Finding Your Voice workshop, Sunday, May 30 ~ online

Finding Your Voice

Sunday, May 30, 2021
1:00 – 4:00 p.m.
Online and accessible wherever there’s Internet

If you do any kind of creative writing, fiction or nonfiction, this workshop is for you. What do publishers and agents all look for? Voice. We’ll tackle the nitty-gritty of creating a voice that’s all you while avoiding common errors that the drain life from your prose.

You’ll see how to put words on paper in a way that will grip the reader’s imagination, and you'll discover how to make your writing more vivid, more elegant and more powerful.

Workshop leader Brian Henry has been a book editor and creative writing instructor for more than 25 years. He publishes Quick Brown Fox, Canada’s most popular blog for writers, teaches creative writing at Ryerson University and has led workshops everywhere from Boston to Buffalo and from Sarnia to Saint John. But his proudest boast is that he has helped many of his students get published. 

Read reviews of Brian's workshops, classes, and writing retreats here (and scroll down).

Fee: $37.17 + hst = $42 paid in advance 

This workshop will be offered on Zoom. Orientation provided, but you will need a computer, tablet or smartphone with a mic and, preferably, a camera {i.e. a webcam}. 

To reserve a spot now, email: brianhenry@sympatico.ca

See Brian’s complete current schedule here, including online and in-person writing workshops, weekly writing classes, and weekend retreats in Algonquin Park, Alliston, Bolton, Barrie, Brampton, Burlington, Caledon, Collingwood, Georgetown, Georgina, Guelph, Hamilton, Jackson’s Point, Kingston, Kitchener-Waterloo, London, Midland, Mississauga, Oakville, Ottawa, Peterborough, St. Catharines, Southampton, Sudbury, Toronto, Windsor, Woodstock, Halton, Muskoka, Peel, Simcoe, York Region, the GTA, Ontario and beyond.

 

“A Year of COVID and the Birth of The Sooke Supremes Team” by Leslie Ann Bent

 

I took a look at the map and sighed, “Only 100 K to go and we’re done.”

“Yep,” my husband, Andy replied. 

I glanced at the whole route from St John’s to Victoria – one heck of a journey.  It’s amazing what seven pairs of legs can do. I recalled proudly making the Nova Scotia basket back in August for a lucky winner who ran through my hometown – virtually, that is. We celebrated  a virtual Christmas in Winnipeg, my birthday in some remote spot on Lake Superior, and Andy’s birthday in Charlottetown.

Back in April of 2020, Canadians were learning how to cope with this new virus called COVID.  We had restrictions on non-essential travel, stay at home policies, shops and restaurants closed, and limited visits with friends and family.

We cancelled our plans to visit aging parents in Nova Scotia. My course in Victoria was cancelled. Parks were closed. Our volunteer work supporting literacy at a local elementary school came to an abrupt halt. Our gym closed. Our running club group runs were nixed.

However, my bike was on the trainer in the basement.  Our 55-kilometer Galloping Goose rail trail stayed open. I could run or walk every day if I chose to. My bookshelf was full. I had an extensive stash of stationery, and I’m passionate about correspondence writing. 

We embraced Zoom. My personal trainer and I moved our gym sessions to Zoom. Our family visits moved to Zoom. My course resumed on Zoom. I volunteered to send correspondence to seniors in my parents’ assisted care home. Within six weeks, I wrote and sent over 400 cards and smiles to isolated seniors. I volunteered to organize a few running club events that wouldn’t involve us meeting as a group.

In April, I created the Virtual Vancouver Island Circuit Challenge in April. Could our cumulated club mileage get us around Vancouver Island in nine days?  With 30 runners and walkers, distances to tally and reports to write every day, it felt as though I had a full-time job with overtime. Then I created “May Marathon Madness.” How many marathons can you complete in a month? 

These are the types of things that kept me occupied in the early days of COVID. Friendship, health, family and a sense of fulfillment are the most important things for me in life. COVID or no COVID, I needed to keep these things central to my new and restricted world. The way I would approach fitness, family, friends and goal setting would change, but not the fundamentals.

At the end of April, I received an interesting email from a running organization in Ottawa. How would I like to be part of the Big Canada Run? After being slightly incensed that they stole my idea, I quickly learned that the run would engage running communities from around the globe to commit to 8,000 kilometers of distance on foot, crossing Canada from St John’s Newfoundland to Victoria, BC. Teams could be as small or a large as we wanted. We’d have a year to complete the challenge, starting on Canada Day, 2020. I was pumped to create a team.

I contemplated who to invite. We’d be a team and we’d need to support each other for a year. We’d need members to be accountable to walk or run their share of the distance. We’d need positive attitudes and not take ourselves too seriously.  Let’s face it – 8,000 kilometers would be no small feat. 

If one of us was having a hard week, we’d need to be supportive. If one was having doubts, we’d need to build their confidence. We’d need friends with some grit who wouldn’t quit when the going got tough. I chose people who I thought might fit the bill.

In the end, seven brave, spirited souls committed to be the Sooke Supremes Team. We made bets as to where the team would be on each member’s birthday. We’d celebrate each at an outdoor cafe. Every member made a basket of his or her home province for the other members to win – Nova Scotia, Quebec, Ontario, Alberta, and BC.

When interest started to fade, we added the Bass Ass Prairie basket, the Caesar basket, and the prairies Lean, Mean Machine healthy basket – all to be won by meeting motivational criteria. Maggie added the “100-k in day” for a New Year’s Eve challenge. I added the ugly sweater run.

We shared photos on-line. We were there for Megen’s surgery. We cheered for Maggie’s half marathon. We celebrated our successes.  We supported Kari through the loss of her beloved dog. We encouraged Andy’s 25-miler. 

We cringed at Kayla’s bloody knees and the dramatic story she relived with photos on Facebook. Maggie and I sold books for breast cancer and COVID initiatives for the hospital. We shared our family histories as we virtually passed through our ancestral regions.

While I was writing this piece, I came across a quote: “Running has given me many things, but the greatest gift has been the people that it has brought into my life.”  This quote sums up my experience with the Sooke Supremes. 

In years to come, I expect what I’ll remember about COVID is not the closures and personal inconveniences, but rather the tight-knit friendship I developed with The Sooke Supremes. During a year of global death, fear and isolation, we maintained our fitness, developed deeper friendships and, tallying our distances, completed an 8,000-K run.  In just nine months, we covered ten provinces on our own two feet.   We really rocked.

***

Leslie Ann Bent is a retired chartered accountant. She lives with her husband in the quiet hamlet of Shirley, BC, on the Juan de Fuca coast. She’s traveled to many corners of the globe and enjoys sharing her amazing experiences and adventures.  

 See Brian Henry’s upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and weekend retreats here.

Congratulations to the winners of the Forest of Reading Awards!

The Forest of Reading is an annual contest for books for young readers. The Ontario Library Association nominates the books in differing age categories, plus an additional category for nonfiction Then children from participating schools across the province (which is almost all the schools) read the books and vote for who they want to win. Just being nominated guarantees your book gains a wide readership. But winning – knowing kids across the province picked your book as they very best –that's cool.

Fans at Forest of Reading Awards Ceremony
(in the before times)

This year, a special shoutout and congratulations to Tanaz Bhathena whose young adult novel, Hunted by the Sky, won the White Pine Award, and to Kira Vermond and illustrator Clayton Hanmer whose nonfiction book Trending: How and Why Stuff Gets Popular, won the Yellow Cedar Award. 

Many Quick Brown Fox readers will know Tanaz and Kira from their appearances at my one-day workshops and weekly classes. So, Yay! to Tanaz and Kira –these awards are well-earned! ~Brian

P.S. Trending is available from OwlKids here. See details of all four of Kira’s four books with OwlKids here. and see details of Kira's most recent book, Why Does My Shadow Follow Me at Annick Press here.

Hunted by the Sky is available from Chapters here, or order it from your local bookstore (see here). The sequel, Rising Like a Storm, is coming out in June 2021. Read details here.

 See Brian Henry’s upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and weekend retreats here.

“The Visit” by Bev Chambers

 

I’m standing in line, double-masked and glasses fogged, clutching my walking stick as I maneuver to hand sanitize. The man behind me creeps closer, closer than the recommended six feet. Seems he’s in such a hurry, he’s unable to see that things take longer for me. Maybe he had a family crisis, missed the bus and is late for his appointment, you never know, my mother used to say, spread a little kindness.

My heart speeds up, wondering what condition she’ll be in today, surely they’d have called if she passed during the night. I swallow that ball of fear.

The screener asks me where I’m going then tells me my name is not on the list. Oh, I say in my nice voice, I should be on the list, I’ve been coming for days. She looks at me skeptically from behind the plastic. “I don’t see you in the computer.”

“She’s a category 4,” I blurt.

Another screener recognizes me and she waves me through the gate.

Walking stiffly down the hall, hoping my medication doesn’t wear off; I don’t want to fall. That is why she is here, because she had a fall, a catastrophic fall,

She will not make it the staff informed me on the phone, but being the contrary person she is she did make it, only to wake up and not be happy with her circumstances. “Don’t let me get like that,” she told me. But I was in the very process of slowly becoming “like that” myself. 

“I’ll do my best,” I said. 

She nodded her understanding, her beautiful white hair that everyone commented on softly falling around her face.

The hall continues, shops lining each side, like an airport lounge, with the only seats in wheelchairs.

How she loved to go home to England every year to visit her extensive family. And each year it got harder. Landing in Heathrow, she’d have a mile walk to catch her flight to Manchester. Worried about missing her connection she’d order a wheelchair, reassured by staff that she wasn’t being a bother.

And I recall the time we travelled together, crammed on the subway in London. Looking up at me beneath her stylish beret, her saying, “Well this is an experience,” as young men jokingly told her that at her stop they would lift her out over their heads if necessary and she sparkled as she flirted,

She liked to flirt.

I’m at the elevator and gingerly touch the up button, surely one of the dirtiest things in the hospital, shrinking to the back corner as people get on, only four allowed. The doors open, I hand sanitize at the desk, and the keeper of the gate asks me to state my business. He tells me I am not on the list. I smile politely giving him the name of the manager who told me I could visit. He scrutinizes me, tells me to sign in, then I head down the hall.

From the door I hear her voice. She’s chatting with the nurse. I walk in, kiss her smooth papery cheek, wondering what she feels through my masks. She still smells faintly of lavender.

She is excited to tell me that the nurse washed her hair. I look at him, marvelling that he has realized how important this is, and mentally plan to write him a thank you note.  

And I sit at the side of the bed and take up my position.

 

Bev Chambers is a writer of creative nonfiction stories and poetry. Her work has been published in a variety of media including the Kingston Whig Standard, Canadian Stories, The RNAO Journal, the Canadian Nurse, and the National Capital Writing Contest Anthologies in 2020 and 2017. Her children’s book Racoon in the Green Bin and other Animal Limericks is available here. https://www.amazon.ca/Raccoon-Green-Bin-Animal-Limericks/dp/1777552605. Bev lives in Kingston, Ontario with her husband and his radio collection. 

 

“The Letter” by Jacqui DeBique

 

Sarah sat frozen on the edge of the double bed that until a few months ago she had shared with Ella and Darlene. She shifted restlessly, trying to find a comfortable spot away from the metal coils poking through the thin mattress from the weathered box spring beneath. She was still in disbelief. The letter hung limply from her fingers and she stared at it blindly.

Sarah had taken great care opening the envelope, intent on preserving the thirty-cent foreign stamp of the young queen so she could add it to her collection. Foreign was any location other than one of the neighbouring Caribbean islands. Sarah turned the letter over slowly and reread that passage. Her sigh was deep, heavy, laden with a burden she had one week to resolve. One week.

Eighteen months ago, there would have been no cons to weigh against the decision to leave. A job as a domestic in Canada, like her cousins Ella and Molly, was the chance of a lifetime – probably her only chance to make real money, to get Canadian citizenship, to make things better for her mother and for herself and for Darlene.

Darlene. Eighteen months ago, there was no Darlene. And now that an offer was here, inked on the paper dangling from her hands, how could she even think of leaving her little girl, barely walking and still in diapers? Besides, her mother had been clear; she had raised her own child and her nieces and did not intend to raise grands as well.

“Wah, wah.”

Sarah wiggled across the bed to cuddle up beside Darlene, who was snuggled in a lightweight cotton blanket. She drew Darlene into the circle of her arms, and Darlene’s crying stopped just as quickly as it had started.

“Baby girl, what’s best? What’s right?”

Darlene gurgled, her eyes glued to Sarah’s face.

Sarah returned Darlene’s look with an intensity of her own, as though trying to find an answer in her coos and bright brown eyes. Closing her eyes, Sarah touched her baby’s face. Her fingers found her dimpled cheeks, uneven brows, her flat nose. Sarah squeezed her eyes tighter with every touch.

Would she need to draw on her mind’s eye to fill the void? Because truth was, living abroad as a housekeeper and nanny would mean leaving Darlene behind.

Sarah drew Darlene closer to her chest. The softness and warmth of her baby’s body relaxed her. The mild, natural fragrance of the Pears bar soap she had bathed Darlene with earlier reached her nose. She drew in a long, slow, loving breath.

“Say-rah!”

Her mother’s heavily accented voice rang through the house and jolted Sarah upright.

“Girl, whey you dey?”

Sarah knew better than to have her mother bellow her name a second time.

“In the bedroom, Ma!”

Sarah swung her legs off the bed just as her mother burst threw the door. No knocking. Not when her mother was mistress of the house.

Darlene slid gingerly off the bed and wobbled to her Nana.

“Dar Dar, my sweet girl, come here.”

Darlene looked up expectantly, happy for her Nana to scoop her up. Despite everything Norma had said when she found out Sarah was pregnant, she couldn’t get enough of her granddaughter.

Bending towards Darlene, Norma’s eyes drifted to the letter that Sarah belatedly realized had fallen to the floor. She wasn’t ready for this conversation, but Norma was too quick for her.

“Say-rah, what is that paper by your foot?”

“Uh, nothing, Ma.”

“Girl, don’t vex me, you hear!”

Norma held onto Darlene deftly with one hand as she bent to pick up the letter with the other.

Sarah stiffened. Her breathing slowed to a heart-stopping rate as she watched her mother’s eyes dart left to right across the page. Norma’s lips moved in silence until she got to the passage.

“The family needs someone right away to help with the house and the children,” Norma read aloud. “I have to let them know by April 1 if you’re interested.”

“Say-rah, April 1 is Thursday, and I am finding out like this?”

“Ma, this came in today’s mail! It’s a surprise to me, too!”

“So, what you going to do?” Resignation was in Norma’s question.

“Ma, what should I do?” Longing was in Sarah’s.

Their words collided in mid-air. Norma’s voice had dropped an octave and her gaze was fixed on Darlene. Her face softened and her mouth quivered. A smile? Tears? Sarah had only seen her mother cry twice; when Molly had left home and then again when Ella left. Norma was a hard nut, but she had cracked when her nieces emigrated for what they all knew were greener pastures.

Sarah’s eyes locked with her mother’s. The words went unspoken. Norma walked towards her daughter and with Darlene still in her arms, drew Sarah tightly into her embrace.

Jacqui DeBique has worked in corporate communications for 25+ years where her writing has focused on telling the stories of others—other organizations and people. She has recently started to flex her creative writing skills to tell her own stories, a dream too long deferred from childhood.

 See Brian Henry’s upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and weekend retreats here.

 

“Ninety Seconds in Tel Aviv” by Sara Aharon

 

AFP Terrorist rockets coming in on the right; Iron Dome interceptors rising up on the left 

In the living room, the TV scrolls
a never-ending list
of communities facing missile strikes
Red Alert Red Alert Red Alert
rockets reach almost everywhere
some fall in Tel Aviv
the beating heart of a vibrant country
now missing beats, now racing, now broken.

Iron Dome warriors defend
they don’t sleep or blink
dedicated to the bone
yet one in ten missiles is a dodger.
Moving lights in the sky are not falling stars
holes in buildings
are not windows to the soul of a home
but dark hollows with burnt edges – a place
a dead child once imagined safety.

No place is safe
the living room is treacherous terrain
the list grows
Red Alerts Red Alerts  
They’re getting closer
the airport is under attack
there’s nowhere to run.

I go to the back room facing the yard
an illusion of a different world
protected by hedges
chirps, coos, witt-witt, pit-pit,
birdsong makes me feel alive
my heartbeat finds a calm spot
in mother nature’s embraces.

Let’s go to the beach, I say to the man
I took for better or worse, this is worse
In a moment of mad optimism
I pack a book about hope against odds,
sunglasses, water and a mask
a reminder of a different war.

The taxi driver plays cheerful music
I look up at the blue sky
a screeching alert from my phone
shatters my reverie
wails from the sky pierce
my short-lived illusion.

Ninety seconds to find shelter,
my phone says
we leap from the back seat
sixty seconds
I sprint this way and that
looking for a building entrance
even a stairwell will do
too far too far
thirty seconds
I still look
I freeze
ten seconds…
Lie down lie down
cover your head
I drop to the ground.

Flat on the dirty pavement
Why did I wear white pants?
I cover my head
I can’t breathe
my heart thumps against the gravel
a girl behind me screams,
“take me home, take me home”
her mother comforts her
she is my mother now.

Two loud booms above us, the earth quakes
we wait, as instructed, ten minutes
debris could fall
did I choose a good spot?
Should I crawl to the mother?
Will my late mother intervene on my behalf?
Will God or at least my brave, departed father
help me?

Ten minutes is a long time to ponder –
should I text my daughters in North America
to say I love them?
Should I apologize to all my friends and family
for leaving?
All these decades in Canada
all that privilege I enjoyed
What was I thinking?
Did I really believe it was fair
to enjoy sunny vacations here
and never share the pain, the fear?
Ten minutes of perspective.

We stand up
we look up
the Iron Dome blasted the rockets above us
all that’s left is smoldering clouds
We dodged this one.
Our angels wave their wings
disappear with the smoke.

I miss the cheer-up, cheer-a-lee, cheer-e-o
of the red robins in my Toronto backyard
but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else
when so many loved ones in my beloved country,
flaws and all, have to take shelter
in the city that doesn't sleep, that cannot sleep.

Soon we’ll toast to our survival
one more in a chain
three thousand years long
as we look towards a better future
perched atop the shoulders of our ancestors.
And we’ll try to be as brave.

***

Sara Aharon lives in Toronto. She is the proud mother of two adult daughters. These days she makes her living as a virtual psychologist, and since she has more time on her hands, she writes about plagues (and other things).

See Brian Henry’s schedule here,  including online and in-person writing workshops, weekly writing classes, and weekend retreats in Algonquin Park, Alliston, Bolton, Barrie, Brampton, Burlington, Caledon, Collingwood, Georgetown, Georgina, Guelph, Hamilton, Jackson’s Point, Kingston, Kitchener-Waterloo, London, Midland, Mississauga, Oakville, Ottawa, Peterborough, St. Catharines, Southampton, Sudbury, Toronto, Windsor, Woodstock, Halton, Muskoka, Peel, Simcoe, York Region, the GTA, Ontario and beyond.

Eid Mubarak

 

A happy Eid to all my Muslim friends and colleagues.

Online Intensive Creative Writing class offered this summer, Tuesday afternoons and Wednesday evenings

Intensive Creative Writing

Offered at two times:

Tuesday afternoons, July 6 – Aug 24, 2021
12:30 – 3:00 p.m.

And 

Wednesday evenings, July 7 – Aug 25, 2021
6:45 – 9 p.m.

Held on Zoom and available wherever there's Internet.

See details of all upcoming weekly classes, one-day workshops, and weekend writing retreats {online and in-person} here.

Intensive Creative Writing isn't for beginners; it's for people who have been writing for a while or who have done a course or two before and are working on their own projects. You’ll be asked to bring in four pieces of your writing for detailed feedback, including two long pieces. All your pieces may be from the same work, such as a novel in progress, or they may be stand alone pieces. You bring whatever you want to work on. 

Besides critiquing pieces, the instructor will give short lectures addressing the needs of the group, and in addition to learning how to critique your own work and receiving constructive suggestions about your writing, you’ll discover that the greatest benefits come from seeing how your classmates approach and critique a piece of writing and how they write and re-write. This is a challenging course, but extremely rewarding.

Fee: $211.50 + hst = $239

To reserve your spot, email: brianhenry@sympatico.ca

Instructor Brian Henry has been a book editor and creative writing instructor for more than 25 years. He publishes Quick Brown Fox, Canada's most popular blog for writers, teaches creative writing at Ryerson University and has led workshops everywhere from Boston to Buffalo and from Sarnia to Saint John. But his proudest boast is that he’s has helped many of his students get published.  

Read reviews of Brian's various courses and workshops here (and scroll down).

See Brian’s complete current schedule here, including online and in-person writing workshops, weekly writing classes, and weekend retreats in Algonquin Park, Alliston, Bolton, Barrie, Brampton, Burlington, Caledon, Collingwood, Georgetown, Georgina, Guelph, Hamilton, Jackson’s Point, Kingston, Kitchener-Waterloo, London, Midland, Mississauga, Oakville, Ottawa, Peterborough, St. Catharines, Southampton, Sudbury, Toronto, Windsor, Woodstock, Halton, Muskoka, Peel, Simcoe, York Region, the GTA, Ontario and beyond.