Month: August 2023

Pearl(y White)s of Wisdom

On Thursday, I had to go to the dentist for a check-up. Like most people, it’s not something I enjoy, especially since my favourite hygienist, Harmony, only works Monday to Wednesday and our schedules don’t line up anymore. Two visits ago, my new hygienist claimed to be a former Olympic-level figure skater (I looked her up but couldn’t find her listed on any Canadian team at any point in time), and despite the fact that we had never met before, she insisted on spending the entire appointment regaling me with the tales of abuse that caused her to leave the sport and gave her PTSD. Then, at the end of the appointment, she told me that fluoride was poison, and she could recommend several “documentaries” that had uncovered the insidious and evil fluoride conspiracy.  The next time I went, in February, I had a different hygienist who was only slightly better, in that she said ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to me throughout the entire appointment. But at the end she gave me extra floss, which was nice, and did NOT try to push any bizarre conspiracy theories about the world of dentistry. I showed up for my appointment on Thursday, fearing the worst and hoping for the best, when a familiar face came around the corner to call me in.

“Harmony!” I exclaimed, overjoyed. She had switched days last week for some reason and, lucky me, I would get to spend my time in the chair discussing new favourite shows to binge-watch because we have the exact same taste in TV, plus she has excellent timing when it comes to asking a question and then letting me answer without slicing open my gums with her pick. It was just like old times, and at the end of the appointment, I actually felt relaxed. And then I discovered we had another thing in common:

Me: I heard Dr. Morton is going to retire soon.
Harmony: He’s getting there.
Me: He’s been my dentist for a really long time. Can you tell from my chart how long?
Harmony: Hang on…looks like your first appointment was in 2009.
Me: Wow! So like 24 years?
Harmony: Uh huh.

Then there was a long pause while I, and most likely you, dear reader, re-did the mental calculation that led to my pronouncement.

Me: Wait…no, I think that’s only 13 years. I’m so bad at math.
Harmony: Me too. That’s why I just said Uh huh, and went along with you. But 13 sounds correct.

And yes, at some point after the conversation, while I was shopping for a new outfit for my book launch for The Devil You Know which was taking place later that night, I realized that 13 years was also completely wrong, and that Harmony was either being very nice to me, or she was indeed as bad at math as me. Regardless, she will always be my favourite hygienist.

The book launch went really well, by the way. Here’s a picture of me wearing my new outfit:

In other news, here’s the cover reveal for the DarkWinter Press inaugural publication, The basement on Biella: a poetry collection by Bill Garvey. Bill is a brilliant poet who divides his time between Toronto and Nova Scotia, and DarkWinter is so happy to be publishing this collection! I had a moment of nervous excitement right before I hit ‘publish’ and now it’s available for Kindle pre-order! The paperback will be released most likely the beginning of next week, but if you’re interested in the Kindle version, order now and it will land in your e-reader on Monday! Here’s the link and the front cover:

“Orange” You Glad The Rock Tumbler Is Done?

First, an update. The rock tumbler has finally stopped its machinations. It hasn’t been quite a week yet since I added the last grit, but we’ve lost power twice in the meantime, which kicks the tumbler off until we restart it, and honestly, I don’t have the patience to wait 5 more days. I took the rocks out and rinsed them in a colander and I think they look really beautiful, although at least half of them are a LOT smaller than they started out to be, and some of the smaller ones have disappeared completely, which I suppose is only natural, or unnatural I suppose, since it’s really an accelerated process, and finally, a lot of them, unexpectedly, are ORANGE. I got a lot of fantastic ideas from the comments in my last post, including using broken vintage wine goblets to make “sea glass”, so that’s next on the agenda if the weather continues charming. Well, it was charming today, but’s it’s been a shitstorm of a week weather-wise here. The west half of the country, which is usually soaking wet, is burning, and in my part of the world, it’s been raining non-stop. Ken and I were looking at videos of Atlas from August two years ago, and the front lawn was crispy and brown; this August, it’s as lush and green. But here are the “fruits” of my labours:

At any rate, I don’t have anything else specific to focus on this week, so here are a few vignettes:

1) I had to work yesterday at the antique market because they were short-staffed. As I went by a booth that sells mostly lamps, I saw a family of four standing in it, surrounded by the lamps. The father was smelling his fingers, and as I watched, he offered them to his wife, who also smelled them somewhat appraisingly and furrowed her brow. Then it was the oldest child’s turn—he pointed at one of the lamps questioningly, and then the dad shrugged. Did I ask what they were doing? No, I DID NOT. Did I go back later and smell the lamps myself? Also, NO, I DID NOT. There are some things you’re better off not knowing.

2) Last week, I was on Facebook Marketplace and I saw this ad:

And I have several things to say about this. First, Jacquie Butler is a strange name for a cat, but I kind of like it, like I can imagine being upstairs and wanting your cat to come and snuggle you and calling out, “Jacquie—get your sweet little Butt-ler up here!”. Second, I’m very impressed that Jacquie the cat has not only mastered the use of a computer keyboard but has her own private messaging service AND a private income. And finally, if you know anything at all about cats, this ad makes total sense. Every cat I’ve ever known has loved boxes and will sit in them whenever the opportunity arises. And not just boxes—I read once that if you created a square on your floor with painter’s tape and your cat saw it, your cat would immediately come over and sit inside the square. I didn’t believe it until we tried it, and our cat at the time, Raven, ran over without any hesitation and sat right in the middle of it. I’ll bet Jacquie would do the same thing, given her penchant for boxes and all.

3) And while I was browsing Marketplace, I saw this ad for a free computer:

My only thought was this: Are they still together, and he’s going to give away her Macbook without telling her? Also, why would you not at least try to get your money back? Macbooks are way too expensive for revenge giveaways. And was she cheating with another man, or did she cheat on a diet, like she ate the birthday cake after she promised to cut down on calories? I’m torn—I kind of want to know the whole back story, while at the same time, I don’t want to know the whole back story. Somehow though, I think his wife is better off without either him or the computer. Maybe she was the one who posted the laughing emoji response.

I also have to work today, so let’s hope there’s no more lamp-smelling shenanigans. Wish me luck.

DarkWinter Wednesdays: Special Announcement!

Well, it’s been a wild ride since we launched DarkWinter Press on June 28th this year. We’ve read through a huge stack of wonderful submissions, and now we’re thrilled to announce our upcoming catalogue for Fall 2023 and Spring 2024!

Coming This Fall 2023

The Dogcatcher by Sean Carlin

This occult horror/dark comedy in the spirit of Shaun of the Dead, Carlin’s debut novel, begins with a series of savage killings. Something monstrous lurks in the woods of Upstate New York, putting the idyllic Finger Lakes community of Cornault on edge.

Investigating the wildlife attacks is beleaguered Animal Control Officer Frank Antony. Misunderstood by his father, the mayor of Cornault, mistreated by his brother, chief of staff at City Hall, and mischaracterized as “the dogcatcher” by the newspaper’s op-ed columnist, Frank commands no one’s respect. Even his earnestly loyal sidekick, Animal Care Technician Steve “Waff” Pollywaffle, is too hopelessly irresponsible to ever be counted on when Frank truly needs him.

With the assistance of a world-weary forensic veterinarian at the university, Jessica Bartendale, Frank and Waff must deal with the deadly predator-at-large before it’s too late.

The basement on Biella by Bill Garvey

The basement on Biella is a poetry collection that emanates from a blue-collar town in Massachusetts,
travels to New Hampshire, the Midwest, Nova Scotia, and finally, Toronto. Bill Garvey’s poetry captures
moments which celebrate the wonder of familial relationships, find solace in death, and explore the
torment of mental illness. The basement on Biella is a chronicle of Garvey’s experiences that resonates
beyond his personal world.

Twenty-Four-Hour Shift: Dark Tales from on and off the Clock by Cecilia Kennedy

Punch in your timecard to begin the shift. The twenty-four dark tales of short fiction in this
collection explore the unsettling things that might linger on and off the clock. Here, you’ll find
short stories of work-related haunts and happenings, from the truly sinister (a human-vending
machine restaurant), to horror-comedy (a photo shoot with possessed bunnies). But in the hours
in between, it can’t be forgotten that the roles played as parents, co-workers, and friends are no
ordinary side hustle. That work never ends. And the work shift? Well, that’s the thing that makes
you peek over your shoulder and ask, “What just moved?” But you have to clock in to find out.

Coming this Spring 2024

The Roach Family and Other Stories by Cindy Matthews

Taking place in Canada, the deeply flawed characters in The Roach Family and Other Stories share one thing in common: they strive to fit in. A malingering mother pays an agonizing visit to her ex-husband, his boyfriend, the narrator, and a tank of hissing roaches. A first-time mother blunders upon self-doubt and finger-pointing after leaving her infant behind at a support group meeting. A previously voiceless child discovers he can communicate. Organizers of a writers’ festival determine that food allergies do matter. A
grieving mother uses unconventional means to appease her sorrow.

Where Sands Run Finest by Vikki C.

Where Sands Run Finest is a lyrical tribute to the liminal landscapes of time, memory, reveries, spirituality and the human condition. Foregrounding the author’s life experiences through an aesthetic and defamiliarized lens, the collection’s forty-eight poems serve as an artistic awakening to themes of identity, heritage, generational trauma, motherhood, love, loss and existential querying. From life’s transient halcyon moments through to the complexities of the metaphysical, the narrative captures the lexicon of time’s delicate rhythms within the human experience. Hence, the title ‘Where Sands Run Finest’ embodies both the “temporal hourglass” and an awareness of time in “otherworlds” born of cosmic, esoteric and subconscious realms.

Words On The Page by Zary Fekete

In the not-too-distant future, a malicious Artificial Intelligence bot has overrun its protocol and is flooding the web with malicious content. Dr. McCaffery, Director of Net Scour, has developed a revolutionary new web-scouring technology which uses the written literature of the world against the AI. The procedure? Reading books. Newly hired Net Scour agent Zach is trained to read, and the more he reads the more power he, and agents like him, can use to fight against the AI.

Dr. McCaffery also has a secret: his daughter, a young woman named Julie. She possesses a unique literary mind; she is the greatest threat against the AI and is the main bulwark of protection for the web. Because of her literary power, the AI has attacked her, and now she can only survive by living in a secure inner chamber in the center of the agency.

Zach and Julie’s fates are intertwined and the future of the web is dependent on the literary power which builds as they grow closer together. 

We hope you’re as excited as we are about these awesome authors and titles. There are a couple more still in the works with contracts about to be signed, so we’ll keep you posted, but stay tuned for cover reveals very soon!

On The Rocks

When my brother and I were kids, we had a rock tumbler. It was a messy, noisy contraption and I don’t remember if we ever got any decent rocks from it—I just remember dirty water spilling everywhere, and then I never saw it again, which was fine by me. When Kate was little, she, like most small children, loved shiny rocks and would pick up ‘special’ ones from beaches, driveways, gravel pathways, literally anywhere rocks could be found (and when I say ‘most children’ I also mean adults because I’ve been known over the course of decades to randomly slip a pretty stone in my pocket). By the time she was in middle school, Kate had amassed quite a collection and we even had a special shelf for her to display her treasures on. So I bought another rock tumbler. It wasn’t a very expensive one and that soon became obvious, as it created a stunning wall of sound that could be heard all over the house. You may or may not know that I suffer from misophonia (another fun offshoot of OCD), and the racket and my anxiety were so bad that at the end of the first cycle, I gave up. “We’ll get a better rock tumbler,” I said, my ears still ringing.

I didn’t bother for a long time, almost as long as it takes a rock tumbler to actually create smooth, shiny gemstones, then a couple of years ago, I saw a very expensive National Geographic model on Facebook Marketplace but the person selling it was asking a very cheap price (I wonder why?) It came with all the rocks, extra grit, and all kind of accessories, and it promised that the rubberized barrel made it “very quiet”. That was a LIE. We set it up in our back family room, and while it wasn’t as loud as the previous model, I could still hear it rumbling and grumbling all day from anywhere on the main floor. I persevered though (mostly because Ken put a sound-dampening cardboard box over it), and eventually got some very nice rocks that I made into necklaces, and I gave them to people while quoting Jean Jaques Rousseau: The sacrifice which costs us nothing is worth nothing. And the people who received the necklaces looked at me the way you can imagine they looked when I said that, but I think they appreciated the gift.

At any rate, I put the rock tumbler away for a bit. Then Ken, who gets that I have a real issue with loud noises, promised that in the spring, we could put it outside in the new workshop he built for me where I wouldn’t have to listen to it, and that was a great plan except because the rock tumbler was in storage in his workshop, I forgot about it. Until 6 weeks ago, when I was going through my stuff outside and I found it in a corner. And I haven’t told you about this for over 6 weeks, because that’s almost the amount of time it takes to polish a bunch of damn rocks in the tumbler, and there’s only one more week left before I have pretty, shiny jewels! I’m on the last grit now, and they keep looking smoother and smoother, and the best part is that because it’s outside, I can only faintly hear the tumbler if I’m in the back yard, and it’s just background noise along with the birds and wind and whatnot. Everything’s going so well that I spent half an hour on Saturday browsing Amazon for more rock kits, and come Christmas time, everyone’s getting a necklace, and this time, all I have to say is, “I made this for you.”

In other news, I still suck at math. Last week at work, I rang through a customer’s purchases, entered the amount of cash he gave me, then proceeded to start gathering up his change:

Customer (holds out more money): Would it help if I gave you $1.10?
Me: (stares blankly, frozen in horror)
Customer: I said, would it help if I gave you $1.10?
Me: It won’t NOW!
My 27-Year-Old Boss: Suzanne, do you need me to do some math for you?
Me (whispers sadly): Yes.

I’m lucky I’m surrounded by people who understand me so well.

And 2 huge thank yous: First to D. Wallace Peach at Myths Of The Mirror for her terrific review of my humour book What Any Normal Person Would Do and second to Paul Brookes at The Wombwell Rainbow for his lovely review of my newest short story collection At The End Of It All!

Meet Me In Paris

I’m very sad right now, because last night I was surfing Facebook Marketplace in bed and I saw a Paris painting for sale for only $35. My heart leapt and I showed it to Ken. “Look!” I said. “It’s so beautiful!” and then under my breath I whispered, “I really just love it”, hoping beyond all hope that Ken would spring into action and offer to take me there in the morning to buy it. That didn’t happen mostly because Ken looked at it, kind of confused, and then went back to sleep. Which is probably a good thing, because I currently have very many many paintings of Paris. You may or may not know that for a long time, I’ve been obsessed with vintage paintings of Paris. You also may or may not have seen the type I’m referring to, the impressionistic ones that look really drippy and weird from up close, but from far away begin to resemble a street full of shops and cafes, with people strolling along, and the Eiffel Tower or the Arc de Triomphe in the background. I adore them—they’re not expensive and whenever I’m feeling down, I look at one and imagine myself wandering down a rainy Paris rue, and it makes me feel better. The problem is, Ken hates them:

Me: Ooh, look! A Paris painting!
Ken: You already have 16 of the damn things. No more!
Me: But this one would be perfect for my bathroom…

So now, if I see one, I have to promise I’m only buying it to resell it. Which I’ve done a couple of times, but apparently there aren’t many other people as obsessed with Paris paintings as I am, because they tend to sit in my antiques booth for a while. But last weekend, I was in the midst of rearranging furniture in the hope of turning the alcove in our bedroom into a “reading nook”, when it suddenly occurred to me that a Paris painting was exactly what the nook needed, and I knew exactly where to find one. In fact, a painting of the perfect size had been languishing in my booth for several months and I was planning on going there last Sunday afternoon to put some fresh stock in. “This is perfect,” I thought to myself. “I’ll bring it home with me.”

When I arrived, my boss greeted me enthusiastically at the door. “Guess what!” he exclaimed jovially. “You just sold those two Paris paintings, you know, the ones that have been here for months. Literally half an hour ago—you just missed it!”

“No!” I gasped. He looked confused, both of us being in the “selling of things” business, so I had to explain my lack of excitement.

“Never mind,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll find another one.”

The very next day, I did. And it broke my heart.

I was at Goodwill, a charity shop, after work on Monday to drop off some odds and ends from the alcove mentioned above. I was helping the girl unload my car, when suddenly a man sauntered past us through the parking lot. He was CARRYING A PARIS PAINTING. And it was a beautiful one, in an antique frame. I could see the Arc de Triomphe from where I stood, stunned and speechless, box of knick knacks in hand. I cannot accurately convey the sense of horror I felt as I watched him get in his car and drive away, knowing that if I’d been there half an hour earlier AGAIN, the painting would have been mine.

And because I’m a grown-ass woman, I didn’t cry, although I badly wanted to. No, I did what any normal person would do—I called Ken:

Me: The universe hates me! I just missed out on a gorgeous Paris painting by like half an hour!
Ken: Hahahahaha!
Me: Why are you laughing?!

I tell you all of this not to elicit sympathy—in fact, you’re probably thinking Ken was right to laugh, and I really don’t need another painting of a city I’ve never been to—but that’s not the point. The point is, in fact, that the universe is taunting me, and I don’t know why.

Here are some thoughts:

1. The universe hates me.
2. The universe hates Paris.
3. The universe agrees with Ken that I have enough paintings of Paris.
4. The universe doesn’t care about me at all, and things are just random.

But then, the next day, I happened to glance up and realized that in an obscure corner of my office, there was a small Paris painting hanging there, and wouldn’t it be better placed in the new reading nook than tucked away in a spot where Ken can’t see it? See, I’m nothing if not thoughtful, and maybe the universe loves me after all. And if Ken really loved me too, he’d take me to Paris–or at least take me to the city where that $35 Paris painting is waiting…

In other news, things have been incredibly busy around here, what with the Writer-In-Residence role and the launch of the new press. I’ve already signed six authors–3 for the fall and 3 for the spring–and I’ll be making an announcement about that on August 16 so stay tuned!

(Update: Ken read this and because he’s awesome, he immediately said, “If you want the painting so much, we can get it tomorrow.” So later today, it will be mine…mwah hah hah!)