Writer Resolutions

I've never made a resolution I haven't kept... I almost wrote that with a straight face. Why, I nearly spit out my tea. Let's be honest, shall we? In the past I've fallen short in so many ways whether its resolving to lose weight, pay off debt, or become more organized I always seem to fall short of the initial image in my head. Sometimes by a smidgen, sometimes by a mile. 

 Truth is, resolutions are challenging but that doesn't stop us. Year after year we resolve and fail. Resolve and fail. I love resolutions myself.  For one day we are allowed, nay encouraged, to dream big. We are shown a blank calendar, 365 days of promise, and are told to make something of it. That something can be anything, anything our little hearts can dream up. The prospect is both thrilling and disheartening at the same time. 

It's times like these that I think of Anne Shirley's famous quote, "Tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it." How encouraging, yes? Each day, each year we can make our lives what we want of them. But any true Anne fan will remember the reply Anne received from her school teacher, Muriel Stacy who says, "Ah, no mistakes in it yet."  

Was Miss Stacy merely attempting to burst Anne's bubble, to bring her down and make her more sensible and realistic (ie: boring)? In my opinion, no, she wasn't. It's easy to dream big. We can't help ourselves, but often times in dreaming so large we create an almost impossible feat. We set ourselves up for failure by not recognizing the realities of the task and the limitations of our own abilities. Resolutions can be achieved but only if we approach them like we do any other goals in our lives. We need a plan of actionable steps. 

Action plans are the blueprint for success. We start with a mission statement, a goal that is measurable and by measurable I mean, is it something with a tangible finish line. Resolving to lose weight is far too vague, whereas resolving to lose 20 pounds is far more measurable. When thinking of your resolutions think of how you will know you have reached success? What will be your signal to yourself that you accomplished what you set out to do? My mission statement for 2018 is a big one, bigger than anything I have ever done before. 

I am going to finish writing 3 books before December 31, 2018. 

Holy crap, that's huge. I can feel my heart bouncing even as I wrote that, but let's step back a notch. Is this a goal I can reasonably achieve? Well, given that each of my first drafts run approximately 60,000 words, to reach my goal I will need to have written over 180,000 words. If I divide 180,000 by 365 days I get 493 words. That tells me I will need to write a minimum 493 words a day. That's not too bad. Even on my worst days of writing I average 1000 words a day, sometimes I can achieve as many as 3,000 words a day. Given that I am already 18,000 words into the first project (Thanks NaNoWriMo!), I think it's fair to say my goal is achievable. 

The next step when planning out your resolution is to break it down further into smaller chunks. How do you eat an elephant? (Forget the why, OK? Assume you have no choice.) The answer is simple, one bite at a time. I want to take that 180,000 words and break it down by project. I want a measurable goal for each book. A finish line. An end date. A champagne and chocolate kind of day.

For my resolution, I have set one deadline for end of February 2018. The next is set for June 2018 and the last is set for sometime in November. This gives me a nice 4 week buffer in case of any mishaps. Yay! 

So now, instead of trying to keep on track for an entire year, all I need to do is make sure I am on track for each project. Three to four months is a far more immediate time frame than 12. But I never stop there. Each week on my planner I have written down goals. Sometimes it's words written, other times is revision progression but the end game is always the same. I have an action plan to follow. I have measurable goals to gauge my progress. I have the means to get me where I want to go. 

That's not to say I won't have hiccups. I will. I've made allowances for that so hopefully I can make up time if I fall behind and not get too far off track. Once I took my 2018 goal and broke it down into project goals and then monthly or weekly goals my resolution became far more achievable. The real resolution becomes following the blueprint I've laid out. 

In the end, this means a lot of new material coming from me over the next year, new stories, new challenges, new murders. I'll try to keep you up to date but, as you can see, I'm already planning on being very, very busy. 

Happy New Year, Dear Readers! All the best for a happy, healthy, prosperous 2018! 

Experience: the best way to learn to write

Are you squeamish?

I'm not. I once watched (perhaps a little too intensely) as an emergency room doctor stitched an inch deep gash on my daughter's thumb. Before he started he told me I could wait in the hall if I'd be more comfortable and I laughed and laughed (not out loud though).

You're probably not squeamish if you're a fan of my Marshall House books. I tend to write certain autopsy scenes in great, unforgiving details. A professional reviewer once called my style "unsympathetic". It can be quite a shock for any readers who are used to Agatha Christie or other mild whodunit writers. I've received a few negative comments regarding this particular style, enough to make me question whether I should tone it down. In the end, after reflection, I don't concede. I merely tell the story as it wants to be told.

 I don't set out to make things extra gruesome and I certainly wouldn't want my books to be fluffed up. I like to think my style represents the Victorian culture in that death was all around them and they didn't shy away from it. Some loved it and all it's salacious details. Others dealt with it and moved on, knowing they could not run from it. Death made an impression on every parlour (where the dead where laid prior to burial) and in every dark corner in every back alley. In an age when germ theory was still in it's infancy death came to everyone; young, old, sick and healthy. It did not discriminate.

I learned how close death was to us all as a 22 year-old newly married mother of one with another on the way. As the result of a car accident on a wintry road every single member of my family looked death in the eyes. I nearly lost my baby and my husband in that horrific crash and I am forever changed by it... but that is a story for another day.

Today I want to speak about an experience I had last night that presented itself as a responsibility to another family member but ended up being an opportunity to better myself and my writing. My daughter needed to complete an assignment for a senior high school chemistry class. Students were required to interview someone who works in the field of science. While most students chose to interview relatives, nurses, engineers and the like, my daughter wanted to give herself a bit of a challenge and chose to interview a funeral director.

I was asked to come along to film her while she asked her questions. It was a mundane task that I thought would at least get me a ballot for the "Mom of the Year" award. Never in a million years did I expect her interview subject to take us in the room where three bodies lay ready for their funerals. His intention was to show us the chemicals he uses and some of the devices at his disposal. It was a highly educational experience in more than just chemistry.

I had never seen a dead body other than relatives and I will admit I was taken aback. I repeat, I am not squeamish. The sight of the dead bodies did not affect me. My shock came more from the fact it had never occurred to me that we would be permitted in that space, that sacred space for the dead. The more I thought about it though, the more I realized how many others interact with the dead on a daily basis; doctors, nurses, police officers, medics, soldiers, anyone in funeral services, pathologists, medical examiners, archaeologists. I mean, death is all around us, and I, a full time author who writes about murder and death on a daily basis, have been so sheltered from it.

I write my stories, and conduct my research without ever having to witness it or touch it. My books seem so sterile now, so abstract. The Victorians knew death. Infant death was common, diseases had no cures. Daily life was one big gamble. Anything could take you out.

So what exactly has changed? We have medicines now, vaccines. We have experienced leaps and bounds in the medical field. We understand the impact of diet like no generation before us, as well as environmental impacts (smoking and work environments). We have instituted seat belts, helmets, air bags, and any number of other safety protocols, but even with all that there are no guarantees. Daily life is one big gamble. Anything can take us out.

Like I said, I'm not squeamish. The room did not jar me because of the bodies in it. The longer we stood there, talking and asking questions, the more I understood what had been missing from my writing. (There's a circle of life analogy somewhere here, but I'm purposely avoiding it.) We spent the better part of twenty minutes in that room which was only a quarter of the time we spent at the funeral home. We were given a tour of the offices, the casket showroom, the consultation rooms and the chapel. So many questions were answered and at times our guide must have wondered who the student actually was (guilty).

All in all, I am grateful for this experience and the time our host granted us. I think  my views on death, and my manner in writing about it, will change going forward. But I have no intentions of changing the tone of my books, not unless I decide to write a romance. In that case the gothic, murderous undertones might be a bit too much.

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. 

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.