I was raised in Widow Town.
That wasn't the actual name of the town, of course, but that was the nickname used in quiet spaces where voices weren't really meant to be heard. It was the shadowy truth that played a big part in who I am today, and how I process the world.
I'm not sure how my little southern Manitoba town was so unlucky in the eighties and early nineties when I lived there, but by the time I graduated high school, five of my schoolmates had lost a parent. I remember going to funerals and sitting uncomfortably in living rooms with other kids my age, none of us knowing what to do or what to say. When I made it all the way to twenty-two before losing my own mother, I felt almost lucky. Making it to thirty-nine with my father seemed like a virtual miracle.
Perhaps it's not surprising then that the vines of my writing have wrapped themselves around the experiences of death and loss. This – along with mental heath, friendship, and motherhood – are the main themes in most of my writing. As a writer, I hope to link us as humans, finding common ground in those experiences that are, in many ways, faced alone. As a person, I know my writing also serves to help me process my own life experiences, and to address my own fears and worries in an uncertain world.
The seed for my manuscript, Fault Lines, was first planted when my father was placed in palliative care in 2014. The hospital room had a kitchen and a hide-a-bed and a TV. It was designed as a place to settle in and patiently wait for death. I had already lost my mother in a different type of hospital room in 1997, but from the time the doctors declared her terminal, it was the same experience of settling in, simply waiting for the end. In hindsight, neither experience was very long in actual time, but the days of waiting and watching felt like months.
By 2014, I was married with three young girls and a lot of responsibilities that kept me pretty focused on the present. However, suddenly being in a palliative care room with relatives that I rarely saw brought back a flood of memories and emotions – not only of my father, but of everything from my childhood and youth. Those memories, combined with grief and stress and new responsibilities, were scattered and muddled and incomplete. I felt a little like I was in a strange time warp that only righted itself when I stepped outside of that hospital to breathe winter air, and then even more when I took a break and drove to my home in the city. I didn't know my heart was starting to write a novel then, but it was.
Although my protagonist Nadia and I share a few characteristics and experiences, her story is not mine. She came to me slowly and methodically with time, revealing her life to me. Nadia introduced me to her husband and children and a childhood friend. She told me about two parents who both loved her and broke her, and a stepmother that she struggled to love. Nadia told me about the two houses and a rusty RV that fractured her childhood into a before and an after. Then Nadia let me in on her fears and resentments and shame, and she showed me how deeply she loves. When Nadia is called into a palliative care room, she finds it impossible to simply grieve this stepmother who is unexpectedly dying, or care for her father with dementia, whose uncontrolled memories continually crash their turbulent past into Nadia's present. But as her story unfolds, so does her strength.
This past year, loss has continued to touch the periphery of my life. I have grieved, and I have felt the pain of others grieving. I have tried to hold space for those in my circles, and to keep those further out in my prayers.
But more than anything, I have been awe-struck by the incredible strength of people. In times of sadness, I have also seen love and laughter and light in untold quantities. I have watched the present unfold into memories that will one day be held close, and I have watched memories from years ago dance with the joy of the present.
The human spirit is an extraordinary thing.
Publication Updates
Thank you for sharing in the journey of Fault Lines with me. As you may remember from the June newsletter, I am waiting for the copy editor to complete her work and will have the edited version returned to me in about a week's time. After finalizing the edits, I will be spending the next few weeks sending out a blitz of query letters to small publishers who may be interested in this novel. I'm committed to this step before pursuing self-publishing, but I am very open to that as well. I'm nervous and excited about the next stage, but I do hope to share more news with you soon!
Meanwhile...
a piece of flash fiction (Spinning Yarns) was published through the online journal, Suddenly and Without Warning, on June 24th. Here's a little taste...
Diva watched a row of dentures pop into place on her phone screen. Her father was usually toothless, this call must be special. Two hands, probably the nurse’s, pulled gently at his shoulders, but he pushed her off.
When are you picking me up? His voice was murky, like he was in the middle of a swallow. She hesitated, wishing she could see his eyes. His face was much too close to the camera. Diva? She flinched in surprise. He remembered her name this time. At least the name he gave her.
Continue reading here or you can find Spinning Yarns under Short Stories.
As always, thank you for reading and for all your support! Comments and reflections can be left below. I'd love to hear from you!