Because we are in the middle of moving right now, I thought I’d post a story I wrote quite a while ago (before our last move!) which got lost in my computer files.
My husband ripped off the wrapping paper, read the words on the box, and then gave me a dubious look. “You got me a sushi kit for Christmas? You don’t even like sushi.”
I was rather disappointed. I’d found the kit about three months earlier, while wandering through Chapters with a girlfriend. It seemed like a perfect gift – he loves sushi and he has fun creating things in the kitchen. So, after some debate (I was slightly broke at the time), I bought it and managed to keep it hidden in our small apartment for the ensuing months (despite the fact that he knew I had a surprise for him somewhere and occasionally went looking for it). I couldn’t wait to see his face when he opened, but I’d anticipated a better reaction.
Wondering when he’d ever use it, he put it aside. It remained in the kitchen, unopened, for the next several weeks. Then we invited friends over for the evening, and my husband had a brilliant idea. His friend like sushi, so why not make some? He poured over the book, made an ingredient list, and we were off to the grocery store. Much to our surprise, the local Safeway had most of the ingredients that he needed. We were soon home again and he went to work in the kitchen, concocting sushi.
It turns out that sushi is a rather time-consuming process. While us wives chatted and watched their baby, our husbands worked in the kitchen. A couple hours later, the sushi was finally ready. My husband’s friend turned out to be a wealth of information on sushi, having not only often eaten it but also watched it being made. He had a few suggestions that made the process quicker and easier. The sushi they’d made disappeared in much less time than it had taken them to make it!
A few weeks later, my husband again made sushi, using up some leftovers that we’d had in the fridge. Last week, as we were preparing to have some friends over for my birthday party, he decided to make some party food. After whipping up a bowl of guacamole, he went to work on sushi. Again, he and another fellow spent most of the evening in the kitchen, while I and my girlfriends occupied the living room, admiring Sunshine and catching up on all our news.
So, just as I knew, he did like his Christmas present. Now I need to find him a birthday present…
Friday, July 31, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
The Seventh Annual Girlfriends' Getaway
Last weekend found me in Jasper with my girlfriends for our annual getaway. This year, seven girls in our group of eight were able to make it—only the second time we’ve achieved that number in the seven years we’ve been going. Three of my girlfriends picked me up at my mom’s place, where I was leaving Sunshine for the weekend, and we drove out around noon, while the other three girls came out after supper.
It was a good time to catch up on what’s happened to all of us in the last year. We had lots to celebrate: a permanent teaching contract signed, a master’s degree nearly finished, a wedding being planned. I also had news to share with them, and laughed at their guesses as to what it might be: I was pregnant again, my husband had a job, or I’d gotten into grad school. No to all three. We’d simply decided to move closer to family and find a job there, and so we had rented a place in a small town near my husband’s parents and my grandparents.
On Friday afternoon, the four of us drove up to Maligne Lake and hiked around the lake, seeking a place that was cooler (shady and breezy) in the 32* heat. Only one of my friends had been there before, and so the rest of us enjoyed exploring somewhere new. We hiked and talked or simply hiked and enjoyed the silence of the mountains, the smell of hot evergreens, the clear blue water of the lake.
On Saturday, we went to Edith Cavell meadows—along with most everyone else in Jasper, it felt like—because the altitude and glacier would ensure that trail was cooler. There, I ran into an old homeschooling friend of mine. The wildflowers were out, as were some chipmunks
, and the glacier was as stunning as usual. From there, we went to a favourite spot, Athabasca Falls, for a picnic lunch. Several kayakers were portaging their way around the falls, and we watched them start down the river again, their little boats bobbing in the rushing water.
We spent the afternoon cooling off at the pool, despite the fact that only two in our group could swim. A game of “piggy in the middle” and the waterslide kept us busy. That evening, we ate out once again, and made our waiter run back and forth answering questions about canola and dairy allergies. In the end, he invited us to join him at a pub and we left him a big tip (but didn’t go to the pub). Instead, we went back to our B&B for a “trivia” game and found out how well we did—or didn’t—know each other.
Sunday found us getting up early (after a very late night of trivia) to head out to Pyramid Lake for some paddling. We rented two canoes for six of us and toured around the lake for half an hour. I haven’t been canoeing in about ten or fifteen years, so I enjoyed the chance to test my skills again and find out that I could still steer a canoe. We made it safely back to the dock and returned to our B&B to pack up. A walk around Annette Lake, another favourite spot, and a picnic there ended our trip.
It was a good time to catch up on what’s happened to all of us in the last year. We had lots to celebrate: a permanent teaching contract signed, a master’s degree nearly finished, a wedding being planned. I also had news to share with them, and laughed at their guesses as to what it might be: I was pregnant again, my husband had a job, or I’d gotten into grad school. No to all three. We’d simply decided to move closer to family and find a job there, and so we had rented a place in a small town near my husband’s parents and my grandparents.
On Friday afternoon, the four of us drove up to Maligne Lake and hiked around the lake, seeking a place that was cooler (shady and breezy) in the 32* heat. Only one of my friends had been there before, and so the rest of us enjoyed exploring somewhere new. We hiked and talked or simply hiked and enjoyed the silence of the mountains, the smell of hot evergreens, the clear blue water of the lake.
On Saturday, we went to Edith Cavell meadows—along with most everyone else in Jasper, it felt like—because the altitude and glacier would ensure that trail was cooler. There, I ran into an old homeschooling friend of mine. The wildflowers were out, as were some chipmunks
, and the glacier was as stunning as usual. From there, we went to a favourite spot, Athabasca Falls, for a picnic lunch. Several kayakers were portaging their way around the falls, and we watched them start down the river again, their little boats bobbing in the rushing water.We spent the afternoon cooling off at the pool, despite the fact that only two in our group could swim. A game of “piggy in the middle” and the waterslide kept us busy. That evening, we ate out once again, and made our waiter run back and forth answering questions about canola and dairy allergies. In the end, he invited us to join him at a pub and we left him a big tip (but didn’t go to the pub). Instead, we went back to our B&B for a “trivia” game and found out how well we did—or didn’t—know each other.
Sunday found us getting up early (after a very late night of trivia) to head out to Pyramid Lake for some paddling. We rented two canoes for six of us and toured around the lake for half an hour. I haven’t been canoeing in about ten or fifteen years, so I enjoyed the chance to test my skills again and find out that I could still steer a canoe. We made it safely back to the dock and returned to our B&B to pack up. A walk around Annette Lake, another favourite spot, and a picnic there ended our trip.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Book Review: Blue Like Play Dough
Blue Like Play Dough caught my attention for two reasons. First, I read Tricia Goyer’s blog for a little and heard lots about her books, so I was interested in finally reading one. Second, I’m a sucker for books about motherhood, especially ones that promise to be inspirational and encouraging.
I wasn’t disappointed. Blue Like Play Dough is almost an autobiography, chronicling Goyer’s journey to faith and what God taught her through her children. She is honest and refreshing, admitting her weaknesses and mistakes as well as her successes.
Goyer talks about having her grandparents move in with her family, caring for a dying grandfather, starting a pregnancy care centre, dealing with the pain of an abortion, being a single teen mom, finding the perfect church home, and other topics. The book became a great pick-me-up in the middle of mothering messes or a fussy baby.
One chapter that stood out to me was the chapter on homeschooling. Goyer talks about meeting the family who inspired her to homeschool: “What I noticed first was how their teenagers behaved. They enjoyed playing with the younger kids. They enjoyed talking with adults. They liked spending time with their parents. They were respectful and fun to be around. They set themselves apart, not because of how they dressed or how they ate, but because of how they loved.” That captures most of the homeschoolers I grew up with, and what I hope to achieve by homeschooling Sunshine.
Goyer admits that homeschooling wasn’t easy, telling how observing a spider spin a web sent them on a search for more information about spiders that made learning fun. She says, “We even went to the library and checked out books about spiders. And as we rode home singing ‘The Itsy Bitsy Spider’ at the top of our lungs, I felt this inner voice telling me, This is what it’s all about. Not that I didn’t need lesson plans to teach math and science and writing, but that I could view our learning as a time of bonding and fun. It wasn’t just about inserting facts into my kids’ brains. It was about connecting with their hearts.”
Blue Like Play Dough is a book that I want to lend to all my mommy friends—on the condition that they give it back when they’re done reading it, because I know I’ll want to read it again myself.
This book was provided for review courtesy of the publisher or publicist.
I wasn’t disappointed. Blue Like Play Dough is almost an autobiography, chronicling Goyer’s journey to faith and what God taught her through her children. She is honest and refreshing, admitting her weaknesses and mistakes as well as her successes.
Goyer talks about having her grandparents move in with her family, caring for a dying grandfather, starting a pregnancy care centre, dealing with the pain of an abortion, being a single teen mom, finding the perfect church home, and other topics. The book became a great pick-me-up in the middle of mothering messes or a fussy baby.
One chapter that stood out to me was the chapter on homeschooling. Goyer talks about meeting the family who inspired her to homeschool: “What I noticed first was how their teenagers behaved. They enjoyed playing with the younger kids. They enjoyed talking with adults. They liked spending time with their parents. They were respectful and fun to be around. They set themselves apart, not because of how they dressed or how they ate, but because of how they loved.” That captures most of the homeschoolers I grew up with, and what I hope to achieve by homeschooling Sunshine.
Goyer admits that homeschooling wasn’t easy, telling how observing a spider spin a web sent them on a search for more information about spiders that made learning fun. She says, “We even went to the library and checked out books about spiders. And as we rode home singing ‘The Itsy Bitsy Spider’ at the top of our lungs, I felt this inner voice telling me, This is what it’s all about. Not that I didn’t need lesson plans to teach math and science and writing, but that I could view our learning as a time of bonding and fun. It wasn’t just about inserting facts into my kids’ brains. It was about connecting with their hearts.”
Blue Like Play Dough is a book that I want to lend to all my mommy friends—on the condition that they give it back when they’re done reading it, because I know I’ll want to read it again myself.
This book was provided for review courtesy of the publisher or publicist.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Christian Writer's Conference
Nine weeks to go until the ICWF 2009 Fall Conference! Full details are now up on the Inscribe website, along with registration forms and the Fall Contest information. This year will be my tenth conference and I'm very excited about it. It's always a great opportunity to meet other writers, learn more about writing, and be inspired as a writer. So if you're a writer anywhere in the Edmonton area in the September (or can make it happen), come on out to the conference!
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Writing a Novel Again
I started writing Charlotte Small’s story last week. I’ve been doing more research lately, but in a way, researching was to put off the actual writing. Then I read a post over at Chocolate Reality that hit my problem on its head. Steena talks about “rules” of writing she now knows that she didn’t know when she wrote her first book. Then she says that because she didn’t know these rules, “I just wrote because I discovered my love for it. I didn't worry about all the rules and the right or the wrong way to do things. I just wrote (did you get that?).”
That reminded me of how I used to write. Of why I have about ten novels (give or take one or two—I haven’t counted them in a little while) sitting on my computer. Oh, I’m not saying any of them are worth publishing. Right now. Maybe with some heavy editing and reworking, they’d be readable. And someday, I will do that. There are some good stories, hidden among all my amateur writing.
But I haven’t written seriously since before I started university. I had time back then to just sit at my computer and write. And while I was starting to learn some of the rules, thanks to Inscribe, those rules hadn’t yet hampered my muse. Then university came, with studying and academic papers, and then summer jobs and the job after graduation, and time to write became a precious commodity.
Now, I’m a stay-at-home mom, trying to write during naptimes. I talked about writer’s block a while back, and how the idea for a novel about Charlotte Small came to me. Even with that, I was afraid to write. Because now I know how much work it is. And in the last little bit, as I’ve been reading really good books, my fear of writing has grown. Lisa Samson inspires me, because it feels like she started where I did and learned the craft of writing slowly, improving with each book. Bonnie Grove intimidates me, because her debut novel is so good.
In a way, Steena’s post freed me to start writing, because I recognized my fear. That and the fact that I won a contest for a free ten-page critique. I thought about what I could send the critiquer. Many of my stories have already been critiqued. My first novel has been through several critiques. So I thought—write ten new pages. Get her opinion of them and then keep writing. And so I have...
That reminded me of how I used to write. Of why I have about ten novels (give or take one or two—I haven’t counted them in a little while) sitting on my computer. Oh, I’m not saying any of them are worth publishing. Right now. Maybe with some heavy editing and reworking, they’d be readable. And someday, I will do that. There are some good stories, hidden among all my amateur writing.
But I haven’t written seriously since before I started university. I had time back then to just sit at my computer and write. And while I was starting to learn some of the rules, thanks to Inscribe, those rules hadn’t yet hampered my muse. Then university came, with studying and academic papers, and then summer jobs and the job after graduation, and time to write became a precious commodity.
Now, I’m a stay-at-home mom, trying to write during naptimes. I talked about writer’s block a while back, and how the idea for a novel about Charlotte Small came to me. Even with that, I was afraid to write. Because now I know how much work it is. And in the last little bit, as I’ve been reading really good books, my fear of writing has grown. Lisa Samson inspires me, because it feels like she started where I did and learned the craft of writing slowly, improving with each book. Bonnie Grove intimidates me, because her debut novel is so good.
In a way, Steena’s post freed me to start writing, because I recognized my fear. That and the fact that I won a contest for a free ten-page critique. I thought about what I could send the critiquer. Many of my stories have already been critiqued. My first novel has been through several critiques. So I thought—write ten new pages. Get her opinion of them and then keep writing. And so I have...
Monday, July 20, 2009
Radio Theatre Thoughts
On our last trips to the city, friends of ours lent us the Chronicles of Narnia radio theatre. We listened to The Horse and His Boy and The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (two of my favourite books) on the first trip, and The Silver Chair and The Last Battle on the second trip. I was surprised when the radio host introduced The Last Battle as the all-time favourite in the Narnia chronicles. I remembered it as a slightly dark book, a little hard to get into, with less of a story than the other books.
Yet as we listened to it, I found myself changing my opinion (though my favourite is probably still The Voyage of the Dawn Treader). The host had also commented that this is the book where C. S. Lewis’ theology is clearest, and I was amazed by the underlying meanings in the story. Yes, all the Narnia books are allegory, yet The Last Battle had so much in it that one could ponder and unpack.
My favourite is the last sentence: “All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.” Maybe it’s just because I’m a book-lover, but that’s the most beautiful description of Heaven that I’ve ever heard.
It made me think back to some talks at the Family Life conference, where Narnia and the Harry Potter series came up with the old question of why is one okay in Christian circles and the other not. Listening to Narnia made that clear. C. S. Lewis’ faith is permeates the books. Even if magic is used, it is never used by the human characters, and it is never used lightly. Peter, Edmund, Lucy and the others might get into Narnia by “magic,” but it is not a magic that they can control—quite unlike the Harry Potter series, where Harry is sent to school to learn magic.
I also came to the opinion that I almost like audio books better than movies. There’s the extra bit of dramatization—the sound effects, the background music, the different voices for the characters—that adds to the story, but everything else is still left to the listener’s imagination. Movies often suffer from leaving nothing to the imagination; they show everything, including things I don’t want to see (like too much gore or nudity). I’ve complained that movies based on books I’ve read often fail to meet my expectations, because the producer or director imagined things differently than I did. Audio had no such failing.
Yet as we listened to it, I found myself changing my opinion (though my favourite is probably still The Voyage of the Dawn Treader). The host had also commented that this is the book where C. S. Lewis’ theology is clearest, and I was amazed by the underlying meanings in the story. Yes, all the Narnia books are allegory, yet The Last Battle had so much in it that one could ponder and unpack.
My favourite is the last sentence: “All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.” Maybe it’s just because I’m a book-lover, but that’s the most beautiful description of Heaven that I’ve ever heard.
It made me think back to some talks at the Family Life conference, where Narnia and the Harry Potter series came up with the old question of why is one okay in Christian circles and the other not. Listening to Narnia made that clear. C. S. Lewis’ faith is permeates the books. Even if magic is used, it is never used by the human characters, and it is never used lightly. Peter, Edmund, Lucy and the others might get into Narnia by “magic,” but it is not a magic that they can control—quite unlike the Harry Potter series, where Harry is sent to school to learn magic.
I also came to the opinion that I almost like audio books better than movies. There’s the extra bit of dramatization—the sound effects, the background music, the different voices for the characters—that adds to the story, but everything else is still left to the listener’s imagination. Movies often suffer from leaving nothing to the imagination; they show everything, including things I don’t want to see (like too much gore or nudity). I’ve complained that movies based on books I’ve read often fail to meet my expectations, because the producer or director imagined things differently than I did. Audio had no such failing.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Making Sushi
Today, I've posted a story about my husband Making Sushi over at Inscribe Writer's Online. I actually wrote the story back before we moved out of the city, but then lost it in my computer files until recently. :)
Book Review: The King's Legacy
The King’s Legacy: A Story of the Wisdom of the Ages by Jim Stovall is a parable about a king who wants to leave a legacy of his reign behind him. He calls his advisors and asks them for suggestions for a suitable legacy. One advisor recommends an unusual legacy: The Wisdom of the Ages. Thus begins the King’s search for this Wisdom.
All who wish to share their wisdom are invited to do so before the king, his nobles, and his wise men. As they listen to wisdom from a merchant, a soldier, and a poet, some feel that they’ve already heard enough wisdom—surely one of these is the Wisdom of the Ages. Yet the King says the search must continue. Others feel that some aren’t worthy of presenting Wisdom—that wisdom should come from those who have title or credentials. Yet in the end, the Wisdom of the Ages comes from a most unexpected source.
The King’s Legacy should be read slowly, as each short chapter contains much to think on. It is a simple, short story, with each chapter accompanied by old-fashioned, hand-drawn renderings of each person who presents their wisdom. At the end, it includes space for the reader to record their own wisdom.
The wisdom in several chapters jumped out at me. The Parent, the only woman in the story, says to the officials and nobles gathered in the Throne Room, “Each of you has my respect, my admiration, and my loyalty for the positions you hold and the duties you perform. But I submit to you that no one will impact the next generation and succeeding generations throughout this kingdom more than a parent.”
A Labourer is one of those who seems unworthy present wisdom, yet he leaves each of his listeners looking at the Throne Room in a new manner when he says, “I have also learned that while I can apply my skill to my work with the stones, I cannot create a magnificent structure like this Throne Room by myself. The carpenters, stained-glass artists, and metalworkers all must do their part in order for us to be able to enjoy this wonderful Throne Room. Just as each stone on every level of a wall is critical to the integrity of that wall, each labourer from all the crafts must perform his task well in order to have a successful project.”
Jim Stovall has written a powerful parable that will be treasured by many—his own legacy for our society.
This book was provided for review courtesty of the publisher or publicist.
All who wish to share their wisdom are invited to do so before the king, his nobles, and his wise men. As they listen to wisdom from a merchant, a soldier, and a poet, some feel that they’ve already heard enough wisdom—surely one of these is the Wisdom of the Ages. Yet the King says the search must continue. Others feel that some aren’t worthy of presenting Wisdom—that wisdom should come from those who have title or credentials. Yet in the end, the Wisdom of the Ages comes from a most unexpected source.
The King’s Legacy should be read slowly, as each short chapter contains much to think on. It is a simple, short story, with each chapter accompanied by old-fashioned, hand-drawn renderings of each person who presents their wisdom. At the end, it includes space for the reader to record their own wisdom.
The wisdom in several chapters jumped out at me. The Parent, the only woman in the story, says to the officials and nobles gathered in the Throne Room, “Each of you has my respect, my admiration, and my loyalty for the positions you hold and the duties you perform. But I submit to you that no one will impact the next generation and succeeding generations throughout this kingdom more than a parent.”
A Labourer is one of those who seems unworthy present wisdom, yet he leaves each of his listeners looking at the Throne Room in a new manner when he says, “I have also learned that while I can apply my skill to my work with the stones, I cannot create a magnificent structure like this Throne Room by myself. The carpenters, stained-glass artists, and metalworkers all must do their part in order for us to be able to enjoy this wonderful Throne Room. Just as each stone on every level of a wall is critical to the integrity of that wall, each labourer from all the crafts must perform his task well in order to have a successful project.”
Jim Stovall has written a powerful parable that will be treasured by many—his own legacy for our society.
This book was provided for review courtesty of the publisher or publicist.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
The First Five Sentences
A little while back, Eden of If You Give a Girl a Pen shared what she was learning from The First Five Pages: A Writer’s Guide to Staying Out of the Rejection Pile by Noah Lukeman. She explains that “the first five pages are the most important of any in our books or stories.” These pages must hook the reader or editor and give them a reason to keep reading.
To follow that post, the girls of If You Give a Girl a Pen decided to offer a critique for just the first five sentences of a story. I sent in five sentences that I’ve been struggling with—sentences that are already the second beginning I’ve written for that story. It was interesting to read the other submissions, to see what I think of a story just from the first paragraph or two—would I keep reading or not?
I decided to look at a few of my stories again, at just the first five sentences. Here’s a few. Would you keep reading?
“But then, of course, it jams. Right in the middle of the competition.” Jack’s voice is loaded with blame that he shoots at her like one of the bullets from his gun. Kelsey takes a deep breath and lets it out while she silently counts to ten.
“I thought we agreed that now wasn’t the best time to buy a new gun,” she says, struggling to keep her voice level.
We all remember it as the summer my brother Joe brought Ed home. Actually, that only happened ‘cause Benson quit at the sawmill, which was a huge disaster at the time, but got forgotten in the later excitement. See, Benson was the original owner of the sawmill. He’d started it with his brother Larry, way back when the town was just growing out of the mountainside. It wasn’t one of those affairs that ran the town – most of the townsmen were miners – but it provided lumber for the growing town, wood for the stoves, and work enough for Benson and Larry.
Brenna drove by instinct. She had forgotten the road numbers and some of the landmarks had changed, yet somehow she still found it. She remembered the last hill in the road and then the big evergreen trees on the right. The barbed-wire fence and the gate across the road were new. She parked there and got out, staring through her sunglasses at the brick house peeping from the evergreens, the gravel road curving past it and into the field, the cows at the far end.
To follow that post, the girls of If You Give a Girl a Pen decided to offer a critique for just the first five sentences of a story. I sent in five sentences that I’ve been struggling with—sentences that are already the second beginning I’ve written for that story. It was interesting to read the other submissions, to see what I think of a story just from the first paragraph or two—would I keep reading or not?
I decided to look at a few of my stories again, at just the first five sentences. Here’s a few. Would you keep reading?
“But then, of course, it jams. Right in the middle of the competition.” Jack’s voice is loaded with blame that he shoots at her like one of the bullets from his gun. Kelsey takes a deep breath and lets it out while she silently counts to ten.
“I thought we agreed that now wasn’t the best time to buy a new gun,” she says, struggling to keep her voice level.
We all remember it as the summer my brother Joe brought Ed home. Actually, that only happened ‘cause Benson quit at the sawmill, which was a huge disaster at the time, but got forgotten in the later excitement. See, Benson was the original owner of the sawmill. He’d started it with his brother Larry, way back when the town was just growing out of the mountainside. It wasn’t one of those affairs that ran the town – most of the townsmen were miners – but it provided lumber for the growing town, wood for the stoves, and work enough for Benson and Larry.
Brenna drove by instinct. She had forgotten the road numbers and some of the landmarks had changed, yet somehow she still found it. She remembered the last hill in the road and then the big evergreen trees on the right. The barbed-wire fence and the gate across the road were new. She parked there and got out, staring through her sunglasses at the brick house peeping from the evergreens, the gravel road curving past it and into the field, the cows at the far end.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Grandma's Rhubarb Pie
Today I'm a guest blogger over at Carla's Writing Cafe. Carla has been running "Specials of the Week" in her cafe, and when I left a comment about rhubarb pie on one of the specials, she asked me to share the recipe. Pop on over for the recipe of my favourite summer treat!
Friday, July 10, 2009
Book Review: It Happened in Italy
The stories of Jews in Germany and its surrounding countries are familiar the world over. This year, my husband participated in the school book club and brought home the books for me to read too. We read Twenty and Ten, The Boy Who Dared, Four Perfect Pebbles—all books about the Holocaust and the hardships Jews endured under Hitler.
So when I saw Elizabeth Bettina's book It Happened in Italy, I was interested. I didn’t know much about Italy’s role in World War II. What I found out surprised me, as I had never heard it before. Bettina says, “Wondering why almost no one really knows what happened—even those who live in the areas in Italy where these events occurred—compelled me to tell this story.”
It Happened in Italy is Bettina’s discoveries about what it was like to be Jewish in Italy at the time of the Holocaust. Bettina first discovered the story when she saw a picture from her family’s village in Italy: a Catholic priest and a Jewish rabbi stood side-by-side on the steps of a church. Except that everyone knew there were no Jews in Italy. Or were there?
Bettina’s questions about the picture led to a huge story and a web of amazing connections. She records the stories of nearly fifty Jews who survived the Holocaust because they were in Italy. They tell of living normal lives during the War, of picnicking and playing cards in the Italian “concentration camps,” of hundreds of Italians who hid them from German soldiers.
Walter Wolff is one of the survivors whose story Bettina shares. Wolff grew up in Frankfurt, Germany, and “lived through every-increasing anti-Semitism and through Kristallnacht.” He and his brother were arrested the day after Kristallnacht and sent to Buchenwald. They had been accepted as students in the US, and because their mother had papers to prove this, they were released. Unfortunately, the US refused to grant them student visas. So they went to Italy, the “only country allowing Jews to enter without visas.”
In 1940, Walter was arrested in Genoa. Having seen German concentration camps, he was terrified. However, “the Italian camps were nothing like German camps. In comparison, it was like going to a hotel. There was no forced labour in the Italian camps. We could do whatever we wanted during the day, as long as we obeyed the simple rules of being present for role call in the morning ... and in the evening.”
These stories are not just about a few scattered people who helped a few Jews escape the Germans—they are about entire villages, an entire country, that refused to participate in Hitler’s Final Solution. As one of the survivors Bettina interviewed said, “During bad times, there were good people, and without them, he and the other Jews would not have survived.” It Happened in Italy is an inspiring, uplifting read among the hundreds of dark stories about the Holocaust.
See Elizabeth Bettina's website for more stories about Jews in Italy during the Holocaust!
This book was provided for review courtesty of the publisher or publicist.
So when I saw Elizabeth Bettina's book It Happened in Italy, I was interested. I didn’t know much about Italy’s role in World War II. What I found out surprised me, as I had never heard it before. Bettina says, “Wondering why almost no one really knows what happened—even those who live in the areas in Italy where these events occurred—compelled me to tell this story.”
It Happened in Italy is Bettina’s discoveries about what it was like to be Jewish in Italy at the time of the Holocaust. Bettina first discovered the story when she saw a picture from her family’s village in Italy: a Catholic priest and a Jewish rabbi stood side-by-side on the steps of a church. Except that everyone knew there were no Jews in Italy. Or were there?
Bettina’s questions about the picture led to a huge story and a web of amazing connections. She records the stories of nearly fifty Jews who survived the Holocaust because they were in Italy. They tell of living normal lives during the War, of picnicking and playing cards in the Italian “concentration camps,” of hundreds of Italians who hid them from German soldiers.
Walter Wolff is one of the survivors whose story Bettina shares. Wolff grew up in Frankfurt, Germany, and “lived through every-increasing anti-Semitism and through Kristallnacht.” He and his brother were arrested the day after Kristallnacht and sent to Buchenwald. They had been accepted as students in the US, and because their mother had papers to prove this, they were released. Unfortunately, the US refused to grant them student visas. So they went to Italy, the “only country allowing Jews to enter without visas.”
In 1940, Walter was arrested in Genoa. Having seen German concentration camps, he was terrified. However, “the Italian camps were nothing like German camps. In comparison, it was like going to a hotel. There was no forced labour in the Italian camps. We could do whatever we wanted during the day, as long as we obeyed the simple rules of being present for role call in the morning ... and in the evening.”
These stories are not just about a few scattered people who helped a few Jews escape the Germans—they are about entire villages, an entire country, that refused to participate in Hitler’s Final Solution. As one of the survivors Bettina interviewed said, “During bad times, there were good people, and without them, he and the other Jews would not have survived.” It Happened in Italy is an inspiring, uplifting read among the hundreds of dark stories about the Holocaust.
See Elizabeth Bettina's website for more stories about Jews in Italy during the Holocaust!
This book was provided for review courtesty of the publisher or publicist.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Writers-on-Wednesday: Bruce Atchison
Bruce Atchison is another new Inscriber and a blind writer who agreed to share part of his story here.
How did you become a writer?
I've always loved making up stories. When Mom sent my sister, Diane, and I to bed, I kept her laughing with the silly tales I told. Often times, I would discover that she had drifted off while I enthusiastically babbled on.
At public school, I told stories to a crowd of girls at recess. My vision was too poor for me to play sports with the boys so I naturally gravitated to the only audience at hand. At Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind in Vancouver, 500 miles from my home in the town of Fort Saskatchewan, I entertained myself with my imaginary adventures to help ease the loneliness.
Though I entered a couple of articles in the junior high school newspaper, after being allowed to attend public school again, I didn't do much writing until the late eighties. A newsletter at work called for submissions so I sent in articles about recycling. During the nineties, I wrote music reviews for various electronic music fan magazines.
When I was laid off from my government job in 1995, a counselor suggested that I should write professionally. After taking a magazine article writing course in the autumn of that year, I began the arduous process of searching for markets for my freelance articles.
I took an online autobiography writing course in 2004 but my manuscript was far too long. Making it into several memoirs seemed a better idea. When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) and Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) were the result. I'm working on a third and perhaps final memoir called How I Was Razed (And How I Found Authentic Christianity). It should be in print next year.
What inspires you to write?
I've always loved discovering something new and telling people what I've found. There's also something wonderful about crafting an article or story and making it come alive. Though I need to prove to Canada Pension Plan that I'm actively seeking some sort of gainful employment, I feel that writing is a major part of my character.
Researching and learning new things is also something I enjoy, complimenting my writing well. Once I'm done with my memoirs, I want to learn how to write fiction. I love science fiction and certain types of fantasy. Those genres would be fun to explore. In 1997, I began a fantasy story about a paradise populated by humanoid rabbits. I'd like to resurrect that one someday.
Who is your favourite author, and why?
C. S. Lewis is my favourite author. His worlds are the ones I'd love to visit or even live in if I could. I have listened to audio dramatizations of his Narnia stories for years and I never tire of them. If God gave me the gift of writing like any author, I would have no hesitation about who I would emulate. Mr. Lewis' stories are timeless and they point to the ultimate good that will triumph over evil.
I also have The Screwtape Letters in audio. A Bible study group I was involved with a few years ago studied it. It was like walking backwards while holding a gas stove on my head but I learned much from this parody of a senior demon counselling a junior devil. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to chase the magpies and crows away from my yard. I don't like the fowl language they use.
How did you become a writer?
I've always loved making up stories. When Mom sent my sister, Diane, and I to bed, I kept her laughing with the silly tales I told. Often times, I would discover that she had drifted off while I enthusiastically babbled on.
At public school, I told stories to a crowd of girls at recess. My vision was too poor for me to play sports with the boys so I naturally gravitated to the only audience at hand. At Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind in Vancouver, 500 miles from my home in the town of Fort Saskatchewan, I entertained myself with my imaginary adventures to help ease the loneliness.
Though I entered a couple of articles in the junior high school newspaper, after being allowed to attend public school again, I didn't do much writing until the late eighties. A newsletter at work called for submissions so I sent in articles about recycling. During the nineties, I wrote music reviews for various electronic music fan magazines.
When I was laid off from my government job in 1995, a counselor suggested that I should write professionally. After taking a magazine article writing course in the autumn of that year, I began the arduous process of searching for markets for my freelance articles.
I took an online autobiography writing course in 2004 but my manuscript was far too long. Making it into several memoirs seemed a better idea. When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) and Deliverance from Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) were the result. I'm working on a third and perhaps final memoir called How I Was Razed (And How I Found Authentic Christianity). It should be in print next year.
What inspires you to write?
I've always loved discovering something new and telling people what I've found. There's also something wonderful about crafting an article or story and making it come alive. Though I need to prove to Canada Pension Plan that I'm actively seeking some sort of gainful employment, I feel that writing is a major part of my character.
Researching and learning new things is also something I enjoy, complimenting my writing well. Once I'm done with my memoirs, I want to learn how to write fiction. I love science fiction and certain types of fantasy. Those genres would be fun to explore. In 1997, I began a fantasy story about a paradise populated by humanoid rabbits. I'd like to resurrect that one someday.
Who is your favourite author, and why?
C. S. Lewis is my favourite author. His worlds are the ones I'd love to visit or even live in if I could. I have listened to audio dramatizations of his Narnia stories for years and I never tire of them. If God gave me the gift of writing like any author, I would have no hesitation about who I would emulate. Mr. Lewis' stories are timeless and they point to the ultimate good that will triumph over evil.
I also have The Screwtape Letters in audio. A Bible study group I was involved with a few years ago studied it. It was like walking backwards while holding a gas stove on my head but I learned much from this parody of a senior demon counselling a junior devil. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to chase the magpies and crows away from my yard. I don't like the fowl language they use.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Summer Holidays
Last week found us on holidays, with a job interview in southern Alberta for my husband, a visit to my best friend’s new home, and a weekend at the Catholic Family Life Conference. Now we’re home again, resting, unpacking, and doing laundry. After the heat of most of last week, the cool rain today is nice.
Last year, we made it to a few of the sessions at the Family Life Conference. This year, we arrived on Thursday with most of the other families, and pitched our tent in the shade of some trees. Since we weren’t hungry, we decided to cook supper later. We visited with a few other families and then went to Mass. During Mass, a thunderstorm blew in and rain poured as we dashed back to our tent.
I threw Sunshine in the front of the Jeep to play while I dug through the back of the Jeep for our food. I had the camp kitchen, hamburger helper, pots, and stove ready when I realized there was no fuel. A picture rose in my mind of our little red fuel bottle sitting in the garage—not in the house, with the rest of the camping stuff that I had quickly packed nearly a week ago. As the rain dripped down on me, I looked at our boxes of noodles and canned soups and thought about a weekend without a stove.
Thankfully, our neighbours lent us their stove for that evening, and we quickly heated up some soup. Then I dove into the tent with Sunshine, who promptly freaked out. We haven’t been camping with her since last year, so she didn’t remember the tent. She howled and tried to touch the tent wall and howled again, while I talked to her and touched the tent wall to show her it was okay. Finally, she calmed down and we cuddled, while she stared around her with big eyes, wondering where she had ended up. I worried that she wouldn’t sleep well in the tent, but once she finally drifted off, she didn’t wake up until eight the next morning.
Overall, it was a good weekend. The sessions were excellent, and we had fun running into other friends that we haven’t seen in a while—or since last year’s conference. It was awesome to see so many young, faithful Catholic families there, to be able to share our faith and our love for Christ. Sunshine enjoyed running around, amusing my husband and I with her independence and how far she’d go with no concern about where we were. She also had fun playing with all the kids there, though she’s not into sharing yet.
At one point, a little boy her age had come over to play with her towards the end of Mass. Sunshine was eating applesauce, and the little boy read her board book and played with her ball for a bit. Then Sunshine wanted to join in. My husband and I both began laughing as the boy and Sunshine howled simultaneously at who had the ball. We tried to show them how to play catch, but neither would give up the ball, and it disappeared.
And so begins our summer holidays.
Last year, we made it to a few of the sessions at the Family Life Conference. This year, we arrived on Thursday with most of the other families, and pitched our tent in the shade of some trees. Since we weren’t hungry, we decided to cook supper later. We visited with a few other families and then went to Mass. During Mass, a thunderstorm blew in and rain poured as we dashed back to our tent.
I threw Sunshine in the front of the Jeep to play while I dug through the back of the Jeep for our food. I had the camp kitchen, hamburger helper, pots, and stove ready when I realized there was no fuel. A picture rose in my mind of our little red fuel bottle sitting in the garage—not in the house, with the rest of the camping stuff that I had quickly packed nearly a week ago. As the rain dripped down on me, I looked at our boxes of noodles and canned soups and thought about a weekend without a stove.
Thankfully, our neighbours lent us their stove for that evening, and we quickly heated up some soup. Then I dove into the tent with Sunshine, who promptly freaked out. We haven’t been camping with her since last year, so she didn’t remember the tent. She howled and tried to touch the tent wall and howled again, while I talked to her and touched the tent wall to show her it was okay. Finally, she calmed down and we cuddled, while she stared around her with big eyes, wondering where she had ended up. I worried that she wouldn’t sleep well in the tent, but once she finally drifted off, she didn’t wake up until eight the next morning.
Overall, it was a good weekend. The sessions were excellent, and we had fun running into other friends that we haven’t seen in a while—or since last year’s conference. It was awesome to see so many young, faithful Catholic families there, to be able to share our faith and our love for Christ. Sunshine enjoyed running around, amusing my husband and I with her independence and how far she’d go with no concern about where we were. She also had fun playing with all the kids there, though she’s not into sharing yet.
At one point, a little boy her age had come over to play with her towards the end of Mass. Sunshine was eating applesauce, and the little boy read her board book and played with her ball for a bit. Then Sunshine wanted to join in. My husband and I both began laughing as the boy and Sunshine howled simultaneously at who had the ball. We tried to show them how to play catch, but neither would give up the ball, and it disappeared.
And so begins our summer holidays.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Book Review: Talking to the Dead
Bonnie Grove’s debut novel Talking to the Dead (David C Cook, June 2009) lived up to all that I’ve heard about it. From the very first sentence (“Kevin was dead and the people in my house wouldn’t go home”) to the very last (“I’m done talking to the dead. I’m ready to talk to the living God”), this novel held my attention. I finished most of it in one day, and I haven’t done that in a very long time.
Grove dives straight into her main character's grief at the loss of her husband. As Kate works through her grief and her memories, we learn more about her and her family—and her relationship with her husband.
Twenty-something Kate Davis has just lost her husband—and parts of her memory. She sits in her living room, hearing Kevin’s voice in her head, as she tries to work through her grief. Her mom drops off books about grief. Her sister comes by to clean out her fridge. Her husband’s best friend takes care of the yard. And Kate hides, wallowing in her grief, not wanting to see any of them, not wanting to “get better.”
Then something Kate does makes Kevin start yelling at her, and pieces of her memory begin coming back. On a day when she’s feeling a bit better and ready to take care of some things Kevin left behind, she discovers a secret he was keeping. Her world falls apart, and she responds with a violence that lands her in a psychiatric ward.
As Kate struggles with who to trust after finding out that those closest to her knew about Kevin’s secret, one man keeps coming into her life. Jack is the pastor of a church that meets in the local community centre and the coach of a bunch of youth who meet once a week to play basketball. His friendship gives Kate something steady to hang onto, some hope for the future.
Kate’s grief and emotions are portrayed with incredible insight. In an AfterWords interview in the back of her book, Grove says, “I haven’t lived through any of the actual circumstances Kate went through. So the short answer is: Kate is not me, and this is not my story.” But other parts of Kate’s story—her grief, anger, and loss—are universal, Grove says. She asks, “Is there such a thing as an emotional autobiography? If so, I guess that’s what I’ve written.”
Grove’s experience as a psychologist clearly comes through the pages in her insight and descriptions of Kate’s mental illness. She also reveals great understanding as a writer. She explains, “In this novel, I used humor to take the pressure off the reader, to help her take a deep breath and relax before plunging further.” Throughout the story, there is a great balance of humour, suspense, and emotion.
Kate’s personality shone throughout the novel, drawing the reader solidly into her viewpoint and experiences. Brief flashbacks fill in the story of her relationship with Kevin before his death. In an interview with Novel Rocket, Grove says of Kate, "My goal for her was to create a character who reflects real women—stronger than she knows, a fighter in her soul, and smart enough to know when it’s time to surrender to the God of love." Grove paints the other characters lightly, just enough for the reader to get to know them through Kate’s eyes—sometimes funny, sometimes critical, always interesting.
Bonnie Grove is married to a pastor and has two young children; they live in Saskatchewan. She has a background in psychology, counseling, and theology. She has been a featured speaker at various events and conferences, including Write! Canada in Guelph, Ontario and Inscribe Christian Writer's Fellowship's Fall Conference in Edmonton, Alberta.
She is also the author of Your Best You: Discovering and Developing the Strengths God Gave You (nonfiction, Beacon Hill Press, 2009) and Time and Time Again (fiction, David C. Cook, September 2010). Her short story, "Stuckville Cafe," appeared in the popular Canadian anthology Hot Apple Cider. I completely agree with Francine River’s endorsement of Bonnie Grove’s first novel: “Beautifully done! I can’t wait to read the next story she writes.”
For suggested songs to listen to while reading Talking to the Dead, book club questions, and more information about Bonnie Grove, visit her website. You can also check out my interview with Bonnie.
This book was provided for review courtesy of the publisher or publicist.
Grove dives straight into her main character's grief at the loss of her husband. As Kate works through her grief and her memories, we learn more about her and her family—and her relationship with her husband.
Twenty-something Kate Davis has just lost her husband—and parts of her memory. She sits in her living room, hearing Kevin’s voice in her head, as she tries to work through her grief. Her mom drops off books about grief. Her sister comes by to clean out her fridge. Her husband’s best friend takes care of the yard. And Kate hides, wallowing in her grief, not wanting to see any of them, not wanting to “get better.”
Then something Kate does makes Kevin start yelling at her, and pieces of her memory begin coming back. On a day when she’s feeling a bit better and ready to take care of some things Kevin left behind, she discovers a secret he was keeping. Her world falls apart, and she responds with a violence that lands her in a psychiatric ward.
As Kate struggles with who to trust after finding out that those closest to her knew about Kevin’s secret, one man keeps coming into her life. Jack is the pastor of a church that meets in the local community centre and the coach of a bunch of youth who meet once a week to play basketball. His friendship gives Kate something steady to hang onto, some hope for the future.
Kate’s grief and emotions are portrayed with incredible insight. In an AfterWords interview in the back of her book, Grove says, “I haven’t lived through any of the actual circumstances Kate went through. So the short answer is: Kate is not me, and this is not my story.” But other parts of Kate’s story—her grief, anger, and loss—are universal, Grove says. She asks, “Is there such a thing as an emotional autobiography? If so, I guess that’s what I’ve written.”
Grove’s experience as a psychologist clearly comes through the pages in her insight and descriptions of Kate’s mental illness. She also reveals great understanding as a writer. She explains, “In this novel, I used humor to take the pressure off the reader, to help her take a deep breath and relax before plunging further.” Throughout the story, there is a great balance of humour, suspense, and emotion.
Kate’s personality shone throughout the novel, drawing the reader solidly into her viewpoint and experiences. Brief flashbacks fill in the story of her relationship with Kevin before his death. In an interview with Novel Rocket, Grove says of Kate, "My goal for her was to create a character who reflects real women—stronger than she knows, a fighter in her soul, and smart enough to know when it’s time to surrender to the God of love." Grove paints the other characters lightly, just enough for the reader to get to know them through Kate’s eyes—sometimes funny, sometimes critical, always interesting.
Bonnie Grove is married to a pastor and has two young children; they live in Saskatchewan. She has a background in psychology, counseling, and theology. She has been a featured speaker at various events and conferences, including Write! Canada in Guelph, Ontario and Inscribe Christian Writer's Fellowship's Fall Conference in Edmonton, Alberta.
She is also the author of Your Best You: Discovering and Developing the Strengths God Gave You (nonfiction, Beacon Hill Press, 2009) and Time and Time Again (fiction, David C. Cook, September 2010). Her short story, "Stuckville Cafe," appeared in the popular Canadian anthology Hot Apple Cider. I completely agree with Francine River’s endorsement of Bonnie Grove’s first novel: “Beautifully done! I can’t wait to read the next story she writes.”
For suggested songs to listen to while reading Talking to the Dead, book club questions, and more information about Bonnie Grove, visit her website. You can also check out my interview with Bonnie.
This book was provided for review courtesy of the publisher or publicist.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Writers-on-Wednesday: Anna Dynowski
Happy Canada Day, dear readers! Today, I'd like to introduce you to Anna Dynowski, a new member of Inscribe Christian Writer’s Fellowship. She’s the author of several books, including her most recent titles, Looking for Love (April 2009), Full Time Wife (May 2008), and Full House (March 2008), all published by Write Words Inc.How did you become a writer?
Back in 1999, I complained to God I was unhappy in my office day job, that when I got up in the morning, I wasn’t eager to go to work. I complained also to a friend who suggested I read Making a Living Without a Job by Barbara Winter. The author helps the readers figure out what hobbies or talents they have and use them to create a job for themselves that they love. The trouble was, I couldn’t identify any real talent or hobby.
One night, when I lay in bed, wide awake, I complained to God again, only this time my complaint centered on "What can I do?"
Then, the Lord brought back to my memory the time, long, long ago, when I read romances. Why not write romances? I mulled over this question. The more the idea gelled in my heart and spirit, the more I became excited. Yes, I thought, I can write a love story. Or can I? I knew how to read fiction books, but what was involved in actually taking a premise for a story and outlining it, plotting it, and putting it down on paper in a cohesive, comprehensible manner, and then sell it to a publisher?
To Chapters I went and purchased The Art of Romance Writing by Valerie Parv and a romance novel. The how-to book proved to be invaluable, as did the many writers groups I’ve belonged to. And the romance novel? Well… I thought I was picking up a Harlequin book. It wasn’t until I got home that I realized I had bought a Christian romance novel. I didn’t even know such books existed! This was what I wanted to write. This was what I felt led of God to write—books that encouraged and entertained.
And in 2000, I started to write my first manuscript. In 2005, this first manuscript, Full Circle, was published. I’ve continued writing and publishing Inspirational Romance books ever since.
To Chapters I went and purchased The Art of Romance Writing by Valerie Parv and a romance novel. The how-to book proved to be invaluable, as did the many writers groups I’ve belonged to. And the romance novel? Well… I thought I was picking up a Harlequin book. It wasn’t until I got home that I realized I had bought a Christian romance novel. I didn’t even know such books existed! This was what I wanted to write. This was what I felt led of God to write—books that encouraged and entertained.
And in 2000, I started to write my first manuscript. In 2005, this first manuscript, Full Circle, was published. I’ve continued writing and publishing Inspirational Romance books ever since.
By the way, I’m still in that same office day job.
What inspires you to write?
I heard authors say aroma-scented candles, soft music, breathtaking panorama, Godiva chocolates, good books, great movies all inspire them to write. For me… it’s God.
He places the ideas, scenes, dialogue into my mind. I sit obediently at my computer, with my hands poised over the keyboard, and take dictation. (I’m the little pencil, remember?) He is my business Manager and in charge of my writing. He’s also in charge of my muse. When the writing is flowing, the Lord is in charge. When the writing comes out in trickles, the Lord is in charge.
Either way, He’s the One Who inspires me, not just with the ideas, but to sit down at my computer and record His words.
How’s this for inspiration: “This is what the Lord, the God of Israel, says, ‘Write in a book all the words I have spoken to you.’” Jeremiah 30:2 (NIV)
What authors do you admire and why?
Because I write Inspirational Romance, when my writing permits, I read a lot of romances, both inspirational and secular. There are many authors I adore and have learned a great deal about my craft just by studying their “voice” and style of writing.
Among my long list are: Robin Lee Hatcher, Diane Noble, Debbie Macomber, Nora Roberts, Danielle Steele. I enjoy their writing because they create 3-D characters—real people the reader can identify with. The strong emotion ribboning the stories draws the reader right into their make-believe world and holds them as willing captives. And, of course, there is the happily-ever-after ending that leaves me with the feeling of Ah! Love does conquer all.
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