In 2008, That's Life! Communications released Hot Apple Cider: Words to Stir the Heart and Warm the Soul, a Canadian version of the Chicken Soup for the Soul books. The anthology featured 30 Canadian Christian writers and a foreword by bestselling author Janette Oke. Since then, it has become a bestseller, with over 45,000 copies in print. This year, fans of the anthology can get A Second Cup of Hot Apple Cider.
The very first story in A Second Cup of Hot Apple Cider left me in tears. The next stories kept me turning pages, wanting more. Like the first anthology, this one is a collection of fiction, poetry, and nonfiction, and my only complaint about both anthologies is that there isn't enough fiction. The majority of both books is nonfiction, but the fiction stories in both books are my favourite parts.
"Twenty-five Years Later" by N. J. Lindquist is the story of five college girls, gathering for a reunion twenty-five years after graduation. They haven't seen each other since they graduated and each one has changed quite a bit. It made me think of my own group of college girlfriends (especially as we plan our own weekend "reunion" this year). I loved the twist at the ending, as the main character, Marianne, who has struggled for years with insecurity and wonders what her friends saw in her all those years ago, finally has an answer.
Publisher and editor Nancy J. Lindquist says, "“The Hot Apple Cider books aren't sweet and sentimental. Instead, they're empowering, because they reassure you that you're not alone, that God is at work in your life, that good will come out of the struggles you face, and that every person matters." Every story in the book left me with something to think about or thinking "Yes! I've felt that way too!" The short stories also made it easy to pick up the book when I had a few minutes to spare.
A Second Cup of Hot Apple Cider has gotten endorsements from Phil Callaway (bestselling author), Ginger Kolbaba (found enditor of Kyria.com), Larry Willard (owner and publisher, Castle Quay Books Canada) and many others. Every writer in the book is a member of The Word Guild, and several are also members of Inscribe Christian Writer's Fellowship.
Throughout the book, black and white photos enhance the stories and compliment the title of the book. A Second Cup of Hot Apple Cider is a book that all Canadians can be proud to have on their bookshelves.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Researching the Canadian Martyrs
The first few times I heard the Canadian Martyrs mentioned, I didn't really stop to think about them. Recently, they came to my attention again and I began asking questions. Who were these men and what did they do? As I began researching, I turned—as usual—to writing, wanting to share what I learned with others who might also be curious.
I've always enjoyed researching. Maybe it comes from doing undergraduate studies in history—or maybe my love of research lead to choosing history as a minor. To me, it is always about the story. Digging for information is just a way to piece together a story in my mind, and history is full of interesting stories. The problem is finding them.
As I researched the Canadian Martyrs, I encountered that problem again. A couple of the martyrs were easy to research—Saint Isaac Jogues and Saint Jean de Brebeuf were both Jesuit priests who wrote detailed letters to their superiors or family members, which other researchers have put into books or even on the Internet. I might personally have been interested in more details about their early lives (for example, Saint Jogues was raised, from what I can find out, by a faithful, prayerful Catholic mom) but their writing provides almost more detail than I want to know about what they endured as missionaries and martyrs.
For others in the group, there is barely any information. Saint Rene Goupil was "only" a layman with the Jesuits who doesn't seem to have written anything himself. There's tidbits of information that his superiors wrote about him, but that's merely a skeleton of information. I was intrigued by a suggestion in one article that he was deaf, but had to dig long and hard to find any confirmation of this (and I'm still not sure whether he was deaf for his whole life or whether it was somehow a temporary infirmity that, like Saint Brebeuf's health problems, later cleared up).
It seems that the more research I do, the more questions I have. The stories are there, hiding, waiting. The Canadian Martyrs are an intriguing group of men, leaving me wanting to know more about them, yet feeling that four hundred years have raised this huge wall to really knowing them. There is likely more information hidden in letters in the Jesuit archives somewhere, waiting for a researcher to find them. From what I can see, however, there's been little interest in the Canadian Martyrs since about the 1930s, when they were canonized.
While finding the facts and writing articles is fun, what I really want is the story—like the one that Susan Young di Biagi weaves around Saint Antoine Daniel in her novel Cibou. Maybe some parts of it aren't totally accurate... but she took the facts that she knew about him and the place the he was, and wove them together to recreate this giant of the faith and make him live again for a new generation of readers. That, for me, is what researching and writing are about.
I've always enjoyed researching. Maybe it comes from doing undergraduate studies in history—or maybe my love of research lead to choosing history as a minor. To me, it is always about the story. Digging for information is just a way to piece together a story in my mind, and history is full of interesting stories. The problem is finding them.
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| The Canadian Martyrs |
For others in the group, there is barely any information. Saint Rene Goupil was "only" a layman with the Jesuits who doesn't seem to have written anything himself. There's tidbits of information that his superiors wrote about him, but that's merely a skeleton of information. I was intrigued by a suggestion in one article that he was deaf, but had to dig long and hard to find any confirmation of this (and I'm still not sure whether he was deaf for his whole life or whether it was somehow a temporary infirmity that, like Saint Brebeuf's health problems, later cleared up).
It seems that the more research I do, the more questions I have. The stories are there, hiding, waiting. The Canadian Martyrs are an intriguing group of men, leaving me wanting to know more about them, yet feeling that four hundred years have raised this huge wall to really knowing them. There is likely more information hidden in letters in the Jesuit archives somewhere, waiting for a researcher to find them. From what I can see, however, there's been little interest in the Canadian Martyrs since about the 1930s, when they were canonized.
While finding the facts and writing articles is fun, what I really want is the story—like the one that Susan Young di Biagi weaves around Saint Antoine Daniel in her novel Cibou. Maybe some parts of it aren't totally accurate... but she took the facts that she knew about him and the place the he was, and wove them together to recreate this giant of the faith and make him live again for a new generation of readers. That, for me, is what researching and writing are about.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Explore: Mount Finlayson
On Saturday morning, I was trying to come up with something to do with the girls without the Jeep (my husband had it at work) when my cousin called. They were going to hike Mount Finlayson; did we want to come? Did we?!? In ten minutes (and a dozen trips up and down the stairs), I had the girls ready to go and out the door. We caught the bus over to my cousins', then rode with them to Goldstream Park to start hiking.
I put Lily in the Ergo carrier, threw a few snacks into my cousin's backpack, and we were off. At the start of the trail, a large sign announced the distance (1.5 km), cautions to follow the marked path, and a note that this trail "is not suitable for young children." Hmmm. I said we'd see how far Sunshine could go, and if we had to turn back, then we had to turn back.
The first part of the trail was a gravel path, wide enough for my cousin and I to walk with Sunshine between us while my other three cousins went on ahead. Huge trees and verdant undergrowth soon blocked out the sound of the nearby highway. Trilliums bloomed in the shade and moss covered fallen trees. Then the trail switchbacked, heading up towards the top. It dropped down a steep, rooty slop to a short footbridge, and then went back up a longer, steeper, rootier slope on the other side.
We gave Sunshine several offers of piggy back rides, but she was happy to hike. Finally, just after the footbridge, she agreed to a ride. We stretched out our legs and hiked as fast as we could until taking a break at a Y in the trail—and the start of the steep section. When we started again, Sunshine declined a ride, so we took turns following her, helping her clamber up over the rocks and roots.
As the trail emerged out of the trees, I could see the top—or so I thought. The trail was now narrower, making us pause occasionally to let other hikers come down (or go up if they were hiking faster than us), and at times we were even bouldering. But it seemed that we were almost there, and Sunshine was having fun climbing, so we kept going... and going... and going...
Each corner brought another view of more trail, winding up through the rocks, twisting back around. We'd made a game for Sunshine of following the orange markers, but now that was a serious game, as trails snaked around the rocks in several directions. I began to wonder if I should take the girls back down and let my cousins go to the top by themselves, but we seemed to be so close. Finally, we convinced Sunshine to once again get piggy-backed, and we finished the last fifteen minutes to the top of the trail.
As everyone going down had promised, the view from the top was fantastic. Mount Baker rose in the distance—a tall white mountain against a pale blue sky—and other Washington mountains stretched out across from us. A few big freighters rested on the ocean. Victoria itself spread out before us, with Bear Mountain just below, and the green hills of the rest of the island fading into the distance. A cool breeze made the warm sun more tolerable. We finished our water, shared snacks, took a few pictures, and then started down again.
I tried passing Lily (back in the Ergo) to my cousin so I could piggyback Sunshine, but Lily howled her protest at that. After about fifteen minutes, I stopped to nurse her. She still refused to ride with anyone other than Mommy, so I carried her once again and Sunshine also refused to ride with anyone else. She clambered down over the rocks, while we helped her, usually with one of us below and another above. Even when we reached the wide trail, she wanted to keep walking, and didn't stop until we reached the car.
Sunshine garnered quite a few comments from fellow hikers (some of them along the lines of "well if she can make it up there then we can too!"). Even I was impressed with how well she hiked; I had expected that we'd take turns carrying her and thought that hiking with a big group would make that easier. While we had to go slower to let her walk, she hiked probably three-quarters of the trail by herself. It took us roughly two hours to hike up and an a hour and a half to hike down. It's one of the best day-hikes I've been on and we might do it again soon, with my husband and another friend who couldn't make it on Saturday.
I put Lily in the Ergo carrier, threw a few snacks into my cousin's backpack, and we were off. At the start of the trail, a large sign announced the distance (1.5 km), cautions to follow the marked path, and a note that this trail "is not suitable for young children." Hmmm. I said we'd see how far Sunshine could go, and if we had to turn back, then we had to turn back.
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| Trillium by the trail |
We gave Sunshine several offers of piggy back rides, but she was happy to hike. Finally, just after the footbridge, she agreed to a ride. We stretched out our legs and hiked as fast as we could until taking a break at a Y in the trail—and the start of the steep section. When we started again, Sunshine declined a ride, so we took turns following her, helping her clamber up over the rocks and roots.
As the trail emerged out of the trees, I could see the top—or so I thought. The trail was now narrower, making us pause occasionally to let other hikers come down (or go up if they were hiking faster than us), and at times we were even bouldering. But it seemed that we were almost there, and Sunshine was having fun climbing, so we kept going... and going... and going...
Each corner brought another view of more trail, winding up through the rocks, twisting back around. We'd made a game for Sunshine of following the orange markers, but now that was a serious game, as trails snaked around the rocks in several directions. I began to wonder if I should take the girls back down and let my cousins go to the top by themselves, but we seemed to be so close. Finally, we convinced Sunshine to once again get piggy-backed, and we finished the last fifteen minutes to the top of the trail.
As everyone going down had promised, the view from the top was fantastic. Mount Baker rose in the distance—a tall white mountain against a pale blue sky—and other Washington mountains stretched out across from us. A few big freighters rested on the ocean. Victoria itself spread out before us, with Bear Mountain just below, and the green hills of the rest of the island fading into the distance. A cool breeze made the warm sun more tolerable. We finished our water, shared snacks, took a few pictures, and then started down again.
 | |
| Mt. Finlayson |
Sunshine garnered quite a few comments from fellow hikers (some of them along the lines of "well if she can make it up there then we can too!"). Even I was impressed with how well she hiked; I had expected that we'd take turns carrying her and thought that hiking with a big group would make that easier. While we had to go slower to let her walk, she hiked probably three-quarters of the trail by herself. It took us roughly two hours to hike up and an a hour and a half to hike down. It's one of the best day-hikes I've been on and we might do it again soon, with my husband and another friend who couldn't make it on Saturday.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Book Review: Johann Sebastian Bach
When I was growing up, one of my favourite CDs was Mr. Bach Comes to Call. It was about a girl who is practicing piano when Bach himself drops in to give her some tips and talk to her about his life. We had a whole CD collection about various composers (Beethoven Lives Upstairs, Mozart's Magic Flute) and I can still hear some of the music and dialogue from all of them.
Thomas Nelson Publishers has recently introduced a new series of biographies called Christian Encounters. One of those biographies, by Rick Marschall, focuses on Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750). Perhaps I knew that Bach was a Christian, though most of the time I hear his music in a more secular context—a concert hall or a CD recording. Even in Mr. Bach Comes to Call, I don't recall much discussion of his church music. Yet Marschall says, "He saw his 'secular' music equally as honoring to God as his church works." Bach's music was inspired by his deep faith in God.
Johann Sebastian Bach is almost more music review than biography. Marschall mentions that Bach was more interested in writing music than in letters or journals, so we have very little details about his life. There are the dates of his various job postings, marriages, the births of his children, but little information beyond that. I was a bit disappointed; I wanted more information about Bach himself. Marschall goes into greater detail about Bach's music and how brilliant and prolific Bach was as a composer and musician.
Bach was a strong Lutheran, raised in the same town that Luther once lived in a century before him. Despite this, his "highest achievement" was his Mass in B Minor. Marschall says that in this piece, Bach was "paying homage to centuries of Christian worship." The Mass in B minor was finished in 1748-49, just before his death. Bach also wrote several Passions—oratorios on the theme of the suffering and death of the Saviour. Today, we still have the St. Matthew Passion and the St. John Passion, but there were apparently three others that have been lost.
Marschall commented repeatedly on how Bach didn't separate his faith from his work. His music was truly his vocation—both his job and his calling from God. This made me think about my own life and whether I dedicate the day-to-day things that I do—even the simple things—to God, just as Bach did. Whether he was teaching, playing, or composing, it was all for God's glory. Marschall sums it up by saying, "Humble about his gifts, and determined that all his music was unto the Lord, we can see, as he surely did, that [his works] were all merely spiritual compositions. Without words."
Reading about the composer made me want to dig out my Bach CD and listen to his music again. However, I often found the biography too much about the music. The first chapter was slow to get into, as it gave an overview about the music and little details about Bach's story. I wanted more about the man, less about the music. While I've listened to his music and knew most of the musical terms (and could find the rest in the appendix), I think someone with no music background would find the book difficult to read. At the same time, I'm going to send this book to my mom, who, as a strong Lutheran, accomplished singer, and classical music aficionado, will really enjoy it.
Thomas Nelson Publishers has recently introduced a new series of biographies called Christian Encounters. One of those biographies, by Rick Marschall, focuses on Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750). Perhaps I knew that Bach was a Christian, though most of the time I hear his music in a more secular context—a concert hall or a CD recording. Even in Mr. Bach Comes to Call, I don't recall much discussion of his church music. Yet Marschall says, "He saw his 'secular' music equally as honoring to God as his church works." Bach's music was inspired by his deep faith in God.
Johann Sebastian Bach is almost more music review than biography. Marschall mentions that Bach was more interested in writing music than in letters or journals, so we have very little details about his life. There are the dates of his various job postings, marriages, the births of his children, but little information beyond that. I was a bit disappointed; I wanted more information about Bach himself. Marschall goes into greater detail about Bach's music and how brilliant and prolific Bach was as a composer and musician.
Bach was a strong Lutheran, raised in the same town that Luther once lived in a century before him. Despite this, his "highest achievement" was his Mass in B Minor. Marschall says that in this piece, Bach was "paying homage to centuries of Christian worship." The Mass in B minor was finished in 1748-49, just before his death. Bach also wrote several Passions—oratorios on the theme of the suffering and death of the Saviour. Today, we still have the St. Matthew Passion and the St. John Passion, but there were apparently three others that have been lost.
Marschall commented repeatedly on how Bach didn't separate his faith from his work. His music was truly his vocation—both his job and his calling from God. This made me think about my own life and whether I dedicate the day-to-day things that I do—even the simple things—to God, just as Bach did. Whether he was teaching, playing, or composing, it was all for God's glory. Marschall sums it up by saying, "Humble about his gifts, and determined that all his music was unto the Lord, we can see, as he surely did, that [his works] were all merely spiritual compositions. Without words."
Reading about the composer made me want to dig out my Bach CD and listen to his music again. However, I often found the biography too much about the music. The first chapter was slow to get into, as it gave an overview about the music and little details about Bach's story. I wanted more about the man, less about the music. While I've listened to his music and knew most of the musical terms (and could find the rest in the appendix), I think someone with no music background would find the book difficult to read. At the same time, I'm going to send this book to my mom, who, as a strong Lutheran, accomplished singer, and classical music aficionado, will really enjoy it.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Playing with My Camera
I've always enjoyed snapping pictures and playing with my camera (much to my brothers' chagrin). When my brother and dad bought me my first digital camera in 2004, I was hooked. I could snap as many pictures as I wanted, view them right away, delete them, and take some more. I kept telling myself that someday I'd dig out my camera manual and learn how to use all the features on my camera... well, that camera died and I'm onto my second, and I still haven't done that.
I did enroll in an art photography course this semester, in an attempt to expand my ideas about photography and learn more about taking pictures. The course wasn't quite what I expected, but it has challenged me and given me new things to think about when I pick up my camera. One of those is the idea of a theme or focus to my photography—and condensing that into a photographic typology.
Our professor talked about Bernd and Hilla Becher, a German photographer couple who focused on taking pictures of industrial buildings. They went around Europe, photographing factories and water towers and other structures, many of which would soon be torn down (like the grain elevators on the Canadian prairies) as they were no longer useful. They then arranged these pictures in grid, allowing the viewer to see similarities and differences.
The idea of creating typologies caught my attention. We were assigned a typology project for class, and for several weeks I wondered what to shoot. On the day that it snowed here in Victoria, I took pictures of the kids standing in the snow—plain white background, children bundled in their snow clothes. I also wandered around taking pictures of the cars covered in the snow, but there was a bit much snow for that idea; you couldn't see enough of the cars.
Food was my first idea, and I spent a bit of time arranging meals and taking pictures of them before eating. After I'd collected about six or seven pictures, I began to doubt it, and tried a few other ideas. I came back to the food, though, as the most interesting project. I found it intriguing to note what sort of meals made good "pictures" and also found myself thinking about the way food is photographed for menus or magazines.
And then, of course, my photographic ideas turned to my kids. I liked the Bechers' water tower typologies—variations on a similar theme. Digging through the girls' toybox, I found all their rattles... admittedly, not quite as similar as water towers, but still interesting when compared to each other. They had one "iconic" rattle: the simple, old-fashioned kind that you think of when you hear "baby rattle." The others are all more "fun" or different. Side by side, though, I liked the effect.
I did enroll in an art photography course this semester, in an attempt to expand my ideas about photography and learn more about taking pictures. The course wasn't quite what I expected, but it has challenged me and given me new things to think about when I pick up my camera. One of those is the idea of a theme or focus to my photography—and condensing that into a photographic typology.
Our professor talked about Bernd and Hilla Becher, a German photographer couple who focused on taking pictures of industrial buildings. They went around Europe, photographing factories and water towers and other structures, many of which would soon be torn down (like the grain elevators on the Canadian prairies) as they were no longer useful. They then arranged these pictures in grid, allowing the viewer to see similarities and differences.
 |
| Watertowers © Bernd & Hilla Becher |
The idea of creating typologies caught my attention. We were assigned a typology project for class, and for several weeks I wondered what to shoot. On the day that it snowed here in Victoria, I took pictures of the kids standing in the snow—plain white background, children bundled in their snow clothes. I also wandered around taking pictures of the cars covered in the snow, but there was a bit much snow for that idea; you couldn't see enough of the cars.
Food was my first idea, and I spent a bit of time arranging meals and taking pictures of them before eating. After I'd collected about six or seven pictures, I began to doubt it, and tried a few other ideas. I came back to the food, though, as the most interesting project. I found it intriguing to note what sort of meals made good "pictures" and also found myself thinking about the way food is photographed for menus or magazines.
 |
| Food Typology © Bonnie Way |
And then, of course, my photographic ideas turned to my kids. I liked the Bechers' water tower typologies—variations on a similar theme. Digging through the girls' toybox, I found all their rattles... admittedly, not quite as similar as water towers, but still interesting when compared to each other. They had one "iconic" rattle: the simple, old-fashioned kind that you think of when you hear "baby rattle." The others are all more "fun" or different. Side by side, though, I liked the effect.
 |
| Baby Rattles © Bonnie Way |
Monday, April 18, 2011
Explore: Victoria Bug Zoo
At the beginning of April, when my mother-in-law, sister-in-law, and two nieces came to visit for spring break, we took them to the Victoria Bug Zoo for a rainy afternoon. We'd heard good things about the Bug Zoo but hadn't made it there for a visit yet. Located right off the harbour in downtown Victoria, the Bug Zoo has a gift shop and a large room full of bugs in plexiglass boxes.
When we arrived, a tour was in progress—a large group clustered around a man who took each bug (except for a couple) out of its cage to show it around. He described each bug and let visitors hold most of the bugs (if they wanted—I didn't hold any). For most of the time, I wandered about the room with Sunshine and Lily, who were a bit less interested in the explanations about the bugs. The size of the group made it hard to join in on the tour, but I caught tidbits of information about some of the bugs.
One of the parts of the Zoo that I found fascinating was the huge ant colony. On one wall, about a dozen plexiglass boxes (roughly a foot square) were connected by clear plastic tubing. The ants ran along the tubing, gathering leaves from one box and carting it along to other boxes, where they built nests or did whatever ants do. It was interesting to peer into each box and see hundreds of ants, busily running. I wondered how long it would take one ant to make it from one end of the colony to the other, or if ants just stayed in their own small section of colony.
I was awed by the variety of bugs and what they all do... from huge, icky cockroaches to long, shiny millipedes to stony, spiky horned beetles to slender, fragile stick bugs and oddly-shaped leaf bugs... God truly has a wild imagination! At the same time, I'm glad that I won't meet most of these bugs in my day-to-day life, but only on the other side of a plastic wall in a zoo.
Overall, however, I don't think we'll go back to the Bug Zoo for a few years (perhaps when Sunshine is studying ants or spiders for a science class). It was one of the first places we've had to pay for admission for Sunshine (who is three) and the admission seemed a bit expensive. I was disappointed by the size of the room, though we did spend over an hour watching the bugs and went around the room several times. For what we paid, though, I expected more bugs.
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| Giant Horned Beetle at the Victoria Bug Zoo |
When we arrived, a tour was in progress—a large group clustered around a man who took each bug (except for a couple) out of its cage to show it around. He described each bug and let visitors hold most of the bugs (if they wanted—I didn't hold any). For most of the time, I wandered about the room with Sunshine and Lily, who were a bit less interested in the explanations about the bugs. The size of the group made it hard to join in on the tour, but I caught tidbits of information about some of the bugs.
One of the parts of the Zoo that I found fascinating was the huge ant colony. On one wall, about a dozen plexiglass boxes (roughly a foot square) were connected by clear plastic tubing. The ants ran along the tubing, gathering leaves from one box and carting it along to other boxes, where they built nests or did whatever ants do. It was interesting to peer into each box and see hundreds of ants, busily running. I wondered how long it would take one ant to make it from one end of the colony to the other, or if ants just stayed in their own small section of colony.
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| Spider at the Victoria Bug Zoo |
Overall, however, I don't think we'll go back to the Bug Zoo for a few years (perhaps when Sunshine is studying ants or spiders for a science class). It was one of the first places we've had to pay for admission for Sunshine (who is three) and the admission seemed a bit expensive. I was disappointed by the size of the room, though we did spend over an hour watching the bugs and went around the room several times. For what we paid, though, I expected more bugs.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Betty Jane Hegerat on Writing Historical Fiction/Nonfiction
I'm so excited to have the chance to host Betty Jane Hegerat on my blog once again. She's currently doing a blog tour for her upcoming book, The Boy (Oolichan Books), about a small slice of Alberta history that some of you may remember (thought I didn't).
KBW: You mentioned that the story idea came from a news report that stuck in your head until you learned more. I've also had the experience of reading something that left me unsettled until I learned more about it. Did you research process help you put this to rest? Did it raise more questions?
BJH: I have a number of stories that were triggered by new reports, that “what if?” spin we put on a snippet we hear about someone else’s life. Because I write fiction, I usually head in a direction as far away from the real story as possible. The Cook story and how it hijacked the fiction I thought I was working on was far from my usual operating style.
KBW: You mentioned that the story idea came from a news report that stuck in your head until you learned more. I've also had the experience of reading something that left me unsettled until I learned more about it. Did you research process help you put this to rest? Did it raise more questions?
The Cook family members have been dead for 50 years now. Normally, that would have given me the sense that I could just steal the horrible underpinnings of their fate and go wherever I wanted with the story. But something about this case blocked all my attempts to treat it as simple fodder for fiction. Perhaps it was that need to find out what happened in order to deal with the fear that so unsettled me when I went back to read the real story.
I was eleven years old when this story was planted in my brain. The memory of it, all these decades later, took me by surprise. Yes, the research and the writing did help me put it rest. And as for raising more questions, I think it’s more a case of leaving the big questions unanswered, but making peace with the fact that they no longer matter. To me, at least. On the other hand, it’s possible someone else with more of an investigative bent will go farther than I have.
KBW: How did you go about researching the murders? Newspapers, interviews?
KBW: How did you go about researching the murders? Newspapers, interviews?
BJH: Oh yes, the very sort of research for which I have little patience.
Because my interest was focused on the family and the dynamic that led up to the horrific events of the night of June 25, 1959, I wanted to find people who had known the Cooks. I needed to sift through the newspaper articles, and the police evidence and the court documents—much of which was conveniently archived at the Stettler museum—but the most valuable part of my research came from interviews, both formal and in the many conversations I had that aren’t officially recorded in the book.
KBW: What was the hardest part about researching? The easiest?
KBW: What was the hardest part about researching? The easiest?
BJH: The easiest was the reading of not only the printed archives, but of the three books I found that specifically chronicled the case. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Jack Pecover who wrote The Work of Justice, The Trials of Robert Raymond Cook. This is a work that examined the Cook case from every possible angle, and became my major source in sorting through the details of the crime and the court case.
The hardest was asking people who’d known the family to relive that time. So often the interview began with “It was so long ago” but the conversation that followed told me that the memories were far from dim.
KBW: You've used both fiction and nonfiction to tell this story. Can you explain why?
KBW: You've used both fiction and nonfiction to tell this story. Can you explain why?
BJH: The simplest answer is that I couldn’t separate the two, nor could I let go of either story. At some point they’d become so tangled that I was ready to give up on both. I’d been told by a number of people that I would have difficulty finding a publisher for such a muddled work. That no one would know how to market this book, where to shelve it in the bookstores and libraries. Those sorts of concerns are far from my mind when I write, and I don’t like to be reminded of them, so I think perhaps there may have been some sheer orneriness in my forging on with this structure. There was no other way for me to finish the book.
KBW: Is there anything else you'd like to share with readers?
KBW: Is there anything else you'd like to share with readers?
BJH: Only my gratitude that there is always an audience for books. The world of books and publishing is changing so quickly and dramatically that we can hardly keep up with it. I find it exciting and energizing. So many ways to access and read good books, and so many good books being written. The way we read is evolving, but the important thing is that we continue to read.
So the last thing I want to say is that I think one of the greatest gifts we can give our children is a love of books and reading. Whether they hold a beautifully illustrated paper book in their hands, or enjoy a good story on a jazzy-looking e-reader in a primary colour, we need to nourish the appetite. That’s my manifesto.
Bonnie, thank you for inviting me to your blog. I’m honored to spend time with one of my favorite reviewers and her following of readers
For more information on the book, including other stops on the blog tour and tidbits of the author reading her book, pop by Betty Jane's blog.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Green Apple Wine
Final night of the Leconfield school
we primp in the girls’ dorm.
No dirty pants, baggy shirts, Akubra hats tonight.
Instead it’s mascara, curling irons, black tops and jeans.
Feeling like ladies instead of jillaroos, we walk
over to the Pink Room to meet the guys
who pass the beer, turn up the music, deal their cards.
Soon we’ve paired off—the Aussie bloke
bats at the Danish girl’s bottom. The Swedes
snuggle in the corner and the German boy and I flirt—
me, a small-town girl who’s never had a boyfriend
or a drink before sharing his box of green apple wine,
sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch then
linking arms, chugging our wine, leaning in to kiss—
but no, wait, only on the cheek
like a sister, not a lover. Then goodnight
before midnight and back to the dorm
with the taste of green apple wine in my mouth—
bitter as regret, sweet as first love, young
as unshaven cheeks or unkissed lips.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
The Wake-Up Call
A few months ago, I booked a dentist appointment for myself, since I once again had healthcare coverage (through the university). It had been two years since my last appointment, but I brush my teeth regularly and have generally had good teeth, so I wasn't too worried about this checkup. I'd just pop in and out of the office, get a quick cleaning, and be good for another year.
Then the dentist looked at my x-rays and said, "Good, good... oh, not so good... two cavities here." WHAT? Cavities? I've never had cavities before!!! The next thing I knew, I was standing at the receptionist's desk, booking a second appointment to finish my cleaning and an appointment to get my cavities filled. So much for my smug my-teeth-are-good attitude.
As I brushed my teeth that night, I thought back on the last year and realized that yep, my dental habits had slipped up a bit. I've started some new habits now; after all, a bit of floss and toothpaste is a bit cheaper than dentist visits.
Taking better care of my oral hygiene got me thinking about some other areas where I've slipped up a bit in recent years. The start of Lent was like my dentist appointment: a wake-up call that something wasn't the way it should be in my spiritual life. Unfortunately, it's been easier to start flossing than it has been to start a regular devotional time. If I try to spend time in prayer and Bible reading during the day, I find myself distracted by two little girls. If I leave it until they are in bed, I find myself too tired—or distracted by my husband, who also wants some attention.
Yet even the desire to do something has made a difference. I find myself praying more during the day, sharing my struggles and wishes with God as they come to mind. I think about what I read last, in either my Bible or in The Sacred Romance, a book I chose as a focus for my devotional readings right now. It's baby steps, but it's baby steps in the right direction.
Then the dentist looked at my x-rays and said, "Good, good... oh, not so good... two cavities here." WHAT? Cavities? I've never had cavities before!!! The next thing I knew, I was standing at the receptionist's desk, booking a second appointment to finish my cleaning and an appointment to get my cavities filled. So much for my smug my-teeth-are-good attitude.
As I brushed my teeth that night, I thought back on the last year and realized that yep, my dental habits had slipped up a bit. I've started some new habits now; after all, a bit of floss and toothpaste is a bit cheaper than dentist visits.
Taking better care of my oral hygiene got me thinking about some other areas where I've slipped up a bit in recent years. The start of Lent was like my dentist appointment: a wake-up call that something wasn't the way it should be in my spiritual life. Unfortunately, it's been easier to start flossing than it has been to start a regular devotional time. If I try to spend time in prayer and Bible reading during the day, I find myself distracted by two little girls. If I leave it until they are in bed, I find myself too tired—or distracted by my husband, who also wants some attention.
Yet even the desire to do something has made a difference. I find myself praying more during the day, sharing my struggles and wishes with God as they come to mind. I think about what I read last, in either my Bible or in The Sacred Romance, a book I chose as a focus for my devotional readings right now. It's baby steps, but it's baby steps in the right direction.
Monday, April 11, 2011
How I Killed the Soother
As Sunshine's third birthday approached, I started thinking maybe this milestone was a good time to get rid of her soother. I'd heard a couple other moms mention that their children gave up soothers around three years old. She only used it for falling asleep at night, but it seemed like time for her to learn to go to sleep sans soother.
That was still just a thought in my head on the day I gathered up all the soothers in the house—it was actually quite rare that I could find both of Sunshine's soothers and all four of Lily's—and dropped them in a pot of water to boil. The girls were both getting over colds and the soothers had been dragged around the house for a while; some sanitation seemed like a good idea. Then Lily needed a diaper change, and Sunshine came upstairs with us to find some toys.
When I ran back downstairs to check on the soothers, they were a melted puddle in the bottom of the pot. Perhaps I should have kept them as a sort of "modern mommy art" or a tribute to the last soothers, but I dumped them in the garbage. Then I began worrying about bedtime. My husband had the Jeep at work, so I couldn't just run out to get more soothers. Maybe we could pick up a couple after he'd gotten home and we'd gone to Mass for the evening. Or maybe this was a good time to get Sunshine out of the soother habit.
Just before bedtime, on our way home from church, I bought two soothers for Lily—not the kind that she liked, because the only store open at that hour on a Sunday night didn't have the ones she liked. At home, I got the girls ready for bed. I explained to Sunshine that she was a big girl who didn't need a soother now. We read her bedtime stories, tucked her in, and then she begged, cajoled, whined, and finally threw a full-out temper tantrum over the lack of the soother.
The next night, Sunshine asked once for her soother and I explained that she was a big girl who didn't need it and she went to bed without further comment. Lily continued to despise her new soothers unless she was so tired she didn't notice the difference (which, I decided, was a good thing, as then she used the soother less and only when she really wanted it).
Night three, Sunshine asked for her soother and threw a token temper tantrum (the annoying, whiny kind that she could stop in an instant if I gave her what she wanted) for two minutes, and fell asleep. And that was the end of her soother.
Occasionally, she steals one of Lily's soothers, but with Lily using her soothers much less, the stealing is also much rarer. We've gone from a desperate dash around the house every night to find one of those four soothers, to two soothers that stay by Lily's crib for bedtime use only. I don't recommend boiling soothers to death, but in this case, it solved our soother problem.
That was still just a thought in my head on the day I gathered up all the soothers in the house—it was actually quite rare that I could find both of Sunshine's soothers and all four of Lily's—and dropped them in a pot of water to boil. The girls were both getting over colds and the soothers had been dragged around the house for a while; some sanitation seemed like a good idea. Then Lily needed a diaper change, and Sunshine came upstairs with us to find some toys.
Just before bedtime, on our way home from church, I bought two soothers for Lily—not the kind that she liked, because the only store open at that hour on a Sunday night didn't have the ones she liked. At home, I got the girls ready for bed. I explained to Sunshine that she was a big girl who didn't need a soother now. We read her bedtime stories, tucked her in, and then she begged, cajoled, whined, and finally threw a full-out temper tantrum over the lack of the soother.
I left her screaming while I tried to get Lily to bed. She nursed for a while, but then wasn't interested in falling asleep, and was definitely NOT interested in cuddling with that strange soother. I gave her to my husband and went to talk to Sunshine. She calmed down while I snuggled with her, but Lily was screaming downstairs. I went back to get Lily. Sunshine began to scream. Finally, all three of us snuggled up on Sunshine's bed. Lily got tired enough that she didn't care what sort of soother she had, and somewhere around 11 pm, they both fell asleep.
Night three, Sunshine asked for her soother and threw a token temper tantrum (the annoying, whiny kind that she could stop in an instant if I gave her what she wanted) for two minutes, and fell asleep. And that was the end of her soother.
Occasionally, she steals one of Lily's soothers, but with Lily using her soothers much less, the stealing is also much rarer. We've gone from a desperate dash around the house every night to find one of those four soothers, to two soothers that stay by Lily's crib for bedtime use only. I don't recommend boiling soothers to death, but in this case, it solved our soother problem.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Movie Review: The Grandfathers
In January 1956, five missionaries were brutally speared to death in the jungle of Ecuador. Jim Elliot, Nate Saint, Ed McCully, Peter Fleming, and Roger Youderian had tried to evangelize a tribe known for their violence towards outsiders and even among themselves. They had flown over the isolated village, dropping gifts for the people, before moving in to establish a camp close to the village. A brief first meeting with three Huaorani seemed to go well. Two days later, the five men were dead.
The story hit newspapers across North American and sparked a renewed interest in missionary work. I remember hearing the story growing up, though I only remembered the names of Jim and Nate and couldn't have told you exactly where they were killed. Recently, EthnoGraphic Media teamed up with Nate's son Steve Saint to produce End of the Spear, a feature film about the missionaries and their deaths, and Beyond Gates of Splendour, a companion documentary. This year, they produced The Grandfathers, the final part of the trilogy, which is Jesse Saint's story—Nate's grandson.
The story caught my attention because I was curious about what it would be like to grow up in the shadow of such a famous man. Nate Saint died when his son was a young boy, so how did his death affect his family? In the movie, Jesse tells how his aunt Rachel (Nate's sister) went to live with the Waodani after her brother's death (along with Elizabeth Elliot, Jim's wife). When she died, Steve Saint took his family back to the jungle to live with the Waodani—the very people who had killed his father.
Jesse talks in the movie about getting to know the Waodani, how they built their house by hand, how he struggled to fit in with a strange people. Halfway through the movie, he told how a team of students came from the States to visit them and asked about the extremely violent tribe they'd heard about in their anthropology studies. One woman began talking about how the man across from her killed her entire family. Another woman said that the man beside her killed her family. And then Steve said that these men killed his father. The students were stunned. The tribe was now friendly and welcome—what had changed?
I had to google the men to find some more information, because the movie left me with some questions. The pace of the movie was a bit slow at first, and I found the way that it was put together a bit distracting. Instead of just showing clips of Jesse talking, the movie slid around, as if over a scrapbook page, so that there was a lot going on. The end of the movie was very powerful, though, as I finally realized the relationship that Jesse had with the men who had kiled his grandfather.
From a human perspective, the deaths of Nate Saint and his companions seems like a waste; from Jesse's perspective, while he lost one grandfather, he gained many others; and from the distance of fifty-some odd years, we can almost begin to grasp the heavenly perspective, that God gave up a few sons in order to win many sons and daughters back to Himself.
Now... it's been a while since I hosted a contest here, so I thought I'd share the wonderful story Jesse tells by giving away The Grandfathers, along with another EGM DVD, Little Town of Bethlehem. Just leave a comment about a missionary story or person of faith that left an impact on you. Next Friday, I'll draw on lucky winner.
This DVD was provided for review courtesy of the publisher or publicist.
The story hit newspapers across North American and sparked a renewed interest in missionary work. I remember hearing the story growing up, though I only remembered the names of Jim and Nate and couldn't have told you exactly where they were killed. Recently, EthnoGraphic Media teamed up with Nate's son Steve Saint to produce End of the Spear, a feature film about the missionaries and their deaths, and Beyond Gates of Splendour, a companion documentary. This year, they produced The Grandfathers, the final part of the trilogy, which is Jesse Saint's story—Nate's grandson.
The story caught my attention because I was curious about what it would be like to grow up in the shadow of such a famous man. Nate Saint died when his son was a young boy, so how did his death affect his family? In the movie, Jesse tells how his aunt Rachel (Nate's sister) went to live with the Waodani after her brother's death (along with Elizabeth Elliot, Jim's wife). When she died, Steve Saint took his family back to the jungle to live with the Waodani—the very people who had killed his father.
Jesse talks in the movie about getting to know the Waodani, how they built their house by hand, how he struggled to fit in with a strange people. Halfway through the movie, he told how a team of students came from the States to visit them and asked about the extremely violent tribe they'd heard about in their anthropology studies. One woman began talking about how the man across from her killed her entire family. Another woman said that the man beside her killed her family. And then Steve said that these men killed his father. The students were stunned. The tribe was now friendly and welcome—what had changed?
I had to google the men to find some more information, because the movie left me with some questions. The pace of the movie was a bit slow at first, and I found the way that it was put together a bit distracting. Instead of just showing clips of Jesse talking, the movie slid around, as if over a scrapbook page, so that there was a lot going on. The end of the movie was very powerful, though, as I finally realized the relationship that Jesse had with the men who had kiled his grandfather.
From a human perspective, the deaths of Nate Saint and his companions seems like a waste; from Jesse's perspective, while he lost one grandfather, he gained many others; and from the distance of fifty-some odd years, we can almost begin to grasp the heavenly perspective, that God gave up a few sons in order to win many sons and daughters back to Himself.
Now... it's been a while since I hosted a contest here, so I thought I'd share the wonderful story Jesse tells by giving away The Grandfathers, along with another EGM DVD, Little Town of Bethlehem. Just leave a comment about a missionary story or person of faith that left an impact on you. Next Friday, I'll draw on lucky winner.
This DVD was provided for review courtesy of the publisher or publicist.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
What Do You Write?
One of our neighbours is in medical school and shortly after we met him, we asked, "What sort of doctor do you want to be?" When my husband mentions that he's in law school, people ask, "What sort of law do you want to do?" And of course when I say that I'm taking creative writing classes, the question is, "What do you want to write?"
I should keep a few business cards in my back pocket, so that I can just whip one out and say, "You can check out my blog if you're interested." Usually, however, I just mumble something about "fiction, nonfiction, pretty much anything."
At the end of one of my classes this semester, my prof asked us that question. As we went around the room—thirty plus students—it was interesting to hear what a variety of genres was represented. People said they wanted to write sci-fi, fantasy, children's novels, romances, historical fiction, newspaper articles, sports articles, novels, YA novels, short stories—basically anything.
One fellow answered the question simply by saying, "Everything. It doesn't matter what I write. I just write." Something in me responded "YES!" when he said that, and our prof grinned as well. At one point in my life, I would have said that I just wanted to write novels. Since then, however, I've written a lot of other things, including things that I never thought I could write—even a sports article! While I know right now what I would like to write, I can also say that I'd like to keep the doors open. Maybe tomorrow, I'll write something else.
I'm a writer. Writers write.
Find me on Facebook! Look up The Koala Bear Writer or check out the link in the sidebar to the right and click "like." I plan to post tidbits of writing news and information there.
I should keep a few business cards in my back pocket, so that I can just whip one out and say, "You can check out my blog if you're interested." Usually, however, I just mumble something about "fiction, nonfiction, pretty much anything."
At the end of one of my classes this semester, my prof asked us that question. As we went around the room—thirty plus students—it was interesting to hear what a variety of genres was represented. People said they wanted to write sci-fi, fantasy, children's novels, romances, historical fiction, newspaper articles, sports articles, novels, YA novels, short stories—basically anything.
One fellow answered the question simply by saying, "Everything. It doesn't matter what I write. I just write." Something in me responded "YES!" when he said that, and our prof grinned as well. At one point in my life, I would have said that I just wanted to write novels. Since then, however, I've written a lot of other things, including things that I never thought I could write—even a sports article! While I know right now what I would like to write, I can also say that I'd like to keep the doors open. Maybe tomorrow, I'll write something else.
I'm a writer. Writers write.
Find me on Facebook! Look up The Koala Bear Writer or check out the link in the sidebar to the right and click "like." I plan to post tidbits of writing news and information there.
Monday, April 4, 2011
April Write Mama
Mothering
Michelle Tram presents The Psychological and Other Benefits of Breastfeeding posted at Breast Feeding Mums, saying, "Read about the psychological benefits of breast feeding, as physicians, dietitians and psychologists agree that breast-fed babies are healthier and happier."
janelle hanchett presents playdate in my trailer posted at renegade mothering.
Bonnie Way presents Three Potty Training Tips posted at The Untrained Housewife, saying, "Here's what worked for my daughter when we were potty training."
Bonnie Way presents The Benefits of a Playgroup posted at The Koala Bear Writer, saying, "We started attending a playgroup when we moved here. After a few months, I looked back on what my three-year-old daughter had learned from doing that."
Writing
Molly Cunningham presents Where Do Writers Go For Inspiration? posted at Business Administration Degree.
Mandi Kang presents Preparation is Key to Controlling the Beast (Time Management for Writers, Part 2) posted at Profound Writers.
Moms and Writers
Pamela Jorrick presents Traumatic School Lunch Memories- Bird by Bird posted at Blah, Blah, Blog.
Bonnie Way presents Book Review of Delivery posted at The Koala Bear Writer, saying, "In this novel, Canadian author Betty Jane Hegerat presents a grittily real look at a mom trying to make the best choices for herself and her baby after an unplanned pregnancy."
Charles Chua C K presents Be Organized Be Productive posted at All About Living with Life.
That concludes this edition. Submit your blog article to the next edition of Write Mama using the carnival submission form. Past posts can be found on our blog carnival index page.
Friday, April 1, 2011
First Year of Uni is Finished!
Yesterday, I went to my last two classes, wrote one exam, and handed in my poetry portfolio and my last big assignment. I'm done!
On Wednesday, I was scrambling around trying to get everything done on time. While Lily napped, I tried to get Sunshine to play with her play dough. She wanted me to play with her. We spent the afternoon arguing, as I tried to write and she whined for attention. Finally, after they went to bed around 9, I stayed up for an extra couple of hours, trying to rework my poems. On Thursday morning, between my first class (which finished early) and my exam, I finished off my big assignment and studied for the exam while the girls were at the day home.
Looking back, that's been what much of the semester has been like. Some days, studying with the girls has worked well, as they've been happy to play while I read or wrote. Other days, they demand more attention and I get frustrated as a deadline hangs over my head. It's the life of any mom, I suppose—often if I'm cleaning the bathroom or baking muffins, one of them will suddenly decide that they need attention NOW.
Childcare was probably the biggest stress of returning to school. Sunshine loved having babysitters come or going to the day home, but Lily remained my mommy's girl who had to protest whenever I left her behind (though she stopped crying as soon as I was gone). I felt guilty walking away, even knowing she'd be happily playing when I returned. Switching childcare providers halfway through the year didn't make it any easier. We'll see how things work out for next year, but I'm hoping that at the very least, Lily will be a bit older and more willing to go play with someone else like Sunshine.
Overall, it's been a good year. I've learned more about writing, challenged myself a bit, written some good stories (even got one published!). I'm looking forward to the summer off to focus on some other writing projects and have more time with the girls.
On Wednesday, I was scrambling around trying to get everything done on time. While Lily napped, I tried to get Sunshine to play with her play dough. She wanted me to play with her. We spent the afternoon arguing, as I tried to write and she whined for attention. Finally, after they went to bed around 9, I stayed up for an extra couple of hours, trying to rework my poems. On Thursday morning, between my first class (which finished early) and my exam, I finished off my big assignment and studied for the exam while the girls were at the day home.
Looking back, that's been what much of the semester has been like. Some days, studying with the girls has worked well, as they've been happy to play while I read or wrote. Other days, they demand more attention and I get frustrated as a deadline hangs over my head. It's the life of any mom, I suppose—often if I'm cleaning the bathroom or baking muffins, one of them will suddenly decide that they need attention NOW.
Childcare was probably the biggest stress of returning to school. Sunshine loved having babysitters come or going to the day home, but Lily remained my mommy's girl who had to protest whenever I left her behind (though she stopped crying as soon as I was gone). I felt guilty walking away, even knowing she'd be happily playing when I returned. Switching childcare providers halfway through the year didn't make it any easier. We'll see how things work out for next year, but I'm hoping that at the very least, Lily will be a bit older and more willing to go play with someone else like Sunshine.
Overall, it's been a good year. I've learned more about writing, challenged myself a bit, written some good stories (even got one published!). I'm looking forward to the summer off to focus on some other writing projects and have more time with the girls.
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