It's a Long Story

Today I'm blogging over at Inscribe Writer's Online about a long story. :)

Writers-on-Wednesday: Violet Nesdoly

Violet Nesdoly is a poet and writer whom I’ve had the privilege of working with through FellowScript. Her poetry column every issue never fails to amaze with her depth of knowledge and passion for the subject. She maintains several blogs: Line Upon Line for all things writerly, Promptings for pictures and ideas, and Bible Drive-Thru for kids’ devotions. She also contributes to Inscribe Writers Online and Canadian Authors Who Are Christian. In the middle of all that blogging, she still managed to find time to answer my questions!

How did you become a writer?
When I was a kid, The Western Producer came to our house every week. It had a club called Young Co-operators for young writers. You joined with a pen name, then sent in your poems, stories and articles. If the editor liked them they'd get published on the Young Co-operators pages.

I joined sometime in my early teens. After seeing a piece or two of mine in print, I was hooked. Although I didn't write for publication for many years between that time and when I lately returned to writing, the thought was always at the back of my mind.

What inspires you to write?
I get inspired to write when I read great writing of any genre -- fiction, essays, poetry. There's something inside me that wants to take up the challenge. Could I write something as beautiful, or moving, or real?

Writing how-to books inspire me too. Writers like Heather Sellers, Julia Cameron, Bonni Goldberg, Sol Stein and others encourage me and make me feel, yes, I can!

Finally, I get inspired when I fiercely disagree. I have written more than one heated blog post, letter to the editor or email to a radio call-in show when I'm hopping mad. Sometimes I think that's when I do my sharpest work.

What author(s) do you most admire and why?
(Sorry, I added that 's'. I can't limit myself to just one)

Alice Munro - She has an amazing ability to capture the details of setting, character and dialogue in her Canadia0n short stories, and to spotlight the moments of truth.

Marilynne Robinson - Her story Gilead is moving and profound yet simple and humble. I love writing like that.

Rosamund Pilcher - I adore her British characters and her settings -- often in Scotland or Devon, England. Though I don't approve of some of her characters' morals and lifestyles, there is something about her craftsmanship that I would try to emulate if I ever attempt adult fiction.

Billy Collins - Accessible, often self-deprecating poems that are funny too. Love it!

Oswald Chambers - writer of My Utmost for His Highest. I prefer the old edition (not the revised one that updates Chambers' word choice). Did you know he was only 43 when he died? How did he become so wise?

Smiles and Sunshine

Around the time she was two months old, Sunshine started smiling. Not just the little random “gassy” smiles she used to do in her sleep, but a real I’m-smiling-at-you-because-I’m-happy smile. She seemed to know the perfect time to smile, too; like when I was exhausted in the early morning, and changing her wet diaper to try to get her back to sleep, and after looking at me for a minute she gave me a big, sweet smile, as if to say, “Thanks, Mommy, I love you.”

Then she discovered she could smile at herself. My husband and I had gone past the university to take care of some things, and Sunshine needed changing. I headed for the washroom, which of course didn’t have a baby change table (apparently university students don’t have babies). There was, however, a narrow makeup ledge in front of a mirror. I sat Sunshine down there and held her in front of me while I rummaged through her diaper bag for her change pad, diaper, and wipes. Sunshine stared at this little person in front of her in the mirror. Then she smiled. Then that was so funny that she laughed. It was the first time I’d heard her laugh, and we spent the next ten minutes playing in the mirror, smiling and laughing at ourselves.

Now, Sunshine lives up to her nickname and gets frequent compliments on her sunny smiles. She loves smiling at everyone. I’ll be walking down the street, and she’ll start kicking her legs and smiling and squealing, and I’ll know she’s seen someone that she wants to say hi to—even if they’re on the other side of the street. In church, she stands on the pew and smiles at the people behind us, until they smile back. In restaurants, she loves it when the waitresses smile and chat with her, and she’s always quick to reward them with a smile back.

She’s nine months old today, and has spent as much time out of my tummy as in my tummy. I look back nine months ago and I’m a bit amazed at all that she’s learned. Yet some of her accomplishments are just little things—something she can do today that she couldn’t do yesterday. Like a smile.

I'm Published!

Earlier this week, I got a big thick envelope in the mail. I knew right away that it was some mail I'd been waiting for. At home, I tore it open and checked the table of contents. Sure enough, there was my book review, in the last few pages of Mom Writers Literary Magazine! As I've been working on doing more freelance writing lately, it's a huge encouragement to see some success. My review of The Memory Keeper's Daughter is also available on their website.

The Jeep and the Power Wagon

Several times in our travels this summer, my husband and I drove past a big sign advertising THE CENTRE OF ALBERTA – 3 KM. The sign always intrigued us, and we kept saying one day we’d stop there, but we were usually under a deadline or driving past after dark. Finally, a few weeks ago, we were approaching the sign once again. Sunshine was awake, it was midafternoon, and we didn’t have to be home at any particular time. “Let’s stop,” I suggested, thinking that we’d walk the short 3 km, but when my husband saw the trail, he said, “Let’s take the Jeep.”

Poplar trees dotted with the occasional evergreen surrounded the trail, which was dirt and grass and more than wide enough for the Jeep. We hadn’t gone far when we hit the first mudhole and I balked. “Do you want me to drive?” he asked, and we switched places. He popped the Jeep into 4x4 and we bounced through that mudhole, then through another one. The third one made us wonder whether maybe we should turn around, but neither of us said so, and the Jeep made it through. We figured it was late enough in the year that the mudholes had dried up and frozen over. Sunshine wasn’t quite so sure about the bumpy ride that she was getting, but my husband and I were having fun.

My husband paused just before the fourth mudhole, which was big but didn’t look as bad as the last one we’d been through. So he drove in, but not out. The Jeep stopped halfway through. “Shoot,” he said, flipping it into reverse. The Jeep didn’t move. He tried drive again. No response. We were stuck.

We got out and surveyed the situation. No winch. No shovelThe mud apparently wasn’t entirely frozen, so that the Jeep had broken through the crust and sank up to the frame in gooey, sticky, black muck. We got branches and tried digging. We stuffed branches under the tires to try providing traction in the mud. We tried pushing the Jeep forward. We tried pushing the Jeep backward. Sunshine wailed. Nothing worked.

There’s no cell reception at the centre of Alberta, and even if there was, we were a couple hours’ drive from anyone we knew. We started thinking of friends we knew with a 4x4 and winch. It was a short list, and all of them were too far away.

We put Sunshine into her Snugli and walked back out to the highway. It took us five minutes. At the highway, we flagged down the first truck that passed. A dad and his son were happy to give us a ride back into Fort Assiniboine. At a restaurant there, we began asking if anyone in the area had a 4x4 and a winch and wanted to make some money pulling our Jeep out of the Centre of Alberta.

The two hostesses spent half an hour calling all their friends and family. (You know it’s a small town when they have the numbers for half the people in town memorized.) A few people wandered in and out, who either didn’t have a 4x4 or didn’t have the time. One fellow named Larry said he’d be happy to help us, but his 4-wheel drive didn’t work. Finally, as we were about to give up, the hostess got her nephew on the phone. He had a Ford Power Wagon and a winch, and wouldn’t mind helping.

Larry drove us out the Centre to meet the Power Wagon. We started down the trail in both trucks, until we hit the first mudhole. Larry looked at it and said his truck wouldn’t make it. So he and my husband piled into the Power Wagon, and I was left with Sunshine in Larry’s truck. I watched their headlights bounce off down the trail and then disappear. The green lights of the clock showed 6:30. Outside the truck, it was completely dark.

Ten minutes passed while I played with Sunshine, tried not to watch the clock, and wondered if they’d gotten to the Jeep yet. Then, as I pictured them pulling the Jeep out and driving it back, a thought hit me: I had the keys. I’d turned it off and pulled the keys out when we went for help. A sick feeling settled in my stomach. I stared into the darkness, and thought of the black bear and moose we’d seen while driving this highway, and rumours I’d heard of cougars around here. Then I dug through the back seat of the truck, and found a flashlight. I hopped out of the truck, got Sunshine into her Snugli again, and started down the trail. Once past the truck’s headlights, however, I discovered the flashlight was next to useless. I couldn’t see the trail at my feet, much less anything else. I knew there was a fork in the trail somewhere ahead, and if I got lost, I’d be no good to anyone.

So I returned to the truck to wait. Another fifteen minutes passed before a light appeared in the darkness, and materialized into a bouncing flashlight carried by the boy from the Power Wagon. I went to meet him and handed over the keys, then watched as his flashlight disappeared again. Then I waited, counting off every ten minutes of the clock. Sunshine fell asleep. I wished I could. I stared into the darkness, then at the clock, and prayed that they would get the Jeep unstuck, that the Power Wagon wouldn’t get stuck, that everything would be okay.

The clock was reading 7:30 when headlights appeared again. I almost cried for joy, then held my breath until I saw the second set of round headlights behind the first. I muttered “Thank God!” several dozen times as the Power Wagon came down the trail, fishtailed through the first mudhole, and pulled up beside Larry’s truck. The Jeep bounced through the mudhole without a problem, and I went to meet them. The men all had a smoke as they laughed at our adventure, and recommended that we get a winch before we do that again. Then they refused any money for their help and drove away.

As the mud spun off our wheels on the highway, my husband told me what had happened. The Power Wagon had gotten stuck in the second mudhole and had to get winched out. Then it got stuck in the third mudhole too. The men asked my husband how many mudholes we’d gone through. They said they wouldn’t have taken quads back there—hadn’t we noticed the quad trails around the mudholes? All of them knew people who had gotten quads stuck back there. They got the Jeep winched out fine, but then both the Power Wagon and the Jeep got stuck in the mudhole going back again. On the next mudhole, the Power Wagon men told my husband just to take it easy and when he got stuck they’d pull him out. But he drove through that one without a problem. They were quite impressed with where we’d taken the Jeep, and will probably laugh about it for quite a while.

And so our adventure ended harmlessly, with the resolution that next time we do something like that, we’ll make sure we have some friends, a map, and a winch. But we have a good story to tell about the time that we took our Jeep somewhere a Power Wagon couldn't go.

Writers-on-Wednesday: Carla Stewart

Carla Stewart is a fellow blogger who took a break from writing a novel synopsis for her agent to answer my questions. I've enjoyed the humour and inspiration of her blog, as well as the writing advice she occasionally passes on.

How did you become a writer?Some of my earliest memories are of writing. A neighborhood newspaper in grade school. A steamy romance when I was about twelve, although I don’t know how steamy it really was because I sent my only copy to a Hollywood movie producer and never heard back. Go figure. I think it was because I forgot the SASE. (smile)

By junior high, I loved writing themes and term papers, but I also fell in love with science and didn’t faint at the sight of blood, so I chose to become a nurse, but even there, my writing skills came in handy.

The desire to be a writer always bubbled beneath the surface, and I made a few attempts on our first computer (a dinosaur now), but didn’t seriously devote myself to writing until 2001. I wrote a novel and received a request from an editor at a major Christian house. Alas, he rejected it, and with good cause. However, he gave me my first words of encouragement—you have an engaging voice. Talk about affirmation. About that same time, I also heard a magazine editor speak at a writer’s group, and she solicited submissions. I whipped out a story, sent it to her, and it was printed in a glossy, regional magazine with pictures and my name. Oh, the joy! The story was about my dad and is still one of my favorite published articles.

Even though I was doing writerly things, I hesitated to call myself a writer at first. Then in 2002, I entered and won the Guideposts Writers Workshop contest. Only fifteen people are invited to attend this every other year workshop. After the inspiring and wonderful experience there and having two articles published by Guideposts, I felt comfortable saying, “Yes, I’m a writer.” Now I can’t imagine being anything else. Except a wife, mom, Mimi, etc.
What inspires you to write?Music is a huge inspiration for me, although I can’t listen to music and write. Instead, I crank up the volume in the car and pull out my favorite CDs. Oldies. Soft jazz. Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir. The ideas overwhelm me.

The desire to make a difference in the lives of others also inspires me. I have helped several people get their true stories in print, and that is very gratifying.

Reading great books challenges me to write stories that will resonate with people. God planted the desire to write in my heart, so I have no option but to put my best foot forward.

When all else fails, I say a quick prayer and just start typing. The words always come. I’m not saying they’re great, but my creativity is jump started.

What author do you most admire and why?
There’s no easy answer for me here. I have a ton of favorite authors, but my current favorite is Susan Meissner. I’ve met her a couple of times, and she is lovely, gracious, and willing to talk to wannabes like me. Her novels are breathtaking, and you just know her writing comes from a deep and abiding relationship with Jesus.

Charlotte Small

I fell in love with history in Grade 10 when I did a world history course. To me, the course was all about the stories of people who had lived so many years before. In university I pursued this interest, doing a minor in history. Yet the history books gave only a hint of the stories, and often left more questions unanswered than answered.

Historical fiction is one attempt to answer those questions. My mom often says this is the best way to learn history. Many of my favourite authors—Sigmund Brouwer, Jane Kirkpatrick, Angela Hunt—take a time or person in history and make them come alive through the story. I often thought, as I studied history in university, that someday I’d like to write like that myself. At the time, though, I was busy with my studies and with other writing.

At the 2008 ICWF Fall Conference, my dream of writing historical fiction was once again ignited. I’ve been fascinated by how Jane Kirkpatrick tells the stories of actual, historical American women. Many of them required a huge amount of research for her, because their stories haven’t been told before. I thought, “I want to do that—for Canadian women.” After the conference, it became my goal to find a woman whose story I could tell. Yet it took me several months to make it into our local small town museum.

It was a very small museum, and had much the same stuff as other museums I’ve been in. As Sunshine and I wandered through, one display caught my eye. It was on David Thompson. His name is pretty big in Canadian history—I knew he had explored most of western Canada and drew maps. Yet I didn’t know he had married a Metis woman. Her name jumped off the placard at me: Charlotte Small. Why had she never appeared in my history books?

Since that day, I’ve been working on finding out more about Charlotte. She and David were married for nearly sixty years—unusual in an era when fur traders married Indian women for the trade advantage it offered, and then retired back to England and left their “country wives” here. Charlotte’s own father, Patrick Small, had been one of these men, abandoning his family when Charlotte was six. Charlotte and David had thirteen children, most of whom survived them. She also accompanied David on many of his travels.

The more I learn about Charlotte, the more intrigued I am. As Aritha van Herk says, “We know so little about Charlotte Small that it is tempting to invent. We imagine her a beauty. We attribute to her, wisdom and devotedness. We construct between Thompson and Small a patient and loving partnership. For all their relative silence, they become the model couple of the great Canadian romance. The fur trader and the Cree woman together symbolize all that we imagine for a secret history of Canada.”

Writers-on-Wednesday: Miralee Ferrell

Miralee Ferrell is a writer I’ve met through blogging. Last year, I participated in the blog tour for her first novel, The Other Daughter. She’s now finalizing the sequel, which follows Jeena, a secondary character in the first book, and is due to release in the summer of 2009. Miralee is excited about tying up some loose ends where Jeena is concerned and answering some questions left unresolved in The Other Daughter. She also has another book releasing in February: Love Finds You In Last Chance, CA depicts the (now ghost town) of Last Chance with as much realism as Miralee was able to do, after visiting the area and researching it carefully. This is her first historical, but she doubts it will be her last, as she loved writing this genre and hopes to do so again soon.

When did you know you were a writer?
Truly a writer and not just someone who loved writing long letters and keeping a diary/journal? I'd have to say about 4 years ago, when the Lord spoke to me at church one night via a special speaker. He prayed for me and told me I was supposed to be writing. I prayed about it for 2 weeks, as I'd never taken the thought seriously before. I began to write about my life with my husband and our spiritual journey first (write what you know), then short stories/articles (several that were published) then six months after starting, moved on to inspirational fiction. I wrote the first draft of The Other Daughter in 5 weeks, then took 6 months working on learning the craft, revising and editing the book, and rewriting. Six months later, I had a contract and the rest is history.

What inspires you to write?
Honestly, the word I got from the Lord was what inspired me to start, but since then, I've discovered I truly love writing. I think part of it is creating something that's never existed before. It isn't so much that I have a story burning inside that's screaming to be told. No... it's more that I love putting words together... I love bringing a character to life and finding out more about their story. I love seeing the fruit of my labor and hearing from readers who've been touched by the spiritual threads that run through my books. My greatest goal is to touch the lives of a reader. If even one person's life is impacted by something they read of mine, it's worth the work and the time.

What author do you most admire and why?
For inspirational fiction I think I'd have to choose Jan Karon, author of the Mitford series. I love her down to earth writing style... simple yet heart-felt, and so very real. The characters in her books stayed with me for weeks and by the time I finished the series. I felt as though I knew each one, including secondary [characters], as personal friends.

Baby's Smiles

A couple of weeks ago, I started an online creative writing course through the University of Alberta’s Faculty of Extension. We began with a poetry assignment, though most of us—including me—expressed that poetry, well, scared us. I’ve dabbled in poetry, though only when I get hit with sudden bursts of inspiration. So the thought of producing poetry on demand was a bit daunting. Luckily, one week proved enough time for inspiration to hit, and I wrote a poem about Sunshine. I enjoyed the feedback from my fellow students, the chance to see how they understood the poem and then to improve it.

Baby’s Smiles

Two teeth poke
Into a wide grin
Between rosy cheeks.
Arms wave
Conducting a symphony
Of compliments and coos.
Toes touch nose—
Button nose, like mommy’s.
Teeth test toys
And fingers and food.
She’s a sweetie
All declare
Always so good.
Enjoy these months
These smiles
When everything is new
For both of you.
Live and laugh
Learn and love.
Much too fast
This time will pass.

Bring the Purple

Just before my trip to Ontario, my husband and I bought a Jeep. We were touring about town looking for a lunch deal, and instead found a vehicle deal. Both of us have always wanted a Jeep and at one point both of us seriously considered buying one—but then I went to university instead and he bought a truck instead. When we realized that the Jeep would hold a car seat, we were hooked. My hubby talked the salesman down a few thousand dollars to a price we were willing to pay, and we drove home in a bright green Jeep.

The next day, I had to drive to the city to catch my plane. My husband helped me load up the Jeep and get Sunshine settled in her car seat. I hopped into the driver’s seat, waved to him, and turned the key. Nothing. I tried again. Still nothing. After a few more tries, we pushed the Jeep out of the driveway and borrowed our downstairs’ tenant’s keys to boost the Jeep with her car. While we were doing that, we also met the neighbour across the road, who came over with a battery booster and an offer of help. With the Jeep running, I hit the road.

Sunshine was asleep before we hit the edge of town. I played with the radio and cruise control and admired the fall colours. Somewhere about two hours down the highway, I began to suspect the gas gauge. It was sitting neatly on the F. I figured I’d fill up once I made it to the city.

When the cruise control kicked off and the Jeep slowed down, I knew exactly what had happened. Out of gas. I should have stopped at the small town I’d gone through forty minutes ago. Instead, I was stranded about twenty minutes short of the next town, and an hour from the city. I dug out my cell phone and called my brother to come rescue me. Then I called my hubby to tell him where we were. He got on the computer and found out that Jeeps have a known problem with the gas gauge.

While waiting for my brother, I took a walk down the road with Sunshine. As we came around the corner, we met another walker. She offered help, for her farm was just down the road. Borrowing my phone, she called her daughter and said, “There’s a lady here who’s out of gas. Can you tell dad to bring some purple?” However, “dad” was out in a field just down the road from where we were. The lady called his cell and he waved at us from across the field, then drove over. I called my brother to tell him to turn around, and in a few minutes the farmer was filling my tank with a jerry can of purple gas. He then had to boost my engine, as the four-way flashers had killed my battery again.

After that, I made it to the city, with a stop for gas and no further problems, grateful once again for friendly farmers who help stranded strangers.

Writers-on-Wednesday: Marcia Laycock

Marcia Laycock is one of the many wonderful writers I’ve met through Inscribe Christian Writers’ Fellowship. Over the years since I met her, I’ve had the privilege of working with her, reading her devotionals, and last year, attending in the launch of her first novel, One Smooth Stone.

Marcia writes a weekly devotional that goes out by email to about 3,000 readers around the globe, articles for City Light News in Calgary and Living Light News in Edmonton. She is also working on the sequel to One Smooth Stone. Every now and then a poem will sprout in her brain and demand to be written down. Recently, she took the time to answer three questions for me and be the first author in my Writers-on-Wednesday series.

When did you know you were a writer?

My mom used to say that I was born with a pencil in my hand. I don't remember a time when I didn't write, but when I was about 11 years old, an aunt gave me a copy of Emily of New Moon by Lucy M. Montgomery and I discovered that some day I could call myself a writer. It has taken a long time to reach that point but I think when peop le started stopping me on the street and saying they'd appreciated my latest article in the newspaper, I began to believe it.


What inspires you to write?

Usually it's something I see or hear or read that sticks in my mind. It might be a casual comment or something more serious in a conversation. (One Smooth Stone was birthed in a discussion about abortion.) Sometimes the seed takes a long time to sprout but eventually it ends up in a piece of writing of some kind. I am greatly inspired by good writing. I have a hard time getting through good books because I keep wanting to write as I read.


What author do you most adimire and why?

Oh boy, that's a hard one. I admire a great many who write in various genres, both Christian and secular. I would list these among my favourites, in no particular order: Rudy Wiebe (a bit hard to read but worth it), Guy Vanderhaeghe for his portrayal of history, Walter Wangerin Jr. for the richness of language, Luci Shaw for her imagery, John Piper, Ravi Zacharias, Oswald Chambers, Mark Buchanan and C.S. Lewis for their wisdom and insight, Sigmund Brouwer, Leif Enger, T.L. Hines, Karen Hancock, Linda Hall and Phil Callaway all for their ability to spin a great story and keep you reading.

Protecting our Daughters

When I first heard of Gardasil, I thought—probably like many people—“great, they’re discovering cures and preventions for cancer.”Then I heard more. Gardasil is a vaccine for a sexually-transmitted virus that causes cervical cancer. It’s being administered to ten-year-old girls, but has only been tested on girls 13 and up. And it’s causing huge, negative side effects.

Mothering magazine reported in their January-February 2008 issue, “Gardasil, Merck & Co’s vaccine against the human papillomavirus (HPV), which is linked to cervical cancer, went on sale in June 2006 after fast-track approval by the Food and Drug Administration. Since then, as of the end of August 2007, the number of Gardasil-related adverse events recorded by the Vaccine Adverse Event Reporting System (VAERS) has grown to 3,779, including eight deaths. During July and August 2007, 28 and 26 percent, respectively, of the adverse events reported in VAERS were related to Gardasil.” ( p. 29)

That little phrase “fast-track approval” caught my attention and concern. To me, that suggests that not enough testing or questioning was done before this drug was approved—and then mandated—for use. Maclean’s magazine published a story in 2007 saying the Gardasil vaccine would make “guinea pigs” of Canadian girls. They quoted Abby Lippman, an epidemiologist at McGill University, “who recently aired her concerns about the speed with which Gardasil has been adopted in the Canadian Medical Association Journal.” She said, “Usually at this stage in the life span of a vaccine we would not have this kind of action . . . We're making guesses that it's going to last long, that [we're immunizing] the right age [of girls], and that it's effective. We don't have a solid basis for this thought."

The Alberta Pro-Life E-Update of October 9, 2008, commented on a newspaper story about Gardasil: “The Saskatoon Star Phoenix reported this week that a 10-year-old Grade 6 girl ‘fainted’ immediately after receiving the Gardasil vaccine at school. The girl’s mother told the newspaper that classmates ‘witnessed her kicking her legs and groaning briefly after she fainted.’ She said the family doctor said the girl might have suffered a seizure.” That’s only one of many stories of adverse reactions reported on this vaccine, not only in Canada, but also in the States and in Australia.

Recently, several Catholic school divisions in Alberta made the news for opting out of the vaccination program. The schools said that providing this vaccine to the girls would condone pre-marital sex, going against the values that the schools are teaching. Bishop Frederick Henry of Calgary published a message raising questions about why this vaccine is being administered, pointing out that “if a disease is preventable by other means, especially natural means, then surely it makes sense to employ those means.”

Abstinence is not a popular message in our society, but even a website giving FAQ’s on HPV says, “Abstinence, or not having sex at all, can keep you from catching HPV.”They noted that “safe sex” only reduces—not eliminates—the risk of catching HPV. Some have suggested that Gardasil will create a false sense of security among girls, who feel that with the vaccine, they are now completely immune to HPV and can do whatever they want. However, no vaccine creates perfect immunity, and Gardasil protects against only four of the over 100 types of HPV.

I’m glad that my daughter is nowhere near the age yet for this vaccine. If she were, however, I’d be sitting down to chat with her about the vaccine, cervical cancer, and abstinence. I’ve seen bus advertisements for Gardasil telling moms that they would do anything to protect their daughters, so they should get them vaccinated. It’s true that I’d do anything to protect Sunshine—that’s why I’d teach her the truth and keep her well away from this vaccine.