Economy of Fear

Hello you lovelies,

My good friend and podcasting partner Kevin is doing a pretty big thing. I mean, he’s been doing a lot of big things this summer, including adding a new tiny daughter to family of ladies, and now he gets to add ‘squeal book‘ to that list. Kevin and I met over a year ago, when we got together to discuss writing. I’d just finished his book The Page Turners, and he had just finished reading Claire Never Ending. I’ll never forget how he showed up at the coffee shop with a list of questions to ask and a book to be signed. I showed up with  . . . ahh, well. . . nothing, actually, except nerves and a mindset to make a new friend. But that momnet is a good snapshot of Kevin, if you don’t already know him. He pours himself into his projects. He exceeds expectations.

Anyhow, right now at this moment he has a pre-order party happening for the follow up novel to the Page Turners, called Economy of Fear. But Kevin being Kevin didn’t stop with, ‘”hey I have a new book, guys,” He’s gone and created this bundle – because he has this funny deep love for bundles. Normally I’m all anti-bundle. Even in the grocery store when Zsolt wants to buy 2 cans of tuna for the price of one, I full on reject the idea because hey, we don’t need two cans of tuna! (Except that we do, in reality) however, I actually think Kevin has knocked this one out of the park. Again, exceeding expectations.

But because you guys probably haven’t read Kevin’s work – I’ll give you the skinny on it now. To celebrate the sequel in the series, he is giving away an entire audio book of the Page Turners:Blood (the first book), plus he’s giving away audio commentary, a prequel chapter and a 40 minute video where I get to interview him about writing! It’s like the coffee shop all over again, except I’M IN CONTROL!

Ha. Ah. That got awkward.

Kevin books are, I think, a cross of Buffy the Vampire Slayer with the kids from Freaks and Geeks. It’s dark, deep and dives into the world of small towns, friends, depression and how books can both save and change you.

If you want a good and gory read, check it it :) Pre-ordering stars now!

The First (and the only) Mindful Monday

I don’t ever do a mindful Monday, but a friend sent this quote to me the other day around blood, vibration and motherhood. She was at an event, and this passage was read, and it made her think of my novel, Claire Never Ending. (I’m quite honoured that she made such a wonderful connection). I read the passage and it made me think: DAMN THAT’S POWERFUL. Now it’s your turn to read it and feel your own response. I’ll link to the origin of the post below.

It is often said that the first sound we hear in the womb is our mother’s heartbeat. Actually, the first sound to vibrate our newly developed hearing apparatus is the pulse of our mother’s blood through her veins and arteries. We vibrate to that primordial rhythm even before we have ears to hear. Before we were conceived, we existed in part as an egg in our mother’s ovary. All the eggs a woman will ever carry form in her ovaries while she is a four-month-old fetus in the womb of her mother. This means our cellular life as an egg begins in the womb of our grandmother. Each of us spent five months in our grandmother’s womb and she in turn formed within the womb of her grandmother. We vibrate to the rhythms of our mother’s blood before she herself is born. And this pulse is the thread of blood that runs all the way back through the grandmothers to the first mother. We all share the blood of the first mother – we are truly children of one blood.

Layne Redmond

From When the Women were Drummers,
found on Gaiman Life

P.S. Did you ever consider how you originated in your grandmother? This is some literal linkage here! And the vibrating! I’ll say it’s the ripples of Claire, but you can call it whatever you like. :)

 

The Power of a Pause – stories from Zsolt’s grandmother

This past Saturday we piled into the car and drove across town to visit with Zsolt’s grandmother, Anna for a chat and to pick some fruit. She’s his grandmother on his mother’s side. I met her about 9.5 years ago, when, while visiting Hungary, the ‘grandmothers’ would come by for a meal. By grandmothers, I’m referring to Zsolt’s grandmothers and aunt Zsuzsi – who I may write about one of these days, because she’s quite the character.

Anyhow, back then and for much of the time since, I didn’t really get to chat with Anna. Fact is, we speak different languages, and Zsolt’s dad’s side off the family are very much gregarious show stealers. Hilarious people! His gran, Gyongyi, was always fretting about being old and Zsuzsi was always telling her latest story from wandering around town and having no sense of personal space.

Anna was far more quiet. She would sit across the table from me, on the very far side and only occasionally – and calmly – ask a question that Zsolt might translate.

wine_thief

Then a few years ago she moved to a new home, and we suddenly began to pay her visits there. Her house once belong to her grandson, who has quite the green thumb. The yard is a literal orchard of white peaches, sour cherries, apples, berries and more. It’s not even that big – it’s just incredibly well designed. So we go and sit in the garden, and she makes lovely food that I don’t eat – but think looks really, really delicious.

Inside of Anna’s house, where we migrate whenever it begins to rain, is a real treasure of stories. Her walls are covered with carefully preserved photographs from her days as a school girl, and her wedding, and her children (including Zsolt’s mom), and more. And, her sofas are covered with finely embroidered pillow cases – with or without the pillows inside. That was her profession, she grew up doing embroidery and had an incredible talent with the needle.

Everyone sits around the large table in the center of the room – the old family table – and politely chit chats about the weather, the amount of snow in Canada, their sore joints, some family gossip . . . and then, if we stay there long enough, someone like Zsolt’s uncle or aunt may show up, and the chit chat happens again – until eventually, it doesn’t. People go out to pick fruit, or turn to one another for more quiet chatting.

Zsolt and I are left there sitting beside his grandmother, Anna. And now, the real conversation can begin.

Anna has a very special talent beyond caring for her home, sewing and the garden. She’s an excellent multilingual conversationalist. Nope, she doesn’t speak a bit of English. But what she’s very good at is knowing when to pause.

Zsolt will look at me, then ask in english: What should I ask her? So I say, ask her about her garden. And then he does. Anna will reply, and then she will pause so that Zsolt can translate to me. Then, the stories somehow unfurl from there, and as she tells each piece of the story, she’ll pause and Zsolt can translate.

Normally folks go on for 5 minutes, and then I get the 5 word translation because big Z can’t remember what they were saying. With Anna it is so wonderfully different.

During our last visit, I asked Anna whether she makes palinka (a kind of very strong fruit alcohol) from the abundance of fruit in her garden. She explained that her children gather the fruit to make palinka, but she personally has no use for it.

Oh really? I ask – as Zsolt translates everything – Why is that?

She really just has no use for drinking alcohol. She’s never cared.

Oh, I reply. Me neither! I just don’t care about it. I’ve always thought this was a genetic thing I got from my mother.

Now Zsolt explains his stance on alcohol, that he doesn’t ever drink it at home because I never do, but when out with friend he’ll definitely have some drinks.

Then, Anna explains that her father loved his drink. They had so many grapes and wine all around them, there was an abundance of it. Her family always had alcohol on the family dining table, and when folks visited, they were always sent away with a bottle of wine from the vineyard. It was as plentiful as the bottled water we have today.

And Anna, when she was little, used to go to that dining table and pour herself little sips of the palinka and the wine – just quick tastes. She’d do it whenever it pleased her, and no one ever noticed, because there was so much of it!

And as she tells this, we can picture her as a little girl sneaking into the room and pouring herself a quick shot of drink. And suddenly we know her a little bit deeper. We know her beyond her age and status as a grandmother, beyond the eye surgery she just had, or how she becomes tired very easily these day. We know her story, just a little bit more.

All of this because she pauses, and in turn, I can ask questions.

It’s a lovely think to chat with Anna. In those moment, I don’t feel the language divide. I just feel like family.