anthology<br />
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JUST RELEASED! <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">SUSPICIOUS
ACTIVITY</i> – a crime anthology published by Devil’s Party Press, Delaware USA.
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Devil’s Party Press – sounds badass, doesn’t it. They only
publish authors age 40 and over. Yes, they are totally badass.</div>
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Local Sarnia writer, Sharon Berg, alerted me to their contest – a submission
call for crime stories. My favourite genre! I gave it my best shot – get it? shot?
crime stories?...<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 200%;">groan</span></i> – and was lucky enough to place
second. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYH_YuX7cduMyIBmXs6-_g3EjV1TYLDYk9H_MreY4-CZYi90xdjEm_iT0z4E1dwdP-KOvqaLq_MK-esEpbpXBWssybkuJOxDwiL2wEx15NwQe2l3Cf7QIyJWfrq2Ubuc91PIJv36sdCSYJ/s1600/20181215_192605.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1148" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYH_YuX7cduMyIBmXs6-_g3EjV1TYLDYk9H_MreY4-CZYi90xdjEm_iT0z4E1dwdP-KOvqaLq_MK-esEpbpXBWssybkuJOxDwiL2wEx15NwQe2l3Cf7QIyJWfrq2Ubuc91PIJv36sdCSYJ/s400/20181215_192605.jpg" width="286" /></a></div>
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I liked the look of the proposed cover for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Suspicious Activity</i> and my communications
with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">dpp </i>gave me a positive feeling
about the book. My instincts were right. This is one of the best crime
anthologies I’ve read and I love reading crime stories. Storylines from the
past, present, and future bleed onto every page. I had no idea there would be
so many unique spins on crime.</div>
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This isn’t a review of the book. There’ll be plenty of those
I’m sure. I have a few favourites I could point out, but I won’t. What I will
say is that I enjoyed and appreciated every story in the book. When was the
last time that happened? By the way, there are some killer poems in there too.
And I have to mention the …. No, I don’t think I will. Just buy the book.</div>
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When you’re standing in line at your favourite book store
with anthology in hand, take a closer look. The publisher incorporated our
stories into the headlines and features of the ‘newspaper’ cover. Ingenious
idea.</div>
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If you’re an online shopper, Canadians can purchase it <a href="https://www.amazon.ca/Suspicious-Activity-Dianne-Pearce/dp/0999655841/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1544920856&sr=1-3&keywords=Suspicious+Activity">here</a>
and all others can order from the <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Suspicious-Activity-Dianne-Pearce/dp/0999655841/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1544921023&sr=1-1&keywords=Suspicious+Activity">dot com Amazon site</a> or <a href="https://squareup.com/store/dpp/item/suspicious-activity-pre-order">directly from the publisher</a>. </div>
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Kudos to Devil’s Party Press for publishing a quality ‘can’t
put it down’ anthology and hats off to these authors whose clever creativity
will keep you reading well into the night. </div>
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Monte R. Anderson<span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>Dianne
Pearce</div>
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Tom Barlow<span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Mark
Alan Polo</div>
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Sharon Berg<span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Patsy
Pratt-Herzog</div>
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William F. Crandell<span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>Bernard
M. Resnick</div>
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David W. Dutton<span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>Roberto
Sabas</div>
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Kari Ann Ebert<span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>Michael
Sarabia</div>
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Lisa Fox<span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span>Judith
Speizer Crandell</div>
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Robert Lewis Heron<span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>Carrie
Sz Keane</div>
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Heidi J. Hewett<span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>Paulene
Turner</div>
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Phyllis Humby<span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>Liliana
Widocks</div>
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Bayne Northern<span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>Wendel
Young</div>
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Jonathon Ochoco<span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span>David
Yurkovich</div>
<br />Phyllis L Humbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05105378189298379668noreply@blogger.com0