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ROCK AGAINST DEATH

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From Dec 10, 2014: I’ve been moping since the news of another fallen punk rock comrade. Brian Goble, AKA Wimpy Roy, or Sunny Boy, of the Subhumans,  DOA and Rude Norton, died Sunday. Heart attack. Taken too soon at the age of 57. It’s so hard to reconcile the exuberance of our youth with the cold hard facts of life, the hardest, death. It comes for us all, a fact we can’t possibly comprehend when we’re kids brimming with piss and vinegar. Nor should we. A wonderful part of youth-ignorance of our impending demise-provides a liberty which empowers us to speak, sing, write. Kick ass. Take action. Realize ourselves. When I die, I’ll die knowing that we accomplished that much. Sang our songs, rallied against injustice. Lived and loved loudly, unabashedly.

There was a time when my fellow Zellots and I ran with the uber intelligent, talented, honourable and driven Brian, Subhumans and DOA, all of who profoundly influenced and inspired me. And made me smile. Laugh. I am so privileged to have known him. We all are. Wimpy in all his guises rocked Vancouver in the most visceral way. And I know many people are in pain over the loss. I so wish I could offer more than heartfelt condolences to his family. But, fuck death. Brian Goble and his legacy will live on. Onward and upwards, and “Death to the Sickoids!”

DIY Dickens. “A Christmas Carol,” self-published masterpiece. 12th Blog of Christmas by best-selling author Martin Crosbie

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Martin Crosbie  lives on the west coast of Canada and has written five books including Amazon bestseller My Temporary Life. His popular Christmas novel Believing Again: A Tale Of Two Christmases is available in e-book format in the US and UK as a Kindle Countdown Deal from Dec. 24-27 for only 99 cents.

Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge’s name was good upon ‘Change for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a doornail.

A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens

Those delicious words open the Dickens classic. Previous to the publication of A Christmas Carol, Christmas was barely recognized. Although it was a holiday it didn’t have the romantic vibe that it has today. Mr. Dickens and his novel changed all that. And, if he’d waited for his publisher to release the book it may never have happened.

Charles Dickens wrote his masterpiece in six weeks. Somehow he was able to channel the story and get the words on paper (or parchment probably) in less than two months. At that time he was suffering financially. His wife was pregnant with their fifth child and the wolves were closing in on their door. His previous novel had not sold well and when he submitted his new manuscript (after having it beta-read surely), to his publishers they were slow to warm to it. I’m not sure how rejection letters were sent out in 1853 but his publishers indicated that they were not interested in publishing the story of Ebenezer Scrooge’s epiphany. Anxious to have the book released by Christmas Dickens went the print-on-demand route and self-published. He hired his own illustrator and contracted his publisher to print the books. And, he did the legwork himself. Then, in those very, pre-Konrath days he decided to lower the price to five shillings – a price that most folks would be able to afford. He wanted his book to be read and perhaps he even thought that readers might enjoy his other works if they liked his Christmas tale.

Read more…

 

Evocative verse from Sarah Lane-Twelve Blogs of Christmas

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Sarah Lane is the Canadian author of The God of My Art, a quarter finalist for the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award and available on Amazon and Chapters. The God of My Art is the coming-of-age story of a young artist set in Vancouver and an imaginary town in northern BC. Lane’s other fiction and poetry have appeared in The Antigonish Review, Roar Magazine, and Quills: Canadian Poetry Magazine.

Lane is currently writing a psychological thriller about a salsa dancer and her doppelgänger. To be the first to know when it comes out, sign up to her new release mailing list.

To learn more about Lane’s writing, visit www.sarahlanebooks.com

 

The leaves are falling, clumping on pavement, wet and mute

like the beat of lips, fluttering with a whisper in the rainstorm

black like mascara streaming down a throat, waft of a secret

curling under earlobes to the small of a neck, drizzling into the

chaos of hair and drift of fingers down the meridian of spine

II.

When we close our eyes we forget our continents, yellow

silk of the setting sun, sheen of snow under moonlight, the sweet

spice of a foreign accent, damp warmth of a strange tongue pooling its

syllables behind our lips, this contrast of skin where we sit, side by side,

legs swinging off the bed in the hush of the morning light

 

Read the rest of the poem:

http://www.sarahlanebooks.com/blog-ninth-of-christmas

Twelve Blogs of Christmas-Jennifer Ellis

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Jennifer Ellis Bio

Jennifer lives in mountains of British Columbia where she can be found writing, spending too much time on skis, and working as an environmental researcher. She has two boys, an eighteen-year-old cat and a husband who doesn’t want a dog. She has been known to read tarot cards and spring surprise walks on unsuspecting neighbourhood dogs. She has wanted to be a writer since she first read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and did not want to come out of the wardrobe.

Her Derivatives of Displacement series is science fiction fantasy for middle-graders (and adults). Books one and two are available, and book three is coming in 2015. She also writes adult fiction with a dystopic edge including In the Shadows of the Mosquito Constellation and her upcoming release Reversal, set in the Apocalypse Weird world. She has also contributed to several anthologies, most notably Synchronic: 13 Tales of Time Travel, which hit #16 in the Kindle Store.

A Pair of Docks, Book One in her Derivatives of Displacement series is available for 99 cents through Christmas.

You can subscribe to her blog for the latest book news and industry insights at www.jenniferellis.ca. She tweets at @jenniferlellis.

12 Days of Christmas Blog – What Christmas Means

When Martin Crosbie first invited me to be part of the 12 Blogs of Christmas with eleven other writers of course I said yes. I love blogging, I love Christmas, and I love other writers.

As the date approached for me to prepare my blog, a few problems emerged: 1) How much can be said about Christmas that hasn’t been said already; 2) How am I going to write an amazing post that compares to the efforts of the other participating bloggers who are also writers; 3) A huge number of work and writing deadlines all packed together like coupled rail cars wending their way through my December; 4) The deaths of a friend’s mother, and a friend’s son; 5) The usual stresses of life and winter—ailing mother, geriatric cat, viruses abounding in my children’s school and in our house; and the more creeping and interesting realization 6) Do I really love Christmas?

I have always had somewhat of a yo-yo relationship with Christmas…

Read More

Links

www.jenniferellis.ca

Amazon Author Page (with all my books)

A Pair of Docks

In the Shadows of the Mosquito Constellation

Synchronic: 13 Tales of Time Travel

Manifest (on Barnes and Noble)

Manifest (on Kobo)

Current Promotions

 

A Pair of Docks is 99 cents through the holidays.

 

 

A YIN-YANG CHRISTMAS-From Joy to Dread and Back Again

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‘Tis the season. For melancholy. Haunted by Christmas Past, I get nostalgic for the little girl who believed in Santa. A child’s lament; “Why can’t it be Christmas every day?”, I’d wail at my mother. Because, my parents would rally, no matter how broke we’d been, to fill the house with presents, candy, nuts and booze, to be filled with joy, or at least in a in a good mood, when they weren’t fighting or knocking over the tree.

I have an image burned into my psyche of sitting on the couch next to it, staring at my reflection in an exquisite silver bulb, in a trance of hope and excruciating happiness. That damned tree. Its heady perfume permeated the house, blasting away banality, infusing bliss. Magic. Or madness, I’ve come to realize. The Christmas tree has become for me an emblem of the innocence of childhood, innocence lost, innocence I have finally quit trying to regain.

Light-Dark. Fire-Water. Male-Female. Yin-Yang. Without dread, how can there be joy? Seeking the answer traces my evolution from doe-eyed youngster to jaded diva, but at last I am comfortable with such dualities. I’m not a Daoist but understand that life is an endless cycle, and that opposites are bound together to create a mutual whole.

“Thank God I’m an atheist.” I struggled with that when my son was little, thought that if we were going to observe-after deciding we would honour tradition, albeit our way-that Junior should know about the Christ in Christmas. He learned that Jesus of Nazareth was most likely a rabbi, his teachings were sound and the man must have been a charismatic philosopher, healer or social reformer who many saw as a prophet and the son of God. I’ve also taught my son to be discerning, to consider the source, to put things in relief. In perspective. With healthy skeptiscim comes a certain ambivalence, but he’s a good kid, smart and compassionate.

I refrain from spouting “Bah Humbug,” but don’t put up a tree anymore. Junior, now 20, no longer cares, which is rather sad, considering how much he did care, how excited he’d get, waiting for and believing in Santa. But we share fond memories; one year he, his step-father and I spent Christmas in Hawaii with his godmother and extended family. We met Don Ho, watched a lighted parade in the little town of Waimea on Christmas Eve, and Junior even went boogie boarding, despite having been afraid of the water.

Peace and goodwill toward men. Why should it be seasonal? I do enjoy the time the holidays afford us, the opportunity to get together with loved ones. When we gather with those who are dear to us. If the fates allow. I like nothing better than to cook for my family, as I do each time I’m lucky enough to have them visit throughout the year. That is joy. Time is the most precious gift of all and peace comes from within.

 

All my Fabulous Friends: rob mclennan-Poet, editor, publisher, blogger

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I am privileged to know a lot of fabulous writers and artists and since I don’t get to see them very often, thought it might be nice to shine a light on the things they do. Seriously industrious, rob mclennan is truly one of Canada’s hardest working poets. He is the editor and publisher of above/ground press, Chaudiere Books and the author of numerous collections of fine verse.  Charming and smart, rob possesses a wicked sense of humour and we like to rib each other on those rare occasions we are in one another’s vicinity. Years ago, he interviewed me as part of his 12 or 20 Questions series at his very informative and entertaining blog, a visit well worth one’s time. Onward and upward rob!

Announcing my new writing retreat

Cabin

HOWE SOUND MUSES
Bowen Island Writing Retreat

Bed and breakfast on Bowen Island in beautiful British Columbia plus the time and as much solitude as you need to work on your fiction, poetry, non-fiction and or manuscript. $100. a day includes:

•Private Cabin/Office/Printer/WiFi/Mini fridge
•Breakfast
•Transportation to and from the ferry in Snug Cove

$150. a day includes:
•All of the above plus editing or coaching in writing and publishing  with Canadian poet, author and novelist Heather Haley
•Guided fun events. Island tour. Hiking, exploring local shops, restaurants, according to your tastes, needs and preferences.

Small, rustic, the cabin is equally cosy and comfortable with electricity, heat and free WiFi, though you are encouraged to stay off the Internet as much as possible. (Bathroom, shower and towels are in the main house but always accessible along with the kitchen and tea kettle.)

I hope to see you here! Visit the Howe Sound Muses website for more pictures and information.

Novel reviews are in! And a poem called “Flesh Pot”

Slowly trudging along the dreaded book marketing trail-the main challenge being a lack of both time and money-but so far she’s receiving the star treatment and good reviews:

“The pace is electric, the scenes pulsate with energy, and through the character of Fiona, the reader is pulled into a world that can be beautiful and passionate one moment, and scary and ugly the next. The writing is so honest and direct, and dealing with such powerful feelings and social issues, that it will take your breath away.”-Nick Faragher, author of  The Well and other Stories and No Big Thing. Nick also characterized it as a punk Moveable Feast, which I love.

“You couldn’t ask for a better tour guide. Fiona wants to take you by the arm and show you everything – everything! – and you should let her. She’ll walk you through absurdly dysfunctional families, creatives and poseurs, mountains of cocaine, the thrills and bitter frustrations of band life, a city on fire, and sex that explores a lot of territory: tender, frenzied, exhilarating, surreal, brutal. Fiona tells it all, unflinching, with a survivor’s wry humor. Go on, get in – it’s a ride worth taking. Fiona will drive too fast, and you’ll love it.”-Katy Barzedor

“Don’t let the punk rock scare you; this is a woman’s story of love and adventure and survival. This is about sex and drugs and rock and roll. This is about a woman’s personal journey from young girl to abused victim to scarred survivor. It may begin with the punk rock years, but follows the lead character Fiona through scenes of punk rock violence, to a more insidious violence of personal relationships. Warning: There is quite a bit of sex here, so if you are offended by graphic scenes of sex, stay away. But if you like sex and classic sexy writing, you will love this book. We know that not all sex is good. Sometimes there is a dark side. Poor Fiona discovers this horrible truth as an attraction becomes a trap. The scenes during the LA riots evoke the Jump into the fire scene in Goodfellas, but told through a strong woman’s perspective. Rarely do you read books from a woman’s perspective about sex and music. The Town Slut’s Daughter takes you into the dark side of the music business. Why it makes punk rock seem tame in comparison.”-Dennis Milt

“A whirlwind tale about a girl looking for identity and artistic expression, that takes you from the early Vancouver punk scene through the trenches of rock and roll, life and excess in 1980’s Los Angeles and culminates with the L.A. riots. Intense, passionate, at times brutal, and also funny. The dialogue between characters had me laughing out loud. A rollercoaster ride that raises your hair and lands you back into your seat with a hard bump.”-Tracy Bissonnette

No time to write! But I will be included in several anthologies coming out next year; Love Where the Nights Are Twice As Long, a Goose Lane collection of love letters penned by Canadian poets, edited by David Eso, and a Simon Fraser University anthology of work from their Lunch Poems reading series which I participated in. They selected this one:

FLESH POT 

Born muscle bound

Backboned, map, matrix-

Mother intact

Into families, slums

 

Manors, private

Security firms, institutions.

Pirates or the pious

We flourish. Raw teeth, germs,

 

Clubfeet do not impede us,

Rank and garbled speech fleeting

As tin jeeps, our struggle

Barbie Doll drama, tumult banal,

 

Pain prosaic, strife fueling ripeness

Gauntlets passed through swiftly

Until the day we drop. Nominated,

Cornered, required to wither

 

Under the gun,

Succumb, for we remain

That tender, precious human

Flesh terminators aim for.