RECIPE: Gingerbread Not Gingerbread

Let's face it, Christmas is 70% food. We plan food, we buy food, we gift food, we consume food. Christmas Cookies have practically been made into it's very own food group.

Every November I sit down with my recipe book and write out my family's favourites: fudge, whipped shortbread, mini cheesecakes, magic bars, chocolate truffles etc. I write down all the ingredients needed using tally marks to let me know quantities. Then I hit the grocery store in one single shop. I do this so I can just make something whenever I have a hankering and I never need to worry about whether I have everything I need. Sometimes if I am really on the ball, I make everything over a week or two in November/early December and put it all in the freezer. Whenever a child or husband of mine comes home and tells me about a last minute potluck or last minute teacher gift I break out the cookies. I may not be domestically inclined the rest of the year, but damn when it comes to Christmas cookies I am freakin' Martha Stewart.

Today, I am sharing my secret Gingerbread Not Gingerbread Christmas Cookie recipe.

What is Gingerbread Not Gingerbread, you ask? Well, as traditional as I am, the one tradition I don't like at Christmas is gingerbread. I've tried countless recipes and the verdict is always the same. Bleech. However, I do like the look of gingerbread on my cookie plates and baskets. So I came up with a cut out cookie recipe that looks like gingerbread and can be iced like gingerbread but is actually CHOCOLATE. Perfect.

So here it is...

INGREDIENTS

I cup of Butter, softened
1 cup of sugar
1/2 cup of packed brown sugar
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla
2  & 3/4 cups of flour
1/2 cup of cocoa
1 tsp baking soda

icing and sprinkles to decorate

This is how you put it together.

In a large bowl or stand mixer, cream butter and sugars until light and fluffy. Beat in egg and vanilla.

In a separate bowl combine flour, cocoa and baking powder. Slowly add to large/mixer bowl and stir.

It looks like this.  

You can cover and refrigerate or you can use right away.

Roll out on a floured surface and cut into desired shapes. Bake at 375 degrees F for 7-9 minutes.

That's it. It makes a ton of little ones or a number of larger ones. Heehee. No exact numbers as it all depends how thinly you roll them out. This recipe can also be used at Halloween  to make skeleton cookies!! So cool.

Two Local Events Coming Up

I've had a very busy schedule this fall with a few appearances and signings in Toronto, including one at Word on the Street, which was fabulous.

The next week is looking pretty busy for me as not only do I have to muddle my way through SHADOWS OF MADNESS (Marshall House #6) revisions but I also have two events coming up.

The first is at a AUTHOR MEET & GREET at the Barrie Public Library (Painswick Branch), Saturday December 3, at 10 a.m. I'm going to be there with seven other authors of various genres with books to sign. I've also been asked to give a presentation on Historical Facts in Fiction.

And... on Thursday December 8 at 7 p.m., I am a guest at WORD UP @ Unity Market & Cafe in Barrie at. I'll be reading a selection from THE DEAD AMONG US and the signing books afterwards.

If you are local to either of these events, please stop by.

Sacrifice & Remembrance

Today is Remembrance Day in Canada. It’s a day where we pause to remember and reflect on the lives lost during international conflict. It’s a day to give thanks for the sacrifices made by the men and women who gave the ultimate sacrifice, their lives, in pursuit of justice and freedom for their loved ones back home.

It is also a day to recognize those hurt by war, not simply those maimed through physical injury, but mental injury as well. Novemeber 11^th is for all soldiers, those who fought in battle and those that continue to fight a battle after they return home. It is in remembrance of all the soldiers who have taken their lives since returning from war, and those who fight the hard fight to this day.

As the wife of a military veteran, I have seen the sacrifice first hand. I have seen families destroyed. I’ve known children who have lost. The pledge soldiers make in service of their country is a pledge made by each spouse and offspring standing behind them. Without the full support of their loved ones, the men and women who serve our nation would not be able to do what they do, see what they see and live how they live.

My husband and I were newly married and our daughter was only one years old when he turned to me one day and said “What would you think if I joined the military?” It was a question I hadn’t been expecting but perhaps I should have. We were both patriots, with a deep love for the Canadian flag and all it stood for: our free health care, our welcoming nature, our neighbourly outlook. 

He was sworn in a week before 9/11, and left on a plane for Basic Training September 18. During that week of uncertainty, with the news replaying the collapse of the Twin Towers and the politicians vowing to kill the terrorists responsible we knew our time of peace was coming to an end.  We knew Canada, an ally to the United States, would be called to action. Our resolve never wavered.

We told our families and friends “We are not fair-weather patriots.”

I was scared and so was he, but in the end we couldn’t stop thinking “What if that was a Toronto skyscraper and mostly Canadian lives lost?” How could we back down at such a time?

My husband spent 18 months living apart from us, first in Basic Training, then in his technician’s course in Kingston, a six hour drive away. We were not allowed to join him. In 2001 spouses and children were akin to furniture and affects.  Weekend visits were sometimes impossible given his workload and small income.  So, as the months passed, my daughter and I got used to not having him around. He’s not fighting a war, I told myself. Canadian women have endured far worse than this.

Our time in the military was a short 8 years, brought to an end by medical needs sustained after a car accident. Even now, my husband works alongside those in uniform and sometimes laments not being in one himself.  The time he spent in service and the time we spent living on a military base, meeting families, making friends, seeing the effects of military life has given me new perspective on what it means to be Canadian, what it means to sacrifice.

Sacrifice isn’t just about losing your life but losing moments, connections, and friends. It’s about having little power and say in the great military machine but still seeing the necessity of it. It’s about learning to roll with the punches, getting up and marching on another day. This is the sacrifice of military families. This is what we should remember.  We remember those enduring long separations, late night doubts, and crippling pain brought on by the unique manner of military life.

For me, Remembrance Day will never be the same as it was before my husband joined. It’s not about men who died in distant wars a hundred years ago. It’s about those in uniform who serve and sacrifice for our freedoms today.

Remember to take a moment today, a moment of silence, to think of those we lost and those we still need. May we never forget the savageness of war, and the courage required to face it.

Another Creative Side of Me

A little known fact about me is that I went to art school for four years in place of traditional high school. A bit like a Canadian Juilliard, I auditioned in Grade 8 for entry into an Integrated Arts Program at Eastwood Collegiate Institute in Kitchener, Ontario. While doing the standard school credits, my timetable also included a HEAVY dose of drama, visual arts and vocal music. It also included a specialized English stream that focused heavily on Shakespeare and other aspects of the arts community.

 Due to my lack of confidence and an abundance of anxiety, my drama performances left a lot of room for improvement. My artwork, as well, lacked refinement. I tried and tried, but I wasn't able to convert that masterpiece in my head into something equally stunning on canvas. Somehow, in the four years of school, I was able to make a name for myself as a writer. I loved writing and was often called upon by my classmates to write skits and plays. My writing seemed to be only place that I felt comfortable, even though I never won awards or much recognition from others.

While many of my fellow graduates went on to study the arts in post-secondary I couldn't. Not only did I lack the funds, but I also lacked family support which required me to get a diploma as quickly as possible. I needed to work to support myself and four years of university with low employment prospects (that starving artist trope holds true in many cases) wasn't the type of employment that could pay back my student loans.

So I went to Journalism school and never looked back. I always said I would go back, maybe work in community theatre, perhaps volunteer, and maybe get back into painting one day.

But then I got married and had children.

As time went on my adult life separated me farther and farther from that artistic side of me. I did, however, raise my children with frequent visits to the Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO). I've done art projects with them and taught them about Van Gogh, Matisse and Renoir, to name a few. We listen to classical music and they've taken music lessons. I've loved teaching them about Shakespeare and taking them to the Stratford Festival Theatre and Shaw Festival in Niagara. We don't live near Kitchener any more so they don't have access to the same school I did, but they are still active in their regular high school's arts activities and that makes me happy.

My intense study of the arts has affected my life in surprising ways. Not only can I paint baseboard trim WITHOUT the use of painter's tape, but I can also decorate a cake like nobody's business.

My son's 13th birthday cake. He had a Dungeons & Dragon's party.

Both my kids' birthdays are in March and ever since they were little I've made their cakes. I'd ask them what theme they wanted their cake to be and have gotten a range of replies over the years. Pirates. Princesses, Lego, Minecraft,  I have to say my skill with icing has improved more than my skill with a paintbrush.

My daughter's Sweet 16 cake.

A Fairy House cake for my daughter. 

A Minecraft cake I made last year, complete with checker board insides. This was finicky but fun to reveal at the party. 

A Lego Pirates cake, which is really a Bundt cake and ramekin dish inverted and covered with icing.

My first rosette cake. 

I used fondant once and we all hated it. For the most part I stick with the basics and haven't resorted to buying every gadget and gizmo available for the budding cake artist. I have a few piping bags, and have purchased maybe six tips total over the years often buying just one tip at a time when I have a specific technique in mind. Buttercream icing is my go-to recipe and this year I stumbled upon this video on Youbtube that has helped me make the most mouthwatering icing ever, 

Getting creative and coming up with a design is the funniest part of the process. I am often surprised at how well some have turned out, but there have also been times when it didn't work out as well as I had planned. It doesn't matter because according to my kids they have all been wonderful.

The last time I stepped on stage may have been over a decade ago (ahem..or more) and I'll never be a famous artist, but my background in the arts has impacted my life in so many other ways. I don't think of those years of study as a waste, but rather a huge step in the culmination of skills that I can draw upon to do some fun and amazing things, including, but not limited to, writing some stellar novels. 

Ending the Hangover; Loving the Process

You know the feeling... you've devoted numerous hours of your free time lost in a fascinating book, learning about new locales and befriending interesting characters. Somehow in the process you've become enraptured and begin looking for any excuse to ignore your daily life so you can crack open your new favourite book hoping to get lost in its pages. So rare is this feeling. How wonderful it feels to have found a story, an author, a protagonist that speaks to you like no one else. And then...

It's over.

If you're lucky the author will have a backlog of material to dive into while you wait, but sometimes you're not so lucky.

The book hangover is the same for authors as well. A writer like me can spend a year or more on a single book, researching, plotting, writing and revising. The book becomes my lover and nemesis. My friend and foe. I get used to the rhythmic push and pull of storytelling. One week I am on top of the world, pleased with the progression of my story, and the next I fight the urge to highlight it all and hit 'delete'. As I come closer to the end, the crescendo, the piece takes on a presence all it's own. With one final read through I can feel the pride blossoming deep within me. My imaginary friends have come through for me once again, aiding my desire to write really, really good stories. We are one, them and I. We did it. We produced another tale to enthral and entertain.

And then it's over.

 The only way I know to end the sagging feeling of the book hangover is to dive into the next one almost as soon as the draft gets to my editor's email inbox. Months later, while readers are busy devouring my new release, leaving pleasant reviews (and sometimes not so pleasant ones) I am already deep into the next project. It's a feeble attempt to revive that feeling of euphoria, the feeling of escape and acceptance granted to me by my characters.

Don't get me wrong, I love hearing from readers about their experiences with Peter and Margaret. Often those notes come to me at very serendipitous times (usually when I am pulling my hair out over a particularly tricky passage or when I'm reeling from another lack lustre review). This period of reader celebration becomes a part of the ebb and flow of novel writing as well. Their enthusiasm becomes infectious, spurring me on when I feel like giving up and sometimes bringing plot ideas to light that I hadn't thought of before. And so it goes.

In the end, it's not about book sales or Amazon rankings. Writing a book is really about the intricate relationship between author, reader and the characters they cherish.

Winter Made an Appearance

Winter made a debut this weekend in my neck of the woods. Old Man Winter dumped 10 cm on us Saturday night which coated everything in a lovely layer of the white stuff. It's perfect snowman making snow too. This is our first winter at our new farm property and we've been working away in the last few weeks to get everything ready for the long, cold months. With Christmas rapidly approaching, I can feel my self-imposed deadline needling me. The first draft of SICKNESS OF THE HEART, book 5 in the Peter Ainsley Mystery series, is nearly complete, Dear Readers. This blanket of slippery percipitation might just be the very thing I need to get to "the end".

That's Katie, my labX, who loves a good romp in the snow as long as she has her sweater on. 

Satan Worshipper Mom... That's Me.

I have always had a creepy side to me. Strange, I know, but true. It's a stark contrast to how I appear to other people in my normal life. I am unassuming, normal and rather boring. I don't usually tell people I am a writer but it has been coming up a lot lately when friends talk to other friends about my book. A few weeks ago a fellow mom said, "I heard you are writing a book. What is it called?"

"Chorus of the Dead."

She became silent and her smile faded. "So it's not a kids book?"

"Um... no."

I don't know why people think that because I am a mom that I should automatically be sweet, kind, pastel and sing-song. I'm not. I never have been and the personalities of my kids reflect that. My daughter has been described as 'quirky'.

Before I was a mom, I was just Tracy who liked dark Victorian themes, gothic clothing (though I never had the courage to wear it), hauntings, morbid histories and eerie happenings. I am still that person today, only now I have offspring to influence and unleash into the world.

I am sure some of the mom's in the neighbourhood think I am a devil worshipper, but who cares. I am who I am, whether I fit into your predetermined "Mommy box" or not.