Showing posts with label #Author. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #Author. Show all posts

Sunday, March 10, 2024

Gone to the Dogs - Barbara Baker

 

 

I grew up in a tiny place east of Banff. It was not large enough to be given hamlet status – hence they called us ‘a community.’ But it was the best place for a kid to grow up. There were no fences, no streetlights and once in a while we saw a car. Playing in the woods started at the end of our driveway.

And our family always had a dog. In fact, most families in our community had one.

When I played outside, I knew which dogs to avoid, which ones not to run from, and those who were sure to follow me home. Dog poop bags were not a thing back then. Having said that, I do not recall stepping in dog poop. Ever. But I am positive dogs still pooped.

Fast forward to 2024 – with spring coming and the freeze-thaw going on, I find loaded dog poop bags hanging off fences, branches or scattered on the side of walkways and trails.

It's wonderful that our urban and rural areas have gorgeous parks with off-leash and on-leash areas for dogs and green spaces scattered throughout neighbourhoods. There is signage, poop bag dispensers and garbage cans at most pathway entrances. Do the signs, which ask you to ‘pick up after your dog,’ really need another line added ‘and put it in the appropriate disposal bin?’ because if that is all it will take, I can get on it.

It’s annoying to find these deposits on city walkways and open spaces but when I find them hanging off spruce boughs or perched on a rock beside a hiking trail in our provincial and national parks, my piss-me-off meter escalates. Do the owners really think there are dog-poop-picker-upper fairies?

Yes, I realize the offenders had good intentions of picking it up on their return trip but it seems many dog walkers got distracted and forgot. Maybe they received a phone call telling them they won the lottery … or maybe their brother’s wife’s cousin had a baby. It’s possible, I guess. I remain hopeful these dog owners, who leave the poop behind, quit making responsible dog owners look bad.

Google says under perfect conditions, the compostable bags will deteriorate in up to 60 days. The ordinary plastic bags decompose in 20+ years. Thank you, Google.

Never in my life did I think I’d write about dog poop. Yet here I am, doing just that. And the issue is not the dog’s fault. The owners are the ones who need to attend obedience class.

When did my collection of sunrise pictures change to photos of poop bags?

I told my six-year-old grandson about this blog and asked him what he thought a 'dog-poop-picker-upper fairy' might look like. This is what he drew. Yup, all those extensions are fairy arms, doing their job.


Sometimes I miss the carefree old days when dog poop was not an issue. For now, I will step off my soap box, and go outside to find another sunrise … and I will never speak of this again. 

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

Friday, March 8, 2024

A War of Words by Vanessa C. Hawkins

 

 

 Vanessa Hawkins Author Page

    

You ever hear of a word war? If your familliar with Nanowrimo or national novel writing month, then you probably have. Word wars are like the Olympics of writing, minus the spandex. They're a turbo boost for productivity, turning procrastination into a distant memory faster than you can say "writer's block." It's like a battle royale, but instead of wielding swords, we're armed with laptops and caffeine-fueled determination.

Not a word war... though accurate.

Imagine a room full of writers, all clacking away furiously on their keyboards, eyes wide with the thrill of the chase for word count supremacy. It's a frenzy of creativity, where the only rule is to write like the wind and pray your spellcheck doesn't fail you.

A real life depiction of a room of writers...

And let's not forget the camaraderie! Word wars are the ultimate bonding experience, where fellow writers become comrades-in-arms, cheering each other on through the highs and lows of the literary battlefield. Plus, there's nothing like the sweet taste of victory when you emerge with the highest count!

So far, word wars have gotten me through a few writer's blocks. Nothing beats a bit of competition, though I usually always lose... Lately I have been trying to turn by brain down a notch. Stop overthinking everything I write down and just get it on paper so I have something to work with during the editing phase. But I got to wondering if its only me who struggles. Obviously not.... but what do you do to get through blocks and obstacles? Wait till it passes, and hope the time is short, or power through it?

Surely some one else can relate, right? 


Sunday, December 10, 2023

Where Did the Year Go? - Barbara Baker

 

 

    The ski season started. The Christmas tree is up. Outside decorations are hung. I'd like to say the shopping, baking and meal planning are under control or complete, but I'd be lying. It's never under control, let alone close to completion.

    I can't believe there's only 21 days left before we start 2024. We went from a winter which got almost too cold to ski, wearing jackets in March to hike in Arizona, the smokiest Alberta summer in history followed by a stunning fall, to now - winter. The season we adapt to because it can last six months and, this year, winter is full of surprises. 

 

   Three golf courses were open in Calgary on December 5th. Tee times were all booked. We saw a rainbow in the Crowsnest Pass on December 6th when southern Alberta received rain. The ski hills struggle to make and/or keep their precious snow. What a year.

    Throughout 2023, I hammered away at Book 3 of Jillian's last story. Until September, hammered away might be an exaggeration. Peck is probably a better word to describe my progress. When my manuscript didn't even show up in Word's most recent files, I realized I needed motivation and fewer distractions to finish it.

    So, I made a commitment. I made myself accountable to 'sit my butt in the chair' and finish writing the novel. I set a goal to have the first draft completed by the end of the year. And so far, it's working. My solution - I set the alarm clock for 5 AM. When it goes off, I head to my office to write. Trust me, my husband loves the alarm clock idea especially if I wake up before it rings and sneak out of the bedroom without turning it off.

    For two solid hours, without interruptions, I write. I don't open Facebook, Gmail, LinkedIn or Instagram. I start by reading the last few paragraphs of the previous days writing. Then I check the Notes option on my iPhone and the slips of paper in my tray which have scribbled 'must add comments', 'snappy dialogue' or 'scenes the story can't live without.' I add them if they're appropriate for where I'm at in the story or put them back in the tray.

    And, it's working!

    But now with all the baking and shopping staring me in the face, the clock ticking and the year's end creeping closer, I feel myself faltering. Sharing my goal with people makes me accountable. I hate to fail. I'm competitive. But I also procrastinate and hit snooze.

    If just one person asks me on January 1st, 'Is your draft done?', I can't imagine letting them down. Or me. So wish me luck as I attempt to schuss through the finish line and get to The End.

    All the very best of wishes for 2024. May the holidays and Mother Nature be kind to us all.


You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara: 9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies by Baker, Barbara (amazon.ca)

 

Friday, December 8, 2023

Seeing Woody's in Halifax by Vanessa C. Hawkins

 

 

 Vanessa Hawkins Author Page

    

I'm in Halifax! This weekend I have a book fair, and so since the situation is outside my home province, me and two gal friends have decided a ladies night was in order.

Now... We are all mom's in our 30s, so the first stop was Ikea. After hours there, it was the mall to see this!


It's woody the talking xmas tree! It's as scary as it seems and I love it!

Next was eating, hot tub and nails.

It was perfect. But because my nails look like this now:


I can't type well. So this will be a short post. Sorry... I'm already dreading putting on pants tomorrow... So this is hard for me too.

Here's a poem for you in apology.

I bought a new lamp
It's great and it's damp
With lava and green
Like beetlejuice.

Im not a poet, so here's a picture instead.


Cheers!

Tuesday, October 10, 2023

Distracted Biking - by Barbara Baker

 


 

Most days I’m over the embarrassment and if just one person rethinks what they do because of my incident, my work here is done.

I was biking on a quiet, paved path behind my seven-year-old granddaughter. The sky was pink. A mountain loomed in the foreground. On a slight downhill, Ainsley crouched low behind her handlebars, hair flying, pedaling like she was headed for a finish line. What a picture.

With my right hand, I dug deep in my shorts’ pocket for my cell phone. Pulled it out. Glanced down to open it. Looked up and there she was - right in front of me. No time to think. My left hand hit the front brake. Hard. My bike stopped. I could feel the back end lift. Over the handlebars I flew. I think I tucked and rolled and landed beside Ainsley. Thank God I didn’t hit her.

I got up fast and looked around. How stupid is that? I just crashed and my brain is worried someone might have seen it happen.

“Gramma,” Ainsley screamed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, honey.” I picked up my cell phone, groaned at the cracked screen and shoved it in my pocket. “Can you lead the way back to Grampa?”

“You’re bleeding really bad.”

“Not a big deal.” I glanced at the blood pouring from the road rash on my knee. “We have lots of band aids. Lets go.”

Off she pedaled towards home.

The handlebars were off centre so my steering was all wonky but I managed to keep it straight and focused on pedaling.

“Grampa,” Ainsley shouted. “Gramma fell off her bike.”

“I hit the front brake,” I said.

David looked at me with puzzled eyes. I knew those eyes were saying “what the hell, your front brake? Why?” but his outside voice said, “Are you okay?”

“I will be.” I nodded.

I put my bike away and took my helmet off. The top was scratched and chipped and chunks of gravel stuck out of the air vents. The visor hung on by one arm. I hooked it on my handlebar and went to the outside tap.

First, I stuck my bleeding palm under the cold water. It felt so good. Then my knee. Then my elbow. I repeated the process until the body parts were numb and my embarrassment subsided.

“I cannot tell a lie.” I looked up at David. “I was getting my phone out of my pocket with my right hand and when I looked up, I was right on Ainsley’s tail.”

He nodded. And frowned. Checked my scrapes and got out the Polysporin.

I stayed awake long into the night fretting about what could have happened if I hadn’t had a helmet on. If I hadn’t stopped in time and hit Ainsley. World’s worst grandmother ever. When I closed my eyes, the worst-case scenario made me open them again. It was a long night.

A few ribs on my left side screamed at me when I got out of bed the next morning and brushing my hair made me wince. Weeks later the ribs still reminded me of the crash.

 

When I see kids or adults riding bikes without helmets, I want to yell at them to put a helmet on. Road rash and ribs heal. The head, not so much. If you see a gramma sitting on a street corner handing out helmets to helmetless riders, it might be me. And yes, I will buy a new helmet for myself.

Now when I follow the grandkids on my bike, I keep both hands on my handlebars and my head up, capturing the moment to memory - it saves the bytes taking pictures would use and more importantly, any further injury to myself.

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

 

Sunday, September 10, 2023

When My Muse Sings to Me - Barbara Baker

 

Ticket in hand. Check. Suitcase packed. Check. Off to Drumheller, Alberta I go.

If you’ve read the acknowledgements in my books, you know who I’m going to see. And I’m pretty darn excited.

The concert will be in the Badlands Amphitheatre which is a stunning acoustical marvel. The Amphitheatre was established in 1991 specifically for performances of the Passion Play. In 2015 they opened the stage to outdoor concerts as well. 



I’ve sat breathless through many Passion Play performances, but tonight I’m going to rock the night away with my muse. The first time I saw Johnny Reid perform was in 2007. It was a blustery spring day at the Sunshine Village Ski Resort. He sang on a tiny outdoor stage surrounded by snow. A very different venue from today. 

Tonight, the air is warm. The clouds are high. People wiser than me carry in cushions for the rustic wooden seats. The opening performer, Martin Kerr, is awesome and I make a note to add him to my iTunes. 


Unfortunately, he doesn’t come back for an encore. After he leaves the stage 2,500 fans hoot and holler for the main act. 

And out comes Johnny Reid. The cheers and his songs echo across the hoodoos. Bodies sway. Mouths move. Hands clap. I am caught up in this perfect place with wonderful friends listening to his familiar tunes. And out of nowhere, a title pops into my head for my next novel. How cool is that?

For those who have never heard him sing, this is how the New York Post describes Johnny Reid - “Take a pinch of Bruce Springsteen, a dash of Bob Seger and enough Rod Stewart to give the mix vocal gravel, and you start to get the vibe of this Scottish-born singer/songwriter.”

After a few songs Johnny Reid walks to the front of the stage and says, “Some of you men look like me father did when me mum dragged him to concerts.” He crosses his arms and puts on a grumpy face. “I hope your night gets a wee bit better.” People glance around (possibly looking for the grumpy old men) and laugh.

 

The songs, the energy from everyone on stage, the spotlight on band members - its captivating. My favourite song plays, and tears roll down my cheeks. Then we follow Johnny's instructions and gestures as he teaches us a chorus to a popular tune. The band starts up again. Johnny starts singing. When it’s our turn, he waves us in, and he stops singing. Our voices are the only ones booming across the landscape. Eerily magical. 

And before I know it, he’s thanking everyone for coming out. He’s thanking Alberta for inviting him to this amazing place. The band and him wave goodbye and walk off stage.

No way.

The crowd stands. Whistles pierce the air. I add to it because, if I do say so myself, I’ve got one hell of a solid two finger whistle. And back they come for one last song. Happy sad sigh. Until next time Johnny Reid. And there will be a next time. 

 

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

 

 

 

 

 

Thursday, August 10, 2023

Do Something that Scares You - by Barbara Baker



I'm sure you've heard the expression "do one thing every day that scares you." The quotation is often misattributed to Eleanor Roosevelt who said, "you gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face." Although her quote is lengthy, it doesn't sound as flippant as running around doing scary shit every day just because.

A few weeks ago, my adventure on Shuswap Lake became my scary event that will last for months. 

The first night out, I relax and float around. I’m a huge fan of bathtub warm water and lake is ideal. My life jacket is snug. The lake is calm. And I’m with friends who abide by my ‘no splashing’ rule. Life is perfect as the sun sets on Copper Island.

The next day a new water toy to pull behind the boat comes out. The guys watch a few YouTube videos of a teenager doing handstands and spins on the water disc. They grin and say he makes it look easy.

Fastening my life jacket up tighter than usual, I lower myself onto the disc, get on my stomach and grab the two handles in the middle. I rock side to side. Feels stable. I stick an arm straight down into the water to see when it gets cold. It's warm right up to my elbow. Works for me. I’ll just stay on top. 


With my thumbs up gesture, the boat moves forward, and the rope tightens. The guys say the boat shouldn’t go faster than 15 km/hour. Heck, I go faster than that when I’m biking downhill.

Once I’m skipping across the wake, I loosen my grip on the handles. The tension is less than water skiing. Nice. I scootch my legs up and wiggle around until I’m sitting. When I let go of both handles, I still stay on the disc. Easy-peasy. Feeling like a rock star I wave at my friends on the boat.

 Now I just have to stand up. 


I get into a crouching position. Almost there. I lift one leg up and move it forward. My foot steps over the centre line and the front of the disc tips down. Darn it. I know what’s coming but I try to shift my weight back in hopes I can compensate and counterbalance. Not a chance. My rock star status (with me right behind) fly over the front of the disc and I torpedo headfirst through the warm water into the cold. 

 

With lips shut tight (to keep the minnows out) I thrash my arms above my head to find the surface. When I pop out, water gushes out my nostrils. Hair clings to my face. Holding my chin up, I gasp a few good breaths and pat my life jacket. It performed well.

The expressions of the people at the back of the boat indicate I performed an awesome wipeout. If getting up and standing on the disc had to be unsuccessful, it’s good to know I can amuse people.

I wait for the boat to circle around and pick me up. After drying off, I assume a more relaxing position on the deck and watch the scenery pass by. So much for doing scary shit just because. 

 

With only a few weeks of summer left, have a few adventures everyone. If you try something scary, stay safe, and don’t be afraid to look fear in the face - even if you end up getting wet.

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

Wednesday, August 9, 2023

Summer Vibes by Vanessa C. Hawkins

 

 Vanessa Hawkins Author Page

    

Summer is always a busy time for me. Book wise, there is just a ton going on. This summer, I have already had several book signings and a few conventions. But now that the season is winding down, I have a writing retreat, which if you have been following my blog, know that I attended last summer! 

I. AM. SO. EXCITED. 


But on top of that, I have been invited to host a workshop for Wordsfall, which is an annual writing event in my hometown province. I'm pretty excited about it, as I get to talk about writing fantasy with a group of aspiring writers. I have also been invited to read that night. Then there is horror fest, and an upcoming release of a new novel, and finishing up the draft to Twice Hung, which is part of the Canadian Historical Mystery series. 

I'm pretty pumped. But also going crazy with all the writing projects that I have going on. Three novels, an upcoming project to be announced, as well as a workshop, reading, and keeping up with life in general. 

I guess... whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger? 



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