Deborah Jackson | Author - Blog

Story versus Style

2012-01-25T10:41:00.000-08:00

Are publishers choosing books for the wrong reasons?

The horrible part about becoming a writer is the critiquing. Don’t get me wrong, I really love editing and helping my students improve their writing. I spent years critiquing other writers and learned what to examine in my own work through this very valuable process. But once you start critiquing, you can never stop. Critiquing inevitably leads you down the path of becoming the universal critic. And I hate critics. I can’t read many books without irritation setting in about this point of characterization, or that point of poor world building, or simply Martin’s point, and he is a great writer, of dragging the story out for decades of my life.

The irritation never ends. It’s irritating that I become irritated.

My current state of irritation rests with the YA publishing industry. Lately I’ve been picking up books to explore unique styles of writing. The last book I read is certainly unique—it has that literary quality that attaches an extended analogy to the overly dramatic voice. I’m not irritated with the dramatic voice—well, maybe I am. It seems to be commonplace in YA literature, because teens love excessive drama—do they? The book—it shall remain unnamed, because I’m making a point and not condemning a book, as a critic would do—certainly has a unique style.

But I don’t think it had an editor. Not a real one. I believe fake editors are making a lot of money out there.

I flipped through, frowned, flipped through, grimaced, flipped through, got out my Post It notes. That’s a bad sign. I started writing in margins, slapping a sticky note on one page, and then two pages further.

This continued throughout the book. I mutilated an entire novel. Sue me.

Let me share some of my notes:

Dying plants, birds not flying, weather extremes—winter days hit 92 and it can snow the next day????

My comment: extremes too unbelievable. Why don’t the birds fly? Genetic mutation? Too ill?

Fantasy, science fiction (dystopian) - these genres in particular require “world building.” If you’re going to introduce such extreme changes to our environment you’re going to have explain them, scientifically, not just throw out the lame “we killed our planet” excuse.

There were several other examples in the book of insufficient world building. The world has changed over three short years from a place where we have our luxuries and our current lifestyle to a decaying, unsanitary deathtrap.

If things don’t make sense from the beginning, it’s much harder to get your readers to believe the more fantastic elements often introduced at the end.

Let’s set world building aside.

Here’s another note regarding character psychology and character development:

Parental neglect and distance. This child received no love. Can a person be a generous, loving, self sacrificing (and nurturing—there’s evidence of that too) individual if he himself has never been loved or nurtured?

I doubt it.

If the characters don’t have a plausible psychology, readers won’t identify with them or care about their dilemma.

Here’s one I just had to scratch my head at:

The one character has been beaten, shot and has lost a considerable amount of blood. The other character finds a banana and feeds it to him, for the potassium. Hmm.

I can see fluids for the blood loss, or morphine for the pain, but a banana? He’d probably throw it up.

The main character has never driven a car, but does a stop-start equivalent while soldiers are prowling all around searching for her. And they don’t notice.

If situations are illogical, the reader will become disillusioned with the story.

I’m not criticizing the author for this. This is a YA book published by one of the Big Six. I’m suggesting that some—maybe most—of these books are chosen for their literary or unusual style and plot and character development are completely ignored. If a book is selected to be published, it’s the job of an editor to ensure that it’s properly developed. Style is half the battle, but it’s only half.

Yes, it might require a great deal of rewriting to make this more logical. Easy fixes to the banana. Not so easy for the world building, but still doable. What, if anything, did the editor do? And if he/she did a great deal, I shudder to think what the book looked like originally.

My main question: Are publishers choosing books for the wrong reasons? Does style trump story?

I love a book that plays with language, if it doesn’t detract too much from the story. But let’s face it, I’m in it for the romp, for the emotions, for that intimate connection with a character. I want you to pay as much attention to the story you tell as the words you use to tell it. I want to believe it, in my alternate universe, at least to the degree that it holds me there a few hours of the day.

If you can do that, I’ll love you forever. Seriously. And if you can do it with style, I’ll give you an extra star.

But I’m not a critic.

Lost in Translation

2012-01-04T08:25:00.000-08:00

I suppose it was a couple of years ago when I was confronted with another dilemma: To read or not to read and simply watch the movie. If you haven’t noticed yet, from previous blogs, my house is virtually bursting at the seams with books, not only read, savoured and hoarded, but stacks on my “to read” list as well. When word finally reached my less-than-attuned ears that Stieg Larsson’s books were worth a read, I was already knee-deep in kidlit and YA and opted to rent the Swedish subtitled versions of the movies instead.

Being the lovely (North) Americanized “please spoon-feed me” type of person, I wasn’t overly enthusiastic about reading my movie. Don’t get me wrong, I adore reading, but when it comes to movies I like to “experience” them visually, with the necessary auditory component that doesn’t require distraction through reading – just like I don’t like to watch my books. I believe the iPad may have something to say about that in the future, though.

I was fully prepared to be annoyed.

But that didn’t happen. First of all, I know a little Dutch, and Swedish has some similarities. Secondly, I didn’t mind reading the subtitles, because the story was so engaging and the acting phenomenal. And the message was all too clear.

Last week, a friend mentioned on Facebook she was reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and the English translation left much to be desired. Another FB entity chimed in and mentioned he’d recently watched the English version of the movie and found it filled with graphic and “pointless” violence.

Pointless violence?

How much has been lost in translation, I wondered?

I clearly understood through the Swedish movies that violence is the point, “violence against women.” Perhaps this would have been crystal if the original title hadn’t been changed from Män som hatar kvinnor - “Men Who Hate Women.”

Lisbeth Salander was, to me, the embodiment of “women finally striking back,” wielding power over abusive men for so many women who are defenseless. I’ve seen the results of rape and abuse, although I’ve been lucky not to have been touched by it personally. Most women are psychologically afflicted and often incapable of leading a normal life, let alone striking back. Lisbeth was never a realistic character to me, but she was the personification of hope and retribution for these women.

I fail to see how this wasn’t clear in the English movie. I wonder if sloppy translation made it less than obvious in the books. But I found it disturbing that people didn’t understand Stieg Larsson.

I later learned why he wrote the books. It was to atone for the guilt he felt over witnessing a gang rape years ago and doing nothing to help the girl. The story is more than the character and plot. The story is the author and the girl.

Sometimes a fiction story is simply a moment’s entertainment in our lives. Sometimes, it’s a great deal more. (And should never be linked to a clothing line.)

Please, let’s translate it correctly.

How I Came to Love Twitter

2011-12-15T11:41:00.000-08:00

It was unexpected. It began as a chore.

You must promote! As a writer you’re hammered with this notion incessantly, even though you despise self-promotion. At least I do. I write because I can’t imagine not writing, but once the book is published, all the other tasks that accompany it are tedious. And in the back of my mind, I think I’ll never measure up to the literary geniuses, so how can I promote myself?

Despite my distaste, I gritted my teeth and I joined.

Over a period of time the duty became a joyful experience, one I rush toward every morning and at various hours during the day.

The joy began when I realized that Twitter was more than a vehicle for sales. In fact it was the quite the opposite.

A universe opened up to me – a universe of information at my fingertips, breathtaking photographs and art, but above all people. These people had incredible insight, generosity and gift of the gab – in 140 characters or less. Immediately I realized that I would not self-promote, but I would take in and I would give back. When I began to do that, friendships developed – extraordinary friendships over vast distances that could never be bridged except in the cyber world.

Twitter emerged as something quite different from Facebook – more than “I know you from somewhere, so let’s connect.” Instead the connection occurred because of shared interests and passion, the way we sometimes make lifelong friends at conferences. For me it wasn’t just writerly people, but those interested in science, photography, art, archaeology – other passions of mine. It opened up an astounding world of fascinating, comical and complex human beings.

Another thing occurred to me as I observed and explored this strange and wonderful network.

Twitter was another manner of writing. A vehicle of expression, albeit a raw, ragged, sloppy one, minus the rewrites and editing. I could play around with language, something I love to do. Usually I express my thoughts, through characters and situations, of course, in 90,000 words. It’s a long, very self-involved process which I call “creative mode.” The purpose of writing is often personal – to transfer what the author is passionate about into a comprehensive tale while exploring various characters - weaving mulicoloured patterns into the tapestry, then trying on different outfits and diving through the mesh - but there’s also that desire to connect with readers. The problem with novel writing is that, for so many years, the author has been distanced from the reader.

Twitter allows you to connect directly. You can’t tell a tale, but you can inject personality and, because you’re constrained by the number of characters, it forces you to become creative.

I love the hashtag. Not to promote an idea or subject across the Twitterverse, but to add a splash of humour or contradict my own statement. I know it sounds crazy, but that’s me.

I like to comment on scientific discoveries or photographic enticements or rocks. Yes, rocks! But most of all, I like to smile, wink or chuckle with Twitterpals.

If you’re into Twitter simply to sell something, then I think you’ll become disillusioned rather quickly. Nobody wants to hear a sales pitch. But most people, if you really listen, have something valuable to say. And if you’re willing to give of yourself, your return will be more than you imagined.

If you smile at someone and they smile back at you, it’s worth more than all the gold in the ground.

The Toy Graveyard

2011-12-02T06:30:00.000-08:00

Has your basement, attic, spare bedroom or cupboard under the stairs become a toy graveyard? Do remnant Thomas the Train tracks or cabooses litter the visible carpet? Have Beanie Babies been tossed in obscure corners, collecting dust bunnies on their silken fur? Do you have to slalom through Polly Pockets and headless Barbies to get to the laundry?

Yes, sometimes our kids accumulate too many toys. What do I blame for that, besides myself? Christmas!

For some reason gold, frankincense and myrrh have transformed into heaps of toys, neglected and hardly used. The joy of giving has become the act of spoiling. Initially our kids squeal in excitement on Christmas morning, but even they start tossing the multiple toys aside after a while with barely a glance. And after spending all that money, we haven’t the heart to dispose of that perfect toy too quickly—especially after wracking our brains trying to come up with something different.

My kids have reached their teen years, so the gifts are fewer, but more expensive. Electronic gadgets—cell phones, iPods, Wii Games, but at least most of them are used until they’re out-of-date. For my younger great-nieces and nephews, I purchase books, but their parents have suggested a moratorium even on those. Too many books.

How can you have too many books?

Okay, so I have too many books. I have a bookshelf of unread books. I have a Kobo full of partially read classics. I have books on the floor, books on shelves in the living room, books on the shelf going down into the basement, books on several shelves in the basement and books on my night table and shelves above my bed. So yes, you can have too many books.

But I’m still convinced that books are the best gifts for kids. If you’re going to give your kids more gifts for Christmas, think of everything a book can do that the toys in the graveyard can’t seem to match (which is why they end up in the graveyard). A new world, an exquisite combination of colours and artwork to dazzle or amuse—if it’s a picture book—a laugh when it’s a sad day, a story that let’s your child know that he’s not alone with the problems he faces at each challenging age, a place to escape the pressures of this world (and let’s face it, kids have enormous pressure these days), an expanding vocabulary, the ability to focus—something multitasking and reduced physical activity (required to expend energy) have removed—the wonders of a different society or culture, lessons subtly incorporated to give them a moral grounding and the strength to face difficult choices, the magic of words so skillfully combined they’re musical to the ear and a future that only literacy can bring. There’s many more, but I’ll stop here so you can breathe.

My daughter once said on FB: I think that there are more books in my house than the average person can read in a lifetime... let's hope I'm not an average person. (I intend to dig into them all... if they're interesting.)

Why would she say that? Because she loves to read. And that is the best gift I could give her.

The Real Me--A Look at the Books I Read and Treasure

2011-11-21T06:01:00.000-08:00

If you ever want to get to know a writer, all you have to do is take a look at their bookshelves. The past few days I've been diligently organizing my shelves, taking the stacks off the floor, so you won't be able to judge how chaotic my life really is, but you will understand me better by the books I preserve.

I have two shelves on the main level, which is also my office. I have no living room, or rather I live among the books.

This is my reference shelf, for the most part.

From the top:

The top is a mixed bag, because I ran out of room. From archeology, which has always fascinated me, to China to WWII and a few classics.

Next shelf: Writing references, including Hemingway and Stephen King, my favourites. I know, I'm weird.

Egypt, geology (bet you don't know many people turned on by rocks), the Fodor's Guides, you know, the essentials.

Going down:

More geology, geography, some haunts from my past that come in handy--Essential Human Anatomy and Medical Microbiology--Egypt, caves and NASA. If you noticed the sticky notes, I thrive on them. You'll also see the Idiot's Guides. If you're a writer, never be without the Idiot's Guides. (This is not a comment on our profession.)

The shelf below contains a few of my favourite modern novels: The Bartimaeus Trilogy, of which there is only one, because another avid reader in my family appropriates and lends them out--never to be seen again. The Hunger Games--Book One repurchased as a paperback--and, of course, Wilbur Smith classics, Cryptonomicon--one of the bulging tomes I thoroughly enjoyed (let's not discuss Ann Rand) and The Historian--vampire or not, it was excellent.

Continuing on:

This is my larger volumes' reference shelf, mostly WWII and Egypt. Are you beginning to understand where my obsession lies? And yes, it continues onto the floor. My larger volumes tend to accumulate beyond the capacity of one shelf.

The next shelving unit has a few different books. We'll start with the literary...

Wall of Shame

The left side has the books I've read, for the most part. Shakespeare, Poe, Hemingway, a Giller Prize winner, but the right side has classics I fully intend to read, someday.

Next are my classic favourites:

Ann of Green Gables, Lord of the Rings, Anne Frank, C.S. Lewis, Dickens! and a few modern favourites: Kenneth Oppel's Airborn series, The Book Thief, The Giver. Now how did Agassi get in there? Avid tennis fan, I'll admit it.

On the bottom:

A mixed bag: The Ice stands out--for those Antarctica novels--biographies, more WWII. You might have even seen Scaredy Squirrel. Your eyes have not deceived you. On the bottom shelf: pirates, Florida and National Parks. Adventurer/romantic, that's me.

On the way to the basement: Recognize these?

And a close up:

Remember The Secret of the Old Clock? This was my first series as a child, purchased second-hand by my parents. Can't part with it.

In the basement, beside the hockey sticks: The Adult Fiction Shelf

Do I really need to explain this one?

And across the room:

Middle Grade, Young Adult, Fantasy.

Need I say more?

Yes, you do see Twilight there. Ignore it.

My delightful magazines are on the table, the few I don't have in DVD:

I haven't found a home for them yet.

And last, but not least, the "to read" stacks, the short version:

But I'm starting a new library now.

And this is what it usually says.

Well, that's it. You might think I'm rich with all these books, but honestly, I have no furniture. Hand-me-downs. Priorities, you see. I live for story and story lives on through me, I think.

Remember . . . the courage, the commitment, the sacrifice.

2011-11-08T09:34:00.000-08:00

In light of Remembrance Day, to honour our veterans and fallen soldiers, the best tribute is to learn their stories. I thought I’d recommend some books and movies that exemplify the trials and sacrifice, the courage of so many during one of the darkest periods in our history.

Band of Brothers.

One of the most impressive series Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks ever produced. The story of the 101st Airborne, the paratrooper division that opened the area behind the lines on D-day for the Allies to push through, were the first to begin the liberation of Holland and discovered one of Germany’s “Final Solution” concentration camps.

The Pacific is also worth looking at, but Band of Brothers is as revealing of the personalities of the soldiers and the missions they had to endure. It captures their courage and their weaknesses without emphasizing the depressive nature of war. Although it’s necessary to understand the misery and hardships, I found Pacific dragged me down too much. I want to understand, but I can’t relive.

Between Silk and Cyanide, by Leo Marks

A Codemaker’s War, 1941 -1945

In 1942, Leo Marks left his father’s famous London bookshop and went off to fight the war. He was recognized as a cryptographer of genius, he became head of communications at the Special Operations Executive, where he revolutionized the codemaking techniques of the Allies and trained some of the most famous agents dropped into occupied Europe, including Violet Szabo.

One of the most mesmerizing accounts of the Special Operations Executive and the ingenious codemakers of World War II. Not only is Marks a spellbinding narrator, he translates coding for the layman and has a delightful sense of humour. Not many events that occurred in the war were humourous, and his gift at wry wit in no way diminishes the reality, the tragedies and the blunders. I read this to do research for Time Meddlers Undercover, but I continue to pull out examples of great writing for my students.

The Diary of Anne Frank

In 1942, with Nazis occupying Holland, a thirteen-year-old Jewish girl and her family fled their home in Amsterdam and went into hiding. For the next two years, until their whereabouts were betrayed to the Gestapo, they and another family lived cloistered in the “Secret Annexe” of an old office building.

There will never be a more moving testament to the struggles the Jewish people faced during the Nazi occupation. The passion, the small joys, the constant irritation of living in close quarters and coming of age in a horrific situation, this book explores the reality of war from a persecuted young person’s perspective. It’s my hope that everyone will take the time to read this at some point in their life.

The Great Escape

In 1943, the Germans opened Stalag Luft III, a maximum security prisoner-of-war camp designed to hold even the craftiest escape artists. In doing so, however, the Nazis unwittingly assembled the finest escape team in military history, brilliantly portrayed by Steve McQueen, James Garner, Charles Bronson and James Coburn. They worked on what became the largest prison breakout ever attempted.

This is my all-time favourite. It reveals the determination and ingenuity of the Allied prisoners, but doesn’t shy away from their actual fate—some were recaptured and shot. This is no Hogan’s Heroes, but it’s still light enough not to disturb you for days on end. I think that we, kids and adults alike, should be aware of the reality of war, but still come away with some admiration for the heroism.

This a short list, but I think a comprehensive one for a week of remembrance. We have the soldiers, the spies and codemakers, the persecuted and occupied, and the captured. I could list several others, but I selected these because they aren’t designed to make you relive the horrors, only realize them. And I think that’s all we should do in this day and age. To relive is to become traumatized all over again, and I worry that our own traumas are just over the horizon.

Shoot the Writer

2011-11-01T05:58:00.000-07:00

What could I possibly mean? Who would want to shoot a writer?

Well, I could think of a few examples, but I’m referring to an experience I had a few years ago, or perhaps it was many years ago, but I won’t let you do the math.

Many years ago, on a planet far far away, or at least I was on an existential plane that was as remote as such a planet (in other words, I was a newbie to the whole author/now-you-must-be-a-speaker way of life), I was invited to do a school visit at a local high school.

Wrestling with my inner demons and some outer ones (yes, you know who you are) I agreed and spent days in preparation, creating a riveting PowerPoint presentation, with the inevitable stick man animations (which I use to this day), flexing my vocal muscles which were rather flaccid and pathetic (and still give me trouble when I spend too many days chatting internally and ignoring the husband and kids), and sifting through my mountain of props—mostly books.

Yes, I was prepared.

Yes, I was terrified.

But I could do this. I’d written the books, now I could talk about them and talk about writing.

I entered the school, a little damp, a little quivery—picture a pale version of Scaredy Squirrel—shook hands with the teacher and followed her dutifully down a kilometre-long hallway and up the stairs to the library, sagging under the weight of my laptop and props. There she smiled and set me up with the computer and projector, and I inserted my disc (stop doing the math) and took a deep breath.

In filed the students, eager, passionate potential writers, and a few students who’d look for any opportunity to skip class. They assembled in front of me and I began.

I explained the exciting process of brainstorming, character development, research—including some examples of volcanology, NASA proposals for a moon base and the mysterious lake with unspecified life beneath Vostok research station in Antarctica. I explained how my science fiction stories were based on hard science, including the bane of my existence—quantum physics—and how essential the Idiot’s Guides were to writing (at least as a baseline). I was passionate, so I don’t imagine they noticed that I was paler than usual or that my voice cracked occasionally. Amazing. They looked . . . interested.

Then it happened. Bells ringing, loudspeakers blaring, students stampeding into the library. A lockdown.

I stopped, of course, as the students were ushered into the back of the room and thrust behind the shelves that blocked them from any view through the glass windows at the front. The doors were subsequently locked.

The teacher then smiled, shushed the students as best she could, and gestured for me to proceed. Are you kidding me? So yes, I continued, but I kept glancing at the doors and began to consider that all the students and staff were handily protected from potential gunshots, but I was chatting away in full view of any shooter who might decide to wander our way.

Might as well put out a welcome mat: shoot the writer. Or, at least, shoot the writer first.

I wasn’t shot. The shooters or whatever they were never even made it into the school. And nervous Nelly finished her speech in front of a hundred students instead of thirty, despite constant interruptions over the loudspeaker. But it always made me wonder.

Why did they not think to move me? Is it because writers are dispensable? A novelty, a bauble to place on a tree once a year, but if it shatters, oh well, there will always be others.

Sometimes we’re subjected to acid reviews when we strike the wrong chord, and once again it’s time to shoot the writer, in a little less dramatic fashion. Often people forget that there’s a human being behind that book they’ve trashed.

If you prick us, do we not bleed?

If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison

us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not

revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will

resemble you in that.

That Shakespeare Guy

I know the staff at this school made no conscious effort to put me in the line of fire (and I have no wish for revenge). Protecting the kids was paramount and I understood that. And if one good thing emerged from the experience, I discovered I could speak through anything. They even invited me back this year and I had a wonderful experience.

I just ask that if there is a next time, perhaps they usher me behind a desk too.

The Reluctant Muse and NaNoWriMo

2011-10-12T06:35:00.000-07:00

Everyone’s so excited about NaNoWriMo. Are you ready? Gear up and start writing.

Uh huh. Right.

Why am I not excited? Because I know that I will not write a book in a month. I didn’t say I couldn’t. I could. And it would be exciting, full of the energy of slap-dash writing, bursting at the seams with stream-of-consciousness chatter. In other words, it would be atrocious and I’d have to completely re-write it.

I know there’s all kinds of help out there. I read on an agent’s blog about plot formulas and (of course) a great e-book you can buy that will guide you through the process. How wonderful. And your plot will be . . . formulaic.

Almost anyone can write a book in a month. Almost no one can write a “good” book in a month. Ask how many “years” the prize winners took. Plain Kate, one of my all time favourites, took about six years to inject all the nuances of character, to place the perfect word on the page, to refine plot, etc. What about all the preliminary research? What about character development? And pacing?

Do your original words sing off the page, or do they cough and sputter? Do they need a tune-up after writing?

I imagine you might be able to do it, and it might be a brilliant book. I’d have to bow at your feet, because you’re a genius.

I know, I know. Sometimes it’s just a method of forcing that reluctant muse to work. Banishing the procrastinator.

But my muse can’t be forced. It has to be coaxed. My ideas only develop over time and a few sleepless nights, and I know I’m not alone. If I force myself to write on a topic I have no passion for, even for a blog, it needs to be tossed or rewritten. That’s why I’m writing this blog. Because I passionately feel that NaNoWriMo is a waste of time.

Say you have this seed of an idea. Let it grow, nourish it over time with research that will send up more shoots, process it through your creative soul, develop memorable characters who will make that idea flourish, then write and focus on scenes, chapters, expansion. After the approximate time for a full length novel first draft, three or four months minimum, let it sit and stew for another three months. Then look it over, rework, revise, flesh it out or strip it down. Do this again and again until it shines from the inside out.

Or flush it out of your system in a month. You can do it. But you might just want to keep on flushing.

Standing OUT in the Crowd

2011-10-04T06:35:00.000-07:00

You’re a small voice in a stadium full of people, screaming to be heard. Screaming doesn’t work, because everybody is screaming.

Buy my book, look at my product, pay attention to me!

If you get in my face, to deliver your message, I will turn away. It’s annoying. And the screaming is like the constant drone of machinery, chipping away at my cochlea, numbing me to any message you might deliver.

If you have something meaningful to say, through your book, or you have a quality product to sell, I first have to trust you. If you can build a relationship with me, give me something of value first, or talk quietly, but with substance, I will look your way. And if you show me you’re a real human being, I’ll like you even more.

I recently joined a writing community of teens and teen writers, because I’ve written a teen book and I would like opinions from readers and writers of the same genre. It’s a critiquing community of which there are thousands of members. How do you get a reciprocal trade of opinions when there is so much choice? I noticed that one of the “Top Critics” has flitted around from manuscript to manuscript, giving each a cursory glance—one chapter—writing a critique and getting points for evaluation. She’s spread herself thinly through the community and thus gained the top billing. However, I don’t think she’s well liked, because her critiques lack genuine involvement or care in developing these young writers.

Comments like: “She doesn’t really look at the pitches.” Or her own comments: “Thank goodness, an adult to talk to . . .” I won’t continue. Suffice it to say, she writes for teens, but I wonder if she cares for teens.

I know I can’t spread myself so thinly. Nor do I want to. I joined the community, I picked manuscripts that were along the lines with what I write or offered my advice when requested. I became deeply involved with three manuscripts because that’s all I’m capable of managing at one time, and I’d rather go deep than wide. I like to make connections with readers, with children, with teens—that’s why I write for them. But I know a surface connection in a critiquing capacity is useless to me and to the teen writer.

The same goes for Twitter. You can’t bond with 14,000,000 people. You can only talk at them. But if I connect with a few people deeply, and I like what they have to say, then I’ll probably like what they have to sell—at least I’ll have a look at it. And I’m sure they’ll do the same for me.

An iron link between two people is stronger than a thousand tiny threads.

How to Kill your Writing Career

2011-09-28T06:23:00.000-07:00

1. Write like someone else. Be inspired by Hemingway or Dickens and adopt their style. You’ll produce some amazing work and everyone will hate it in this day and age. In fact, the better you write, the more people will hate it, anyway. Guaranteed.

2. Listen to the critics. They’re critics for a reason. If they could actually sit down and write a book, do you think they’d be writing lousy reviews? Often their reviews are related to their last meal: if it was burritos and beer . . .

3. Change your novel every time somebody tells you to, especially editors and agents. If you pass your first chapter to enough “experts” at conferences, eventually you’ll find they contradict each other. These experts are guided by their own preferences—some of which has to do with good writing, the remainder related to genre, style, and the last episode of Grey’s Anatomy.

4. Write to the latest trend. If you have a fabulous idea for a vampire, no wait, fairy, no, just a minute, angel . . . Just don’t!

5. Don’t experiment. Keep to the code. The Writer’s Code, not the Pirate’s Code, ’cause if you kept to the Pirate’s Code, you’d realize that it’s simply guidelines. So if you’ve written a “different” book and your critique group or editor tells you to adhere to formula, what do you do? You listen, because you don’t want to grow or challenge yourself or your readers. You just want to be an average writer anyway. Not an artist.

6. Ignore social media, because you heard of a study that said it makes absolutely no difference to a writer’s career. Bah! Hide in a hole because people are only interested in your books and don’t want to get to know the real you. It’s not like you spill the most intimate parts of yourself into those books every day, right?

7. Stop reading or taking workshops. I know, I know. You’ve read everything, you can’t possibly learn anything new, you should be teaching. Well, then, teach, because you can learn from teaching, and when you stop learning and trying to improve, the work shrivels up before you do.

8. Never write about something you’re not an authority on. God forbid you take on a challenge.

9. Don’t pay attention to your readers or fans. Only Lady GaGa does that, and she’s crazy (like a fox). Never follow anyone back on Twitter, because you’re amazing and everything you have to say is golden and everything everyone else says is dull and superfluous: Followers 20,000 Following 3

10. Reject those speaking engagements, because public speaking is hard. After all, you’re an introvert, your talent dwells within your mind but can never flow past your lips. Let’s face it, you have the speaking ability of Frankenstein. You can only speak decently when there’s something you’re passionate about, and that can’t be writing, can it?

11. Never follow the latest news in the industry, reject change because it doesn’t exist. The publishing industry will stay the same forever and you don’t have to adapt. You don’t care how cute those Angry Birds are, you will not buy an iPad, or any other snazzy gadget from the future (doddering old fool).

12. Never write a blog because you hate writing short informative pieces or silly lists.

Book Bash with the Kidlit Authors

2011-09-26T05:02:00.000-07:00

Come party with children's writers and illustrators! On Friday, October 14 from 6 to 9 p.m., authors from near and far will gather to celebrate at Collected Works Bookstore (1242 Wellington St. W., 613-722-1265)

Come meet the people who are creating the latest books for young adults, tweens, and children. Hear about new releases directly from the authors, and have them autographed on the spot.This party launches the SCBWI Canada East fall conference (October15-16).

Those who will present their latest work at the party include author R.J. Anderson (Ultraviolet, Spell Hunter, Wayfarer) and illustrator Ben Hodson (Richard Was a Picker, Jeffrey and Sloth, Hear My Roar), both featured speakers at the SCBWI conference. Governor General Award winner Rachna Gilmore (That Boy Red, The Flute) will also be on hand, along with writers Catherine Austen (My Cat Isis, 26 Tips for Surviving Grade 6, All Good Children), Lizann Flatt (Let's Go! The Story of Getting from There to Here), Alma Fullerton (Burn, Libertad), Deborah Jackson (Time Meddlers, Time Meddlers: Undercover), Caroline Pignat (Greener Grass, Wild Geese, Timber Wolf), and Marsha Skrypuch (Stolen Child, Daughter of War). Both adults and kids are welcome. Refreshments will be available for purchase.

SCBWI Canada East's fall conference ("The Courage to Create," October15-16) is open to adults who want to learn more about publishing. Please pre-register if interested. For more information see SCBWI website.

What You Shouldn’t Write (But I Do).

2011-09-20T06:25:00.000-07:00

In recent years, I’ve heard this phrase commonly used by editors and agents: “nothing didactic.” Or this one, “eliminate the deep moral themes.” Ruled by my defiant nature, (a quality my son shares, although it exhibits itself in his refusal to read, an issue that gives me constant pain) I ignored them.

My books, although laden with adventure, always explore complex issues, deep moral themes and are sprinkled with facts, scientific jargon and hopefully fresh material for kids and adults to learn and grow (as I did, when I researched them). Every learning opportunity for me is another for my readers.

Why would I ignore trends, the voices of experience? Have you ever re-read a book that was superficial, empty, and reiterated old and dreary facts? Have you ever recommended a book that didn’t touch you in some way? You might have said to a friend: “It’s okay. It’s a light read.” You might have even thrust it into their hands so you wouldn’t have to get rid of it yourself. A light read might make it up to the bestseller list—we know who you are—but it won’t be talked about for years to come (unless it’s mocked and scorned). Dracula, however, will never go away. There’s nothing sparkly about real evil.

The Hunger Games fled my shelf recently, (because my daughter lent it to a friend who lent it to a friend, etc.) and I had to re-purchase it for my class, because it’s an example of a book that doesn’t shy away from complex issues: communism/fascism and the importance of that one defiant voice (such as Martin Luther King or Nelson Mandela). A student told me how a friend borrowed The Book Thief from the library, and then someone stole it. ;) No doubt this happened because it’s such a good read: Nazi Germany, death—are those light themes?

Books rich with details of history or science, Wilbur Smith’s Egyptian series or Cryptonomicon, are examples of those that I will not part with (unless someone lends them to a friend, who then lends them to a friend, etc.)

I do write fast-paced, action-packed thrillers. But I still want the book to linger in your mind long after you've read it. I want you to say, “Wow, I didn’t know that the Piri Reis map, copied and recopied over hundreds of years, and originating long before modern ground-penetrating radar and satellite images, displayed all the contours of Antarctica without the ice sheet.” Or something along those lines, but not quite so longwinded. Or you might say, “Cool,” regarding nanobots that could replace heart surgeons. Maybe the description of a cave in Sinkhole will inspire you to visit caves, even those slick with “bloody” bat urine from vampire bats. Or maybe not. But if they will make you ponder the desperation of people caught in the trap of poverty, or the shades of grey to every human being, even apparently evil ones, or the injustice of the past that filters into the present, then I have done my job. Because I refuse to write an empty book. (If you haven’t noticed, generally Book 2 of most trilogies is simply “filler.”) And even if you’re picking up a book to escape the real world, I hope it will still touch you on the journey.

The Ordinary Hero—Far more to admire than the celebrity.

2011-09-12T11:23:00.000-07:00

In light of the tenth anniversary of 9/11, I think it’s time to consider the ordinary hero once again and pay tribute. We spend so much time creating heroes for our fictional projects, sometimes never realizing that we may see these extraordinary qualities every day and need not look to fiction.

The fire fighter, the policeman, the nurse, the neighbour next door—they do exceptional things on a daily basis and are often never given credit. Credit goes to the sports figure, the movie star, the author for simply having talent and working hard to rise into the spotlight, but how often do these figures put their lives on the line or rescue someone from certain death?

One day my son came home from school and told me he had to do a project on “heroes.”

“Whom should I choose,” he asked. Actually he said “who.” His teacher suggested the usual heroes, amazing people like Terry Fox and Nelson Mandela—and they certainly are my heroes. But most of the students in his class had heard everything there was to know about these extraordinary people of courage and conviction. Would his classmates learn anything new by studying them once again?

I pulled out the DVD I’d been looking at while researching Nubia for my next book. I said, “Why don’t you write about Adam Sterling.”

Of course my son had never heard of Adam Sterling. Not many people have. He’s a waiter in a restaurant in California—not a spectacular career to make him notable. But it was what he did that made him exceptional. He decided to protest the genocide that was taking place in Darfur. Not only did he stand beside the notables: George Clooney, Don Cheadle and Luis Moreno-Ocampo, the Prosecutor of the International Criminal Court in The Hague, he also educated himself regarding law and introduced a bill to the then governor/ator, Arnold Schwarzenegger. This law forbid companies in California from investing in the oil prospects in Sudan until the genocide had stopped. He had no idea how to do this, he had no experience with law, but he got involved and he learned what was required because he cared. He did something difficult in order to make a difference. That is the type of person to honour. That is the hero I most admire. Someone willing to get involved, sometimes at great peril.

Needless to say no one else in my son’s class chose this man as a hero. The teacher had never heard of him. But now, everyone in that Grade Seven class has.

I’ve always been fascinated with ordinary/exceptional people. It’s why I focused on the Dutch people who harboured and protected those targeted by the Nazis in World War II in my second TM novel. I discovered my grandparents hid Jews beneath their chicken coop at great risk to their own lives. I can’t imagine the courage it took to do that. To stand up for what is right, even under the threat of Hitler's retribution. To run into a burning building on verge of collapse and rescue people. I can only write about it and admire, and hope, if I’m ever faced with that kind of situation, that I won’t run the other way.

Off-the-Cuff Commentary

2011-09-05T06:12:00.000-07:00

It's interesting how writers have made the transition from closeted fiction writers with a wealth of editors scanning their material and demanding perfection before it hits the shelves to "off-the-cuff" columnists. It seems to be a necessary transition, since newspapers are disintegrating, publishing houses are spiralling downward and people are still looking for quick news feeds or, in particular, opinion pieces in which they can weigh in, either to object to or agree with the blogger. It's the era of instant connection, therefore the painstaking effort of scrutinizing every word is thrown aside for the quick news flash.

I find this particularly difficult, since I'm somewhat of a perfectionist where language is concerned. Not that I get everything perfect, but I'd like to see my pieces as polished as possible before they're released. I'm now writing on topics related to my expertise: writing, science and science fiction, history and historical fiction, but what I find extremely daunting is the new miniseries I've begun: Matt and Sarah's Misadventures. I pore over it before posting, I ask my daughter to do a quick read (since she's a lit student) and I ask my son to tell me everything a kid would not say, in this day and age. Then I post, with a tingling of apprehension.

If you haven't noticed, so much of what is posted on the web today is done without forethought and definitely without spell-check. I keep wondering do other writers find the transition nauseating? Or at least somewhat uncomfortable? We're so used to spending months discussing manuscripts in a critique group, then trading commentary with an editor, then passing the work on to the copy editor to tidy up any loose ends. I've seen bestselling award-winning authors post entries that were riddled with typos, and sometimes even grammar errors. It should be plain by now that many authors are not grammar gurus, but are blessed wordsmiths in other ways, or have such a vivid imagination they can transform any mundane plot, that has been repeated over and over again in the past, into something fresh and exciting. We have varied skills.

So I wonder, do readers forgive imperfections? Do they look at an author's book and feel the same way once they spot the warts? Or is it that they come to like the author more, for being human. I know I love James Durbin. Not just because he's such a talented singer/performer, but because he overcame his human difficulties to become such a talented singer/performer. We are who we are.

So I blog. I resisted for a long time, writing every few months in fits and starts, where everything I wrote emerged consistently as a story. But I am nothing if not adaptable, just in a stubborn-mule fashion. So I make a concentrated effort, I opine, then I scan, then I post. But I wonder, will I ever feel good about it?

A Trip to the Dentist

2011-08-26T04:15:00.000-07:00

A Guest Blog by Martin King writing 100 blogs in 30 days - #100blogfest. Quite a feat!

A trip to the dentist. When I was younger this was one of my most feared occasions. The noise from the drill going round and round in your mouth...

Whether I had poor teeth to begin with, or whether it came from the copious amounts of sugar my mum plastered over everything – even on apples – or the quality of the water, I had terrible teeth. A trip to the dentist was always just around the corner.

During my childhood days that man in the white coat was responsible for stealing three of my pearly crunchers. Three! What was he doing with them, building a statue?

There was this one particular day when I was supposed to have another tooth out, again. The dentist had me laid out on the special reclining seat with the gas mask ready. Oh, I forgot to mention, we didn’t often have an injection back then. They used the knockout gas.

But on this particular day, I was ready for the tooth thief. He placed the gas mask over my face as normal and counted from ten backwards. But I was determined not to fall under his spell. He counted down to three and I was out for the count, or so he thought. Somehow I had managed to retain consciousness.

As the dentist headed towards me with his apparatus, I jumped up and shouted ‘three’ much to his surprise. But before I could see him poke his eye out with the pliers from the shock – which would have made a nice change for him to suffer some pain – I laughed and then passed out. I was lost, trapped within a forced sleep.

When I awoke, I had a mouth full of blood and the man in the white coat had another trophy.

These blogs are all about fun and sharing. Thank you for reading a ‘#100blogfest’ blog. Please follow this link to find the next blog in the series: http://martinkingauthor.com/blog/7094550076

The Enigma of Plot

2011-08-18T07:21:00.000-07:00

Plot is perhaps one of the most difficult aspects of story writing that budding writers and even established authors sometimes have problems mastering. It's nearly impossible to create a riveting plot that is fairly unique—everything has been done before—but it is your combination of character, setting and plot, along with a fascinating voice, that will hook your reader.

First, it's important to understand the basics.

Plot, especially for a novel, involves stringing together a series of problems for the protagonist. Usually in a short story there are two or three snags or roadblocks to the protagonist's goal. In a novel, a snag generally develops at the end of every chapter—that's how you know where to end it.

A story is just what happened—a sequence of events. Plot is an artistic decision—a selection of deeds and their consequences, a linking together of cause and effect. It doesn't have to be sequential. You can have backstory, flashbacks or flashforwards.

It requires a great deal of reading to understand plot well enough to generate an effective one. You must develop a sense of how the unfolding of events in a narrative will affect readers. A plot is something you can mold and remold, so don't worry if you can't get it right the first time.

Often there will be gaps in your story. You don't have to include everything, such as transportation, unless it involves a quest, as with Lord of the Rings. The decision you make about what to include and what to leave out will be specific to your genre—if you're writing a romance, you can omit parts of a story that don't relate to the romance. If it's an adventure story or thriller, it's best to exclude the mundane aspects of life.

All stories involve conflict.

Types of conflict:

1. Person vs. person

2. Person vs. self (internal)

3. Person vs. environment

4. Person vs. society (government)

5. Person vs. supernatural

Here is an example of an "external" person versus person conflict at the beginning of Ice Tomb: Erica clashes with the head of the science team at NASA, Dr. Dellows, since he lured her down to Houston for a meeting, but had already chosen her rival for the moon mission. She is furious and a scene ensues in which she walks out of the conference room and is subsequently called back and offered a leading role in the investigation of the mysterious hotspot in Antarctica. A conflict, a barrier to her goal, a detour.

Another example: Erica has an argument with David following the meeting—he is the apparent antagonist—because of his betrayal of her in the past. (He stole her ideas in order to obtain a coveted position at NASA.) She believes he should be investigating the moon for unusual scientific phenomena. He would rather put his pet project—producing oxygen from moon rocks—into practice and further his career. This external conflict is revelatory regarding both characters' internal conflicts. More on this later.

A person versus environment conflict would be when David experiences a catastrophe on the moon, an explosion. Enough said.

An internal conflict is a issue with self involving competing desires. Erica is torn between wanting a loving relationship and not trusting men, since David betrayed her. Most external conflicts resolve or lead to the next, but an internal conflict is ongoing and relates to a character's growth. David’s conflict involves his desire to win, his ambition, and his guilt over his betrayal of Erica in order to get ahead. These two internal conflicts must be resolved at the end of the book to the satisfaction of the reader.

The Hunger Games is a prime example of person versus society or government. In the dystopian world of this book the government elite keep the majority of the people oppressed, working as slave labourers and demanding they submit some of their children for gladiator-type games where they must fight to the death. In the first book, the protagonist breaks the rules and begins a series of clashes with the government.

Person versus the supernatural? Well you've all read Dracula, I assume.

The main conflict creates the complication. The conflict is faced with success or not in the climax/anticlimax. The conflict is resolved by an action, thought or emotion at the conclusion.

According to Aristotle, story is Conflict, Crisis, Resolution.

Your story begins with conflict, the struggles of a character against some force. These competing forces set up questions in the reader's mind that must be answered. To draw a reader into your story, you must set up these questions.

Examples from Ice Tomb:

• Scientists are investigating a tunnel under the ice . . .

• where there are bodies (Why) (Who are they?) ( How long have they been there?) (What happened?)

• The scientists discovers some bizarre technology. (Huh? Where did that come from?)

• The scientists’ transmission is cut off in the middle of screaming. (What the heck happened?)

There are several different ways of explaining plot structure, but they all amount to the same thing. I'll list two.

This is the standard plot structure:

• Introduction/Exposition

• Rising Action

• Climax/Anticlimax

• Falling Action

• Conclusion/Resolution/Denouement

Introduction/Exposition: This situates readers in the world of the narrative, establishing the basics—setting, character conflict, and introduces the dramatic tensions working against characters. The stage closes with the "activating or inciting incident," the event that sets in motion the struggles of the character.

In Ice Tomb, the inciting incident involves the sudden disappearance of scientists in Antarctica in the vicinity of a mysterious hotspot. This will lead men from the National Science Foundation to call upon Erica to investigate and bring Erica together with her antagonist.

Rising Action: The conflict increases and tension mounts. The events should bring into stern relief the forces that divide a character. During the rising action, an overwhelming obstacle is introduced that compels characters to confront their conflicts, rather than narrowly skirt around them.

In Ice Tomb, a new romantic interest for Erica will emphasize her conflict and issues with trust. David will be faced with an environmental incident, an explosion on the moon, where he must make a choice between his selfish nature and a new path to rid him of his guilt.

Climax/Anticlimax: When the conflict comes to a head; in the climax, the protagonist overcomes the problem; in the anticlimax, the protagonist fails to overcome the problem. This is the point of highest dramatic pressure, the moment when the characters must decide how to deal with the forces dividing them, the moment when they must act to resolve the forces working against them.

Erica will have to trust David; he will have to choose love and resolving guilt over his ambition in the climax. Erica will have to trust David in order to survive, and gradually trust him more with her heart. This will resolve their internal conflicts. The external conflicts will be resolved when they defeat the true antagonist.

Falling Action: The tension eases and loose ends are tied up. This point in the story emphasizes the forces that a character has turned against, building suspense about the character's fate and the wisdom of the turning point.

Conclusion/Resolution/Denouement: The conclusion settles the dramatic tension that has been stirred up. If it's a tragedy, it ends in a catastrophe. In romance, there will be harmony.

Another way to look at plot is Five Acts according to the Hero's Journey.

Act I: Begins at the point of attack, ends where the hero accepts the mission.

• The purpose is to get reader involved and get the chain of events rolling.

• Needs to create powerful story questions, put characters in dramatic conflict (exercising opposing wills) and touch the reader’s emotions.

• Must grab the reader!

• Ends at a plot point: the story goes off in a new direction or puts the story on a higher plateau.

Plot point in Ice Tomb: Erica travels to Antarctica, David embarks on his mission to the moon—literally blasts off.

Act II: Initiation, the hero leaves the world of everyday, crosses the threshold, enters the mythological woods. He/she must learn new rules, be tested by the evil one’s trials (will pass some and fail others). His/her character changes in the process—(s)he learns new skills, finds unsuspected talents, gains insights to become more self-aware.

• Keep asking, if (s)he’s smart, what will (s)he do next?

• Pivotal scene: a supreme ordeal

• Hero is a different character after Act II.

Pivotal scene in Ice Tomb: David saves the Russian cosmonaut, Vochenkov, after the explosion.

Act III: Begins after the hero survives the pivotal scene and is changed.

• Hero continues on, or goes after his goal (or in a mystery, after the murderer) with a new attitude and renewed vigour.

• There's a change in psychology. The hero pursues justice more vigorously, menace and conflict increase, the pace quickens, and the antagonist may get frantic if the hero is closing in.

• Ends when the most powerful story question is answered.

Most powerful question in Ice Tomb: the mystery in Antarctica.

Act IV: One story question remains: Can the antagonist be brought to justice? In the Hero's Journey, the hero returns to the world of everyday, bringing home the prize.

• Includes the final confrontation, the showdown with the antagonist, hopefully having mystery, menace, conflict and surprises.

• Premise must be proved—a mystery premise is “Reason triumphs over evil,” but in a surprising way. The reader should feel that this is how things had to turn out.

The premise proved in Ice Tomb: No, I'm not going to tell. If you haven't read it, it would ruin the ending.

Act V: After the showdown and the hero’s success or failure, there's a brief section that shows what happens to the characters afterward.

• Resolution to romantic subplot.

• Revelation of what happened behind the scenes to some of the other characters.

• Often reflects back to the beginning.

How it’s structured . . .

The main character has a primary goal, usually only one in short stories, but in novels the goal can change. Conflict arises when there are roadblocks and the character has to take a detour in order to achieve his/her goal. Chapters usually end at the roadblock. In the next scene or chapter, the character must find a way to bust through or veer around the roadblock. Usually he/she will take a detour, but sometimes, particularly at the climax, he/she must crash through the strongest barrier.

*A story where a character's convictions are never tested is rarely worth reading.

Things to avoid:

• Prolixity—long explanations

• Corkscrewing—don’t overdo twists and turns

• Maximum capacity lapses—the antagonist and protagonist must be clever and resourceful and never do anything stupid

• Self-destructing antagonist—one who breaks down and confesses in an attack of conscience

Suspense: Read the first chapter of Ice Tomb on my website to understand how to build tension.

• Every novel needs tension, some more dramatic depending on what you’re writing.

• Build “most” chapters like you’re building the novel.

You can achieve tension and suspense through/by:

• Doubt—make your readers doubt your main character will achieve his goals.

• Mood—dynamic action, specific words used to describe emotions, "a blast of wind rattled the Chalet building on its foundation, but it was the crisp voice on the radio that rattled her even more," and dialogue.

• Contrast—very different characters working side-by-side or in opposition.

• Keeping the reader guessing—feed information slowly and strategically.

• Foreshadowing by hinting at what is to come, but not answering crucial questions.

• Using flashbacks to slow down the action and/or provide missing details or hidden motivation.

Other things to consider regarding plot:

In a novel, you will need:

Periodic release of tension and

A black moment (downtime)

before the climax.

The release of tension can be achieved through:

• A partial answer that leads the character closer to getting what he/she want.

• A kiss or declaration of feelings in a romance.

• A resolution of a red herring or a clue that seems to solve part of a mystery

Remember the black moments in books such as Lord of the Rings. Frodo is captured by Shelob, the spider, and all hope seems to be lost that he will reach Mount Doom, Sauron's forces have broken through the walls of Minas Tirith and the battle in nearly at an end (until, of course, the Rohan fighters arrive and Aragorn sweeps in with his ghost army).

Black moment

• Is usually at the end of the middle section of a novel.

• The obstacles standing in the way are too numerous, too monumental, too impossible.

• The hero must think, regroup, find a way to bust through this obstacle, make a choice that is usually costly to him/her personally, or extremely risky.

A final thing to consider is endlines, for chapters and for the novel itself.

• They should form a bridge to the next scene or

• Contain a strong dramatic statement.

One of the strengths in writing that I possess is the ability to create powerful endlines, at least I've been told as much from colleagues. Examine my chapter endlines for examples.

Excerpt from Time Meddlers on the Nile

"This is insane," said Sarah, staring at the invisible barrier between the lab and the outside world. How could they just . . . disintegrate beyond it? She'd always known that no good would come from their meddling with time, but never had she imagined something this bizarre, this horrific. They couldn't even step out of the lab.

"We're coming undone," she whispered, suddenly feeling faint.

When Ideology Becomes Twisted—Amnesty International Protects Human Rights Abusers

2011-08-11T05:10:00.000-07:00

I wake up to the news, blaring from my radio. Often I lay in a half-drowsing state of consciousness, but this morning I perk up, because, once again I hear evidence of irrationality being substituted for common sense to uphold an ideology, or more likely to stretch an ideology to the point where it's hardly recognizable.

Amnesty International, the paragon of justice in my youth, has become yet another vehicle for insanity. In an open letter to the Canadian government led by Alex Neve, Secretary General of Amnesty International, the organization stated it was concerned "about the approach the government has adopted to dealing with the cases of thirty individuals who have been accused of having committed war crimes or crimes against humanity and who are believed to be residing in Canada. Their cases, including their names and photos, have been widely publicized on a government web-site, “Wanted by the CBSA”. Five of the thirty men have since been arrested. Amnesty International is concerned that the initiative does not conform to Canada’s obligations with respect to human rights and international justice."

They go on to mention their concern that if these individuals are deported, they might not be prosecuted in their countries of origin—a concern that I see no reason for, if they were placed on a list as a war criminal by the country of origin to begin with—or they may be tortured or made to disappear if deported.

Minister Jason Kenney gave a scathing rebuttal, mentioning the fact that AI, during his days in high school, was concerned with the fates of political dissidents in brutal regimes such as Iran and North Korea. When I, myself, joined the organization during my university years, we were writing letters to attempt to free victims who were imprisoned and tortured in Africa with no justification. We were writing to free the Nelson Mandelas of this world.

Now AI is concerned with the system of justice in Canada. Did you hear correctly? Yes, Canada. A country with the most fair, perhaps one might even call it extremely lenient justice system in the world, and the most open immigration policy. In the past AI stood for protecting the innocent from war criminals and brutal dictators, now it seems they're more concerned with protecting the criminals themselves.

I could do nothing but shake my head, or bang it against a wall. What is happening when the organization I used to revere has become something warped and unrecognizable.

Another example of twisted ideology, of rationality gone amuck, is the green energy initiative in Ontario. I do believe in treating our damaged environment with the utmost respect and "going green" as much as possible. In Ontario, we have an abundance of electricity, but we're always encouraged to conserve, which should also help reduce our bills. However, we actually have a surplus and, in order to disperse this surplus, we "pay" Quebec and the US to take electricity off our hands, the cost of which, of course, is offloaded to the taxpayer. By the way, hydroelectric energy is a "green" energy; it has little impact on the environment in terms of CO2 emissions. Now the Ontario government is involved in a green energy program to produce electricity through wind turbines and solar power, a program that will cost billions. How does that make any sense? It seems to me it's merely a scheme to place money in one "green" pocket instead of another, in the name of ideology. I'm sure there was slippage of political baksheesh during backdoor meetings as well.

I'm wondering where we draw the line. When ideology becomes insanity? When philosophy becomes merely an engine to drive a hidden agenda?

Martin Luther King said:

"No one surveying the moral landscape of our nation can overlook the hideous and pathetic wreckage of commitment twisted and turned to a thousand shapes under the stress of prejudice and irrationality."

He was talking about racism, of course. But any commitment to an ideology can become twisted in the hands of the irrational or the extreme. The anti-racist can become racist, when he loses sight of equality. Green energy can become a vehicle for greed. And in a world such as this, the champion of human rights will protect the despoilers of human rights.

Deep, Thought-provoking Middle Grade versus Shallow YA

2011-08-09T04:42:00.000-07:00

Determined to read more YA, I sort through my daughter's stack and choose a few she "highly" recommends. But one-quarter of the way through the first book, my eagerness subsides, my focus wanders, and I find myself reaching for yet another middle grade novel.

Why?

With all the current comparisons between Harry Potter and Twilight, it's easy to make generalizations. The characters are more appealing in that they're well-rounded and very moral. Hermione is a strong, intelligent female character who often saves the day more often than even Harry, whereas Bella, well . . . I never liked Bella from the beginning. She wasn't very strong, or dynamic, or intelligent. She just seemed boring. I could never understand why two supernatural beings were so attracted to her. What was the appeal? And then when Edward began sparkling, I thought, come on.

I don't like to criticize a popular book just because it's popular. Obviously it attracted a huge following, so there had to be something I was missing. The romance? Maybe I'd hit upon my problem.

First of all, most middle grade novels center around an issue or issues whereas YA novels are predominantly about the romance. Not that there's anything wrong with romance, (I lace all my books with a certain amount of romance) but it definitely is a lighter topic, especially when crushes are developing, than doing the right thing in the face of adversity (Harry Potter) or learning the consequences of arrogance (Bartimaeus series) or feeling empathy for historical peoples and choosing to rescue them from the ravages of their own history (you guessed it, Time Meddlers).

Now, there are exceptions. The Hunger Games, although, once again a situation of two boys vying for the attention of one girl, delves into much deeper, darker territory. The depravity of an elite/fascist society ruling over the masses in a dystopian world, a Roman gladiator type of arena for children and the consequences of one person speaking out. With the exceptions, I generally perk up. I loved this series, particularly the first book. Revolution often begins with that one courageous individual speaking out, such as Martin Luther King or Nelson Mandela. Despite the triangle romance, this book was written as an adventure, which I adore, and it tackled an enormous topic. Please point me in the direction of more YA books like this.

Another problem I have with YA is the teen voice. Certainly, to create believable characters, particularly in first person POV, the teen voice is necessary. But, at times I find it exaggerated to the point where the teens appear to have no intelligence whatsoever—which we all know is not the case.

And then there's chick lit. How shallow can you get? Gossip, clothes and make up. Shopping is the "only" pastime, other than backstabbing and snickering. What values are teens learning from these books?

Hey, I'm not one to diss shopping. I love a new outfit as much as the next gal. But I don't want to read about it. I want to learn something when I read. I want a book to make me think for a long time after I've read it. I want it to increase the depth of my moral and intellectual growth, while at the same time I want to be entertained. If it makes me laugh, that's an added bonus.

I don't want to think, Was there any point in reading this?

Setting—How to Paint the Quintessential Backdrop

2011-08-05T04:52:00.000-07:00

Characters shape the story, but setting places you there, as a reader, in the midst of blue-white glaciers or spitting pits of lava. I could never forget seeing the barracuda while snorkeling, lurking beneath the surface of a turquoise ocean, framed in a grotto with a coral gateway. Its long narrow snout seemed magnified beneath the water, along with a precise row of jagged teeth, grinning, or contemplating whether I would make a nourishing snack. Can you picture it?

Setting is a physical place and time. It is intimately interconnected with your character or characters. Can you think of examples of settings that you found unforgettable? What was it about the writing that made the setting so memorable, so real?

Describing simply copies what is seen. Some budding writers tend to include everything, as a visual. But that would bore your readers to tears. Describing includes everything witnessed in an attempt to elicit emotions by filling in every blank spot on a canvas. But it doesn't work.

"Setting selects details that are essential and places only them on the page. Setting is intentional and careful, choosing the details that will lead to a deliberate response."

                                                                       —R. Andrew Wilson, Write Like Hemingway

The small boys came early to the hanging.

It was still dark when the first three or four of them sidled out of the hovels, quiet as cats in their felt boots. A thin layer of fresh snow covered the little town like a new coat of paint, and theirs were the first footprints to blemish its perfect surface. They picked their way through the huddled wooden huts and along the streets of frozen mud to the silent marketplace, where the gallows stood waiting.

                                                                    —Ken Follet, The Pillars of the Earth

What emotion does this elicit?

Setting certainly incorporates location, landscape, but its more than that. It's a crucial part of the story including aspects of geography, characters daily activities, and the time and atmosphere in which the characters live.

It also includes action! Think of setting in terms of film production. The story unfolds and the combination of background and action within the movie creates drama. Setting is alive, it moves!

In Ken Follet's excerpt, boys are moving through the snow and there is no activity yet in the village. As readers, we sense both the movement and the silence. We understand that this is an earlier time period, with the word choice of "hovels" and the description of wooden huts, along with the mention of hanging and gallows. We get a clear sense in just one paragraph of the time period, the place and the atmosphere.

It is your job, as a writer, to bring your characters to life as part of their surroundings.

"Overloading a scene with static description can pull away from the narrative. Move through the scene in three-dimensional space, describing how people interact with it and how parts of the environment interact with each other."

                                                                —R. Andrew Wilson, Write Like Hemingway

Have you read the Robert Jordan series? I absolutely loved the books, loved them, at first. But as the series progressed each book became bulkier, filled with extraneous characters and such an abundance of description it bogged the story down. I finally put the series down. I never read another book after Eight. And occasionally I felt like screaming "get on the with story" as I read the last four books. The imaginative world and intriguing beginning kept pulling me forward, but the static description ended my journey. Always remember the reader, and don't get caught up in your love of words and your own ability to paint a glorious picture with them. Never forget the story.

To create an effective setting, it begins with careful observation, but you also need an understanding of how tapping into the senses creates emotions in your readers. Simply by how the scene is described, the reader is given a sense of awe, pain, joy, fear or other strong emotions.

Description with Dialogue and Action:

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

‘Heads down!’ yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy which hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbour, where they clambered out on to the rocks and pebbles.

                                                —J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone

Does this description of the castle at Hogwarts evoke a sense of awe and wonderment? Do the children seem like ants in its presence?

Description and Action:

When I landed on the top of a lamppost in the London dusk it was peeing with rain. This was just my luck. I had taken the form of a blackbird, a sprightly fellow with a bright yellow beak and jet-black plumage. Within seconds I was as bedraggled a fowl as ever hunched its wings in Hampstead. Flicking my head from side to side , I spied a large beech tree. Leaves moldered at its foot—it had already been stripped clean by the November winds—but the thick sprouting of its branches offered some protection from the wet. I flew over it, passing above a lone car that purred its way along the wide suburban street. Behind high walls and the evergreen foliage of their gardens, the ugly white facades of several sizeable villas shone through the dark like the faces of the dead.

                                                                   —Jonathon Stroud, The Amulet of Samarkand

Don't you feel as drenched as the blackbird? Can you picture a gloomy November day in London? Does it heap on your shoulders a rather oppressive feeling?

Another thing to consider is that setting must enhance the conflict. Not only is it connected to your characters, but also to plot.

Think of Moby Dick vs Captain Ahab on the high seas. The Summoning takes place in a half-way house for the mentally challenged—ideally suited for conflict and relates directly to the protagonist's problem. In The Sun Also Rises, Hemingway uses Spain in the arena of bullfighting and nightclubs with the occasional drunken brawl.

Another way to enhance conflict is to use confined spaces. In Ice Tomb, the settings include a moon base, small, prefab buildings in Antarctica, and a tunnel beneath the ice sheet. Sinkhole takes place in an extremely dangerous network of caves.

Style and structure are very important to keep the reader glued to the page. Remember to describe your world without making it sound like a grocery list. As shown in the examples above, mix in action, dialogue, and description. Vary sentence length. Too many short sentences will make it sound juvenile, but action sequences work well with short sentences. As often as possible, without becoming tedious, use all the senses.

The little Bed and Breakfast just outside of Hilo on the active island. She could still see the lush tropical flowers in brilliant hues of lavender and pink, crimson and orange, swaying in the warm sun-drenched breeze. Erica walked through the garden of cream and butter orchids and tangerine bromeliads to the gently swaying hammock where David was sleeping, tied between two spiked palm trees. A scarlet Apapane was twittering near his head. The little honeycreeper kept brushing his nose with its tail feathers as it sipped nectar from an o hi’a-lelua, a pretty purple cluster flower. He absently twitched and dusted his hand over his face, still caught in the tight embrace of dreams.

                                                                      —Deborah Jackson, Ice Tomb

Notice how the above paragraph uses sight, touch, sound, and taste (to a certain degree).

You may have heard this quite often, but it seems the most difficult thing for some writers to grasp. Use the "true" word whenever possible. Details have to be specific and concrete—not just a bird, which bird and how does it match the surroundings (Hawaii). It will give your reader an impression of the uniqueness of your setting. But it also depends on point of view (POV). If your character doesn't possess the knowledge to describe with correct terms, use similes or metaphors. I was using the word gumbo limbo for a tree in Florida, then realized my character wouldn't know this term so I called it a pretzel-shaped tree.

Some writers tend to include so few details, the work is dull and unimaginative. Some tend to overcompensate with an obese piece of work that loses sight of the story. Include just enough details to give a sense of place, elicit an emotion and then let the reader's imagination take over. That's why I don't emphasize the physical description of characters to any great extent, because it robs the reader of the opportunity to imagine the character.

"Telling" details, no more.

Description begins in the writer’s imagination, but should finish in the reader’s.

—Stephen King, On Writing

In search of strong female characters!

2011-07-27T07:49:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago, I went to see Transformers 3. After the prologue, I quickly became disillusioned as the camera zoomed in on the long bare legs and nearly-bare bum of the "lead" female in the story. Oh no, I thought. Not another bimbo. And I was right.

As the story progressed, the lines she was given were lame, she never wore more than half a dress, except when she was sliding through a collapsing building—then they allowed her to wear pants—and she had to run through the entire movie in six-inch heels. Of course, she needed to be rescued. And the only significant role she played was trying to talk Megatron into attacking Spock. (I know he has another name, but I could only think of him as Spock throughout the entire movie.) By that time, even that scene was unbelievable, since I couldn't regard her as anything but eye candy for the males in the theatre. Funny, even my husband wasn't impressed. He's starting to believe that character, and not simply action, makes the story too.

The next week I went to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part Deux. What a contrast! Here we have Hermione coming up with a solution to escape near-death and saving her two best friends in Gringotts, by jumping on and freeing a ferocious dragon. Go girl! Throughout the entire series, Hermione, more than anyone else seemed to come up with solutions and muddle through whatever dangerous and complex situation they encountered. Brilliant and brave.

It was interesting, but it took other people to point out how courageous and strong my own Sarah is in Time Meddlers. Terrified at times, but possessing an inner strength and conviction that pulls her through lethal environments and unfriendly encounters with historical figures in the midst of wars. I began writing Mars Maze, and this suddenly emerged, something I hadn't even realized.

"Sarah," said Matt. "After all we've been through, do you think I would have let you get hurt?"

Sarah pondered his remark, thinking of all the crazy places he'd dragged her to and the even crazier situations, dinosaurs being the least of their near-death experiences. But then she thought of all the times he'd saved her. Hmm. There was the time they were ejected into the river in a canoe while being assailed by arrows. No, that was her saving him. Well, there was the time that Nazis nearly discovered them in a wagon and they were distracted by an uproar of farm animals. Yeah, her again. There was the time that Albertasauras nearly took . . . Matt's head off . . . and she dove on top of him. Okay, what about the time he pushed her out of the way of gunfire? Yeah, that was Matt saving her. Hmm. Was there only one?

Only one. Matt was not the greatest hero in my story, Sarah was. Women are not stupid bimbos placed in a story merely for a man's enjoyment, and it degrades women every time this is done. Every time a music star thinks she has to strip to sell her music. Women have talent, intelligence and sparkling wit. We can sometimes dig that tree out of the back yard when our husbands can't, or won't anyway. We can climb mountains, swim oceans (maybe lakes) and man space shuttles. We love men, but we don't need men to love us. We can do just about any . . .

Sorry, I have to leave. I feel a Helen Reddy song coming on.

Mars Maze

2011-07-25T07:17:00.000-07:00

The first chapter in Matt and Sarah's Misadventures

All new Time Meddlers adventures, in an abbreviated format and without all the extensive research, so don't expect them to be one hundred percent accurate.

Episode 1

"Now, we just have to slip on the helmet."

"I don't want to wear a helmet."

"If you don't, you know what will happen."

Sarah wanted to slap him. Of all the insane ideas.

"I know it's not exactly the safest place to rescue—"

"I thought dinosaurs were the ultimate in idiocy, but this, Matt?"

"It'll just be for a few minutes. Just enough time to catch hold of my dad."

"Or Nadine."

"Let's not get carried away."

"You're going to leave her in an unbreathable atmosphere, in freezing cold temperatures, with hurricane-force winds, and correct me if I'm wrong, but, where her blood might boil?"

"She left us in a cave in the 1600s with bears and people fighting wars all around us. She tried to shoot you."

"All right. Fine. Be as bad as her."

Matt winced. Finally it looked like she was getting through to him. Now if she could just convince him to send suits to his dad through that incredibly nauseating wormhole rather than try to rescue him on the red planet.

"Okay," he snapped. "I'll try to grab her too. And rip her hair out while I'm doing it," he added in a whisper.

She wasn't going to argue with that. Nadine at least deserved a little hair-ripping.

"All right. Let's go," he said.

He slammed the helmet over her head, sealed it shut and activated the pressure and oxygen gauge. Sarah screamed at him, but he probably couldn't hear her anymore.

Then he shoved, yes, he literally shoved her, (the miserable . . .) into the wormhole and leaped in afterward. The lab dissolved, she was crushed and they emerged in a gust of wind that yanked them off their feet and whipped them against some rock. Red rock. Hard, breath-snatching, unyielding red rock.

"Matt, I hate you," she said.

There was obviously some radio system embedded in the EMU suits (Extravehicular Mobility Units, not emu, although she did feel like a giant awkward bird in this suit), since he answered immediately.

"No, you don't."

"I don't like you very much right now."

"That's only because we're flattened against a rock wall."

"A rock wall that goes up and up . . ." She cranked her head upwards, peeling it from the wall, then realized it was sheer and smooth, polished by the wind, and if she pushed away she could almost turn around. The gale had subsided that much, at least.

The ground was a jumble of red rocks through what looked like a dry river bed and on the other side, another wall.

"I think we're in a canyon."

"I know exactly where we are," said Matt.

"Right," said. Sarah. "You always know exactly where we are, but you just don't know how to keep us alive."

She thought he might look a little hurt by her comment, if she could see through his helmet, but then he said, "You don't look very dead."

"How can you tell?" she asked. Plumped up in this oversized moonsuit, barely able to move and hidden behind sun-shielded Plexiglas helmets, who could tell?

"I can tell by your voice in my head. Unless you're dead and haunting me."

"I wish," she snapped. What was she saying?? "I mean . . ."

She could almost hear Matt grin. "That's okay, Sarah. I'd rather be haunted by you than anyone else."

Okay. How do you respond to that? Why did he always make her want to kick him and kiss him at the same time?

"Um, ah, where are we, exactly?"

"We're in a canyon."

"I get that."

"Near the equator, not too far from a group of volcanoes called the Tharsus Montes."

"And these volcanoes? They wouldn't be active, would they?"

"It's Mars," he said sarcastically.

"So?"

"No. They're not active." He shook his head.

"I remember when you said, 'Those dinosaurs don't even look hungry,' or 'It's perfectly safe jumping out of an airplane.' The dinosaurs were starving and my ripcord didn't even work."

Matt grasped her by the shoulders and tipped his helmet against hers. "Mars is a dead planet. The volcanoes are extinct. It's just cold, and windy, and kind of dangerous if you take off your helmet. Now let's go find my dad."

He began to walk along the pebbly ground, taking enormous strides and bouncing into the air. Hmm. That was interesting. Sarah took a step and bounded forward, losing her balance and crashing to the ground, only to spring up again and fall backward. When she hit the rock surface, she instantly ricocheted upward. She felt like a blow-up clown, punched down again and again, but who kept springing back.

"Matt," she yelled.

"Grab for the wall to stop yourself," he said calmly, with just a hint of laughter in his voice. The jerk.

Sarah reached, struck, tilted, came to a stop, somewhat, against the wall.

"Walk slowly and carefully. There's only 1/3 of the gravity here compared to earth."

"Thanks for telling me ahead of time."

"Hey, Sarah. Aren't you supposed to be brilliant? Always working so hard at school, getting 90s and stuff. I thought you'd know there was lower gravity here."

Sarah bent down, slowly, carefully, plucked a rock from the rock-jammed ground, and hurled it at him. (Probably not the smartest thing to do, but he made her mad.) Because "hurled" is a relative term when you can't hardly balance, the rock sailed through the air like a balloon. But Matt sidestepped it like a sloth, because of his bulky suit, so it just missed him anyway.

"Hey," he said. "You could have smashed my helmet."

"Or it could have bounced off your helmet and came back to me."

He looked like he was trying to cross his arms in disgust, which wasn't working at all with his puffed-up sleeves. "Let's get moving," he snipped.

Sarah began moving, slowly and carefully, one monstrous step after another, bounding up and down and, after a while, actually enjoying the sensation of walking on a trampoline.

The only problem was, they kept coming to forks, branches in the canyon that led in different directions, and it seemed as if, by his hesitation, Matt didn't know which direction to take. Along the way the path itself twisted and turned, rose and fell like a roller coaster, and sometimes it felt as if they were heading back the same way they'd come.

"Do you have any idea where we're going?" she finally asked.

"Of course."

"Matt, this is a maze."

"A maze that will eventually lead us to the base of the volcano where Dad is supposed to land. I know where I'm going."

"Right," said Sarah.

Well, there was nothing to do but keep following Matt and keep . . . getting lost. But at least she was getting the hang of this "walking in low gravity" thing, and it made her feel airy and almost giddy.

"Hey, Matt," she said. "This is kind of fun."

"Yeah, I know," he replied, leaping forward, making football fields seem like tennis courts. "If you bend your knees you can go even farther and higher." He crouched down on the next step and sprang into the air, sailing forward, upward, into the pale pink sky and . . . disappearing over the rim of the canyon.

Oh no, she thought. Not now.

She screamed: "Matt, Matt, MATT!!"

But he didn't answer. Was he hurt, his helmet cracked or his suit torn, leaking precious pressure and oxygen? Was he dead?

And it would be just like him to lead her onto a deadly planet, through a maze with no end in sight, and then . . . die. If he wasn't dead, she was going to kill him!

"Matt," she called again. "Please don't be dead."

Episode 2

Okay, there had to be a way to do this. Crouch, spring, fly.

Up Sarah sailed, into the vast red-tinged sky, heading for the lip of the canyon. Except, the wind decided at that instant to careen through the inlets and outlets of the maze and send her crashing back to the surface of the gully.

"Not fair," she yelled at the gritty air, shaking her fist.

"Arrghhh," she heard someone moan inside her helmet. It could only be Matt.

"Matt? Are you there? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm here, wherever here is. And no, I'm not okay."

"Where are you? I'll try to find you."

"Don't know. Arrghhh," he groaned again.

"Stay still. I know what to do. I'll just follow the sound . . . of your voice."

"Uh huh," said Matt. Despite the edge of pain in his voice, there was an audible smirk too.

Sarah waited for the wind to abate, somewhat. Then she crouched and sprang again. This time she reached the top of the canyon and grabbed for some rocks with her marshmallow gloves.

"Can you hear me, Sarah? Is my voice getting any louder?"

"Cut it out," she snapped, grappling and managing to scramble over the edge. Of course she heard him through some sort of radio system in her EMU suit, so his voice would stay at exactly the same volume, unless she cranked it higher. And she knew she'd given him more ammunition to tease her the minute she'd said it.

She bounced to her feet, nearly tipped back down, then shot out her arms to maintain some sort of Michelin Man balance. Now, to look for Matt. There was a thin haze in the air, almost like fog, and she couldn't see more than a metre to either side. Cautiously, she tramped forward, sending puffs of red dust into the air.

"I knew this was a mistake," she hissed under her breath. Even under her breath was loud enough to carry through the radio, though.

"Don't you think you're jumping the gun," said Matt. "I may be in pain, but . . . we're on Mars."

"Why is there fog, then?" She shuffled another two exaggerated steps.

"Oh, um, not sure. I thought I read something about water vapour in these canyons. They might have been old river beds."

"It's creepy."

Matt actually laughed. "Come on. It's not like it's a swamp, with snakes or alligators. It's not like there are vampires."

"How can you be so sure? If we're in another universe . . ."

"Some things may be different." He sucked in his breath. "Sorry, just tried to move my leg."

"D'you think it's broken?"

"Nah," he said. "Just a little banged up. Anyway, like I was saying, different, but not horror story different."

"How can you be so sure?" Sarah took another step. "What if the horror stories are based on something real? What if they came from people who'd travelled to other universes?"

"Now you're just being ridiculous."

"Now I'm taking logic one step further. We now know there are a lot more places to go than our own planet, or solar system, or universe. We could have made up legends because of our wild dreams and imaginations, but they could also be based on someone's real experience."

"Just keep following my voice," said Matt. He was so infuriating sometimes, not only dismissing her theory without even a discussion, but returning right back to her original blunder.

"I'm not stupid." She slammed her foot down and the impact rippled through her. This low gravity was becoming a nightmare.

"Never said you were. Smartest person I know. Just sometimes you get freaked out over nothing."

"I don't get freaked— Ahhhhhhh!" She tripped over a mound of . . . something and pounded into the ground.

"Sarah?"

"It's okay. I'm okay." She placed a hand over her fibrillating heart and looked back. The mist swept over the mound of human proportions. "I just tripped over you, I think."

"Hmm," said Matt. "Didn't see you. Didn't feel you. Don't think it was me."

Sarah's hair had fallen in front of her face. She raised her hand to sweep it back, and thwacked her fingers against the miserable helmet. This was getting frustrating. But at least it made her focus on getting the hair out of her eyes by tilting her head back and shaking it, rather than thinking too much about what Matt had said.

The strands fell away. The mist faded to curling white wisps. The mound on the ground became clearer.

It looked like a body in a suit, only the suit was bluish in colour instead of marble white, and the helmet was cracked, and the body inside wasn't a body at all, but an explosion of flesh and gristle.

Sarah began to scream.

"What? What? What?"

She couldn't stop.

"Calm down, Sarah. You've seen all kinds of bad things. You've even tricked a Nazi, survived snakes and scorpions in the desert. You can deal with this."

Sarah stopped screaming.

"What is it? Is it Nadine?"

"N-not f-funny," she said, but she couldn't contain a chuckle. How did he do it? How did he make her laugh when she was facing a scene from Alien?

"It's a body," she finally answered. "Not you, but similar."

"I take it that was an unkind comparison."

"It's exploded, inside a suit, but the helmet is cracked open. There's no face, just . . . pulp."

"Very unkind comparison."

"Matt, I—"

"Once again, this is Mars. Accidents can happen, and, you said it before, our blood will boil because of the thin atmosphere if we don't have the pressurized suits. Poor guy. You don't think—" His voice cracked. "Could it be my dad?"

"No," she said quickly. "I mean, I don't really know, but I don't think so." How could she know?

"Could it be Nadine?" He didn't sound quite as horrified.

"Seriously, Matt. I don't know." She inched closer, creeping over the pebbly surface, mist and red dust swirling around, blocking her view, then bringing her suddenly right beside the body, like a zoom lens projecting her in an instant somewhere she'd rather not be, ever.

The crinkly space suit seemed odd—not NASA-like at all. The helmet was rimed with frost and the interior becoming crystallized mush. A strange colour, though. Not red like blood or settled Martian dust, not green, definitely not green, but a pearly white colour. What looked like bone or cartilage, even a nose, projected from the middle, but it— Her heart skipped a beat. It seemed to be moving.

"Matt! It doesn't look alive, but something is moving." The nose-thing fragmented and fell to the side.

She jumped back and back, swinging her arms to try to keep her balance. Suddenly she was slipping over the edge of another canyon, or some deep void into the black hole of this red planet. She plunged downward, flinging her hands forward, until . . . some metres down, she managed to grasp the side. There she clung, arms quivering from the strain, tears streaming from the terror.

She looked below, but there was only mist. She looked beside and there was another body on a ledge. Would it be milky and messed-up too? Would it start falling apart in front of her?

"Sarah," said Matt. "I see you."

Or was it Matt?

"Hang on. I cracked my knee on the ground, and my elbow and my head, but I think I can get to you."

Her arms were vibrating like plucked guitar strings, she could feel her fingers slipping.

Matt crawled toward her, he shuffled along the ledge, he reached for her hands.

"Gottcha," he said, grabbing her plump gloved hands in his plump gloved hands. "Hey," he grunted. "That's interesting."

"I don't care . . . what's interesting," she said between gasps. "Just pull me up."

"No," he said.

"What?"

"I think I'll let you go."

And he did.

"I'm going to kill— Oh." Her feet struck, no touched, solid ground. She looked up at him. She knew he was grinning. She would have punched in his helmet if she didn't already know what would happen if she did.

"I couldn't see, because of the mist."

"Yeah, yeah," he said.

Episode 3

"Okay, are you going to stop sulking and show me this body, or are we going to sit here all day?" said Matt.

"I thought you were injured," snapped Sarah, hunched over on a rock. A miserable red rock. "And I thought you were nice, too, but you never warned me before you dropped me into what could have been a kilometre-deep canyon."

"It was a 1½-metre crater. You were almost at the bottom. Well, maybe not quite."

"Was that a short joke? Because if it was—"

"Sarah," said Matt. "After all we've been through, do you think I would have let you get hurt?"

Sarah pondered his remark, thinking of all the crazy places he'd dragged her to and the even crazier situations, dinosaurs being the least of their near-death experiences. But then she thought of all the times he'd saved her. Hmm. There was the time they were ejected into the river in a canoe while being assailed by arrows. No, that was her saving him. Well, there was the time that Nazis nearly discovered them in a wagon and they were distracted by an uproar of farm animals. Yeah, her again. There was the time that Albertasauras nearly took . . . Matt's head off . . . and she dove on top of him. Okay, what about the time he pushed her out of the way of gunfire? Yeah, that was Matt saving her. Hmm. Was there only one?

"Matt, I'm starting to think that you're not as reliable as you make yourself out to be."

"Ouch," he said.

"I'm sorry, but you have to consider the dangers—"

"I wasn't saying 'ouch' because you don't trust me, although that is a little insulting. I was saying 'ouch' because I rolled about fifty times when I flew up from the canyon and I have bruises over ninety percent of my body."

Sarah eyed him. He was still encased in a rotund EMU suit that had at least twelve layers of padding. "I think you have bruises on ten percent of your body, if that."

He gazed at her through the oversized bubble on his head, pursed his lips, then abruptly changed the subject. "So where did you say this body was? I need to make sure it isn't Dad."

"Over there," she said, pointing to the north, near the lip of the canyon. The haze had grown thicker, like the clouds that engulfed Niagara Falls. They could see only a dim outline of a human shape. Well, not really human, because it was encased in a bulging suit, and was mostly mush.

"Matt, I thought your dad wouldn't have a suit. That's why you were so worried and wanted to yank him out of here before he . . . exploded."

"You're right. It can't be my dad." He scrambled to his feet anyway, teetering on his perhaps-a-little injured legs. "But that means there are people here, if it was a person? Do you think it was a person?"

Sarah shrugged. "What else would it be?"

He didn't answer.

"Matt, you're not suggesting it's an alien."

"Little green men," he said.

"Matt, the rovers didn't find any life, other than bacteria."

"In our universe. Weren't you the one who thought that our myths came from other universes? Maybe it's a vampire." He chuckled, and the urge to make his perhaps-a-little injured leg into a perhaps-you-need-a-cast injury rippled through her.

"Come on," she said. "Find out for yourself. Do some CSI investigating. Get your hands dirty." She'd love to see him cringe.

She grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the shape. But as they approached and the mist cleared away, her anger at Matt's teasing was replaced with appropriate heart-stopping fear. She'd seen enough movies to know you don't go investigate the strange sound, or approach the mysterious person, particularly if the mysterious person is dead and ripped apart and splintering in front your eyes. You run the other way.

Matt even seemed to be hesitating.

The body was just as she'd seen it, without a nose or eyes or a face. It looked like a mass of milk curds.

"Yeah, not a pretty picture. Don't think it's my dad. Looks like Nadine, though. The suit is weird, a lot thinner than what NASA makes. Maybe that's why he's dead. It ripped open on a rock, or he fell jumping out of a canyon and really banged up his body," he emphasized, massaging his leg with gloves that couldn't massage anything, "tearing open the suit that way. Or it could have been a micrometeorite, penetrating the helmet. Could have been anything."

"But who is he? Why is he here? We're not very far in the future."

"Isabelle didn't really specify which universe she was sending us to. Maybe the Mars Mission started way before our time in another universe."

"So this is an astronaut. But his skin, if it is skin, doesn't look the right colour. It looks like silvery scales over white stuff."

"Hmm," said Matt. "Fishy."

"Now you're just making fun of me again."

"No, it really does look weird. Maybe if we open the suit . . ." He stepped forward. Was he crazy?

"Matt, don't touch—"

He touched. The flesh flaked away but some white residue attached itself to his glove. "You know," she said, furious now, "I thought skydiving and interfering in history until you almost erase yourself was the ultimate in idiocy, but I think you just took the cake. What did I tell you they found on Mars?

"Huh?" He was still examining the sticky substance.

"Bacteria. That's what I said. Now you just touched what could be dangerous, flesh-eating bacteria."

"What if humans evolved differently?" he said, ignoring her while he pondered and studied and nearly killed himself, just like his dad. "What if they never made it out of the ocean in this universe, and became some sort of intelligent fish?"

"Fish that could build rockets and travel to Mars? Oh, what am I saying? Matt, did you hear a word? That could be deadly and you just touched it."

"Isabelle will fix me if I start getting sick."

That was his answer to everything. The darn computer can fix it. She can repair DNA, so who cares if we get shot, or trampled, or nearly eaten by lions. Who cares?

"She won't be able to repair that." She pointed at the body, or the remnants of what looked like it might be a body.

"You worry too much. We're in our suits."

Just then, the suit on the pseudo-body began pulsating. Sarah froze, her mind and body suddenly locked. Matt stepped back, pulling her with and touching her suit with the jelly-like stuff on his hand.

The Martian's suit split open down the middle and a torrent of fluid escaped. Fluid that was tinged blue and green, even in the red glow of the dust-smothered sun. The suit fragmented in various locations, the arms fell away and the legs disintegrated. The suit was dissolving.

"Matt," shrieked Sarah. She couldn't help it. I mean, she'd been through a lot and most of the time she didn't cry (well, maybe a little) or yell or scream (unless she was falling out of an airplane), but who could expect her not to shriek when confronted with a fragmenting fishy body on a blood-boiling planet that might or might not be predicting their fate.

"It's okay, Sarah," he said. "It's not going to bite. It's just decaying, I guess." He didn't sound nearly as reassuring as he was trying to be. Maybe because his teeth were chattering.

She looked at him. She looked at his fingers, which were bluish green, and didn't his gloves look thinner?

"Matt," she said. "I think your suit is dissolving."

Episode 4

Now what? Matt had just touched what might be suit-devouring, flesh-eating bacteria. In order to escape this planet, they'd have to wait for the time machine's failsafe to activate and pull them back home. But what if the suits dissolved in the next few seconds and they couldn't breathe and their blood began boiling?

"Matt, we're going to end up like that fish-man," said Sarah.

"No," he stated, although his eyes seemed fixated on the disintegrating patch of fabric on his EMU suit. He was gazing at where he'd touched hers, too. "It won't get through the Kevlar."

"Kevlar?" Now what was he talking about?

"The same thing they use to make bulletproof vests. It's what one of the layers of our suits is made of, to keep micrometeorites from getting through and making us lose pressure. We'll be okay."

"How can you be so sure? We don't know what that stuff can do?" She pointed to the turquoise residue, her heart thumping like a chest-rattling drum solo.

"You're right," said Matt, crouching down suddenly and wiping the residue on the Mars dirt. Nothing came off. The dirt just clung to the substance, like sprinkles on a jelly donut. Something was glittering now, too, as if the residue had eaten away to the Kevlar layer. He sprang up, shook his hand in disgust, and snapped, "I think we should get moving."

"Moving where? We can't even think of rescuing your dad if we end up like him." She hated looking at him, so she pointed blindly.

Matt grasped her hand with his undamaged glove and moved it directly over the body. "Him, you mean?"

"You're joking? We're this close to becoming pulp and you're playing the comedian?"

"Where we should go," he said, ignoring her, "is the same place he came from. His ship. Because it's bound to be pressurized and then we might survive if this stuff dissolves our suits."

"What if it's an aquarium?" she shot back.

He shrugged. "Then we make a choice. Explode or drown."

"Very nice. This is just great. You know, we've faced pretty dangerous situations before, but we could always breathe."

"I thought you were good at holding your breath," he said, taking her hand and pulling her along the side of the canyon in a direction the astronaut might have come from. A canyon that was becoming so deep and wide, they couldn't see the bottom or the other side, even when the dust clouds subsided or the fog dissipated briefly. "Especially that day in the river when you saved my life."

"Holding your breath for a minute or two is a little different from what could be hours. And we're not supposed to hold our breath on Mars, I think."

"Why?"

"It has something to do with our lungs and exploding."

"Oh, you're right. I read about that somewhere. The pressure is so thin here, it would make our lungs expand too quickly and pop if we didn't breathe out. Of course there's too much carbon dioxide and not enough oxygen so we wouldn't be able to breathe anyway."

They walked for a while, or rather, bounded, without another word, their breathing the only sound chuffing through the radio. The wind swirled and whipped around them, over them, but most of the time, ploughed directly into them, forcing them to bound backward occasionally too. Sarah tried not to look at the widening circle on her arm, the retreating fibres, the impenetrable Kevlar that was becoming penetrable. She tried not to look at the canyon, that seemed deeper and blacker than the Mammoth caves, and where they could be blown into in an instant if the wind decided to change direction. But most of all, she tried not to look at Matt, because he made her mad, and he would probably die first, too.

Then she saw a spark on the horizon. The red dust dwindled to fine curling filaments that allowed for actual sight. An enormous mountain loomed over the dark cracks in the surface of the planet—the canyon maze. More sparks flew into the air and the ground beneath them shook, a series of convulsions that threw them off their feet.

"What? What?" she shrieked.

"A-rsia M-mons," said Matt, his voice stuttering with the vibrations. "The volcano."

Okay, this wasn't a time to get mad. This was a time to stay calm and focused and figure out how to survive. Sarah took a deep breath. "Of all the stupid, pig-headed, idiotic ideas in all the world! Let's go find my dad on Mars. We just need a couple of suits (which we had to steal from NASA!), we don't have to worry about life or anything, it's a dead planet, and there are certainly no active volcanoes!"

"Sarah, stop."

"What are we going to do now, Matt? Huh? Huh? Huh? What if lava and ash rain down on us? Do you think the Kevlar can stand up to that? Are we going to end up frozen mummies covered with ash just like at Mount Vesuvius? Or do you think this bacteria, or whatever it is, is going to eat us first?"

"Sarah, you're becoming hysterical."

"Hysterical? I'm becoming hysterical. Who wouldn't be hysterical in all of this? I don't want to ever listen to you again."

"Sarah, listen to me." He grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Okay," she huffed. "I'll listen one more time, because we probably only have minutes or seconds to live and the last thing I want to hear is you reassuring me we're going to be fine."

"We're going to be fine. And if we were going to die, the last thing I'd want to hear is your voice anyway."

Sarah sighed. Should she shake him now or try to kiss him through the double shields of their helmets?

"Stop being nice," she whispered. "How are we going to be fine?"

He turned her around and to the side of the volcano a glittering concoction of glass and steel confronted her eyes. A dome that was protection from the atmosphere and might be protection from an erupting volcano.

"The fish-people have been busy," said Matt.

Episode 5

Sarah gawked. Was it a dream? Could some incredibly strange-looking industrious people have created a biosphere on Mars? If it were real, they actually might not die.

Then an ash cloud belched from the volcano and she thought, But we probably will.

"Run!" screamed Matt. He ran forward, too fast, and fell and rolled and bounced into a crater. He somersaulted several meters down the quartz-crusted bowl until he finally jittered to a stop.

"Matt," she yelled, forgetting the volcano as she looked at him sprawled on the ground. Was he, perhaps, extremely injured now?

She carefully stepped down the slope, trying to take slow measured strides to keep from tumbling after him. But a glowing ball of pumice slammed into the ground only a metre to her side, sizzling into the earth, or so it appeared since the only thing she could hear was Matt's strained breathing.

She walked forward again, as another red-hot stone and then another fell into the crater. Soon the sky seemed clouded with balls and marbles and hailstones of the brightest orange, peppering the ground around her. One slammed into her helmet with a dull thud. Would it penetrate the Kevlar and burn right through her scalp? She shook her head and the stone fell to the ground, her helmet still intact. Wow, did she ever love those Kevlar-makers.

"Matt? Are you okay?"

He groaned and twitched, so at least he was alive.

"Matt, we're being rained on by lava bombs, I think they're called. We have to get out of here, to the dome, or whatever it is. Can you move?"

"I'm . . . just . . . fine," he said, although he sounded anything but fine.

Sarah shuffled to his side and knelt down. She grabbed him around the shoulders and propped him up. "Can you walk?"

"I feel kind of woozy." He nearly tipped back down.

Sarah caught him securely in the net of her arms as the glowing balls accompanied by a cloud of ash rained down on them. "This is no time to be woozy!" she yelled, although she probably shouldn't yell. She couldn't make him un-woozy by yelling.

"I haf ta get you out a this," said Matt, as he teetered again.

"Right," said Sarah. "Just like every other time."

What could she do? She could hear thunk, thunk, thunk, as they were bombarded. And this lovely Kevlar might work for a while, but it couldn't withstand an assault from the fiery depths of hell, which Mars was starting to look like. Plus, the milky substance on Matt's glove and her shoulder appeared to be doing what the lava hadn't yet. The suit was becoming threadbare.

"I'm going to carry you," she said.

"Too heavy," he protested, but his voice was so faint it sounded more like a squeak.

"Matt," she said. "For a guy who battles crocodiles and lions, you sound like a mouse." She couldn't help it.

"Not true," he squeaked and teetered and grabbed her arm.

Sarah tucked her head under his arm and hoisted him up. She wobbled, but she felt ten times stronger in this low gravity, or at least three times. The air was thick with red dust, gray ash, and tennis balls of lava. It was like walking through a bowl of Chunky soup. But she remembered, or at least she thought she did, where the protective dome was located. To the right, along the canyon, toward an erupting volcano.

Matt groaned and clung to her waist, his head bobbing against her back. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I got us killed this time."

"We're not dead yet," she snapped. The terrain had levelled off, so they must have reached the top of the crater. Now to find shelter. She walked with Pierce-Brosnan determination toward the sparks of reflecting lava bombs. At least she hoped it was a reflection. If PB could row through an acid lake, drive over burning lava and escape a town-disintegrating eruption, she could do this, right? But he probably had a stunt man. She didn't have a stunt man.

She dodged a giant boulder that crashed into the ground, and staggered forward again.

"You shouldn't blame yourself," she muttered. "I always blame you when we nearly die, but I come with you. I might argue, but I do it anyway. Not because I believe we'll make it every time. I don't. It's because it isn't right to leave your dad trapped in the multiverse. He belongs with you. It's not even right to leave Nadine, even though she put him there to begin with. No one should end up where they don't belong."

"Or step on a butterfly," he said.

Normally, she would think it was the concussion talking, but she'd heard something about the butterfly effect.

"I think we've stepped on a hundred butterflies, Matt."

"And a few ants and mosquitoes too."

She kept traipsing forward, but she scrunched her face this time. Maybe it was a concussion.

"Not to mention some bears, skunks and chickens."

Sarah sighed. "And lots of people."

"But we didn't change anything for that fish-man. He was dead to begin with."

Sarah stopped. She saw herself, a glass partition that reflected her body and Matt's legs. They'd made it to the biodome. She could see inside, but the view seemed distorted. A man was walking by, or was he floating? Or was he a man?

"We're here," she said. "I just need to find the door. But, Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I was right about the aquarium. I think it's all water in there."

"So what?" he said. "These suits are airtight and watertight. The astronauts train with them underwater."

"Oh," she said. "That's good." Why didn't it feel good, though?

She shuffled along the exterior of the dome, following the thick pane of glass and the waving fronds of seaweed on the other side of the glass. She witnessed a gaping creature with a scaly head of almost-human proportions and flipper-like arms swirl around and begin to trace her movements. Beyond the creature, other sea animals appeared. A scuttling crab, a flailing octopus, a hundred silvery flashing sardines. An ocean was being introduced, or maybe reintroduced to Mars. There seemed such promise in it, in this dry dusty world, especially when the oceans on earth were in such peril. Finally she found what looked like a door, or the framework for a door. She stopped again.

"Matt, what if we're going to introduce this bacteria into their aquarium and kill them all?"

"Oh," he said, as if his head was hurting. Hers was probably hurting more.

"We shouldn't go in."

"Hmm," he replied.

"Matt?"

"Sarah. There's a huge stream of lava heading right for us."

Sarah looked and saw, despite soot-like ash clouds smothering the air, a ripple of berry-red and black-crusted lava creeping toward them.

The door swooshed open in front of them.

"We die, or we kill the fish-people."

"We're evil," said Sarah, prepared to step inside. But her heart squeezed in a painful contraction, and she just . . . couldn't.

"I guess it's time for it to end, Matt. I can't kill all those people just to save ourselves."

He groaned, but it sounded like a groan of agreement.

"Sarah, set me down," he said. "If we're going to die, I want to look at you."

Sarah set him on the ground. He gripped her hand and gave her one last intense gaze. The lava foamed at their back.

Suddenly arms grabbed them—long, steel mechanical arms—and propelled them into the dome. The door swooshed closed. They were in some kind of antechamber, like a secondary airlock for a spaceship. The chamber began to fill with water.

"Oh no," said Sarah. "They're too good for us. They wouldn't let us die."

"Maybe," said Matt, "it's disinfectant water."

"Maybe," she said, "you're dreaming."

"Maybe," he said, "water kills this type of bacteria."

"I doubt it. We have to warn them, Matt. We have to keep them from opening the door to the aquarium."

The chamber was filling rapidly. A group of fish-people stared at them through the glass partition, five, six, now maybe ten scaly bodies with noses rather than snouts and hands with opposable thumbs at the end of their flippers. An evolving race. They looked curious, but not hostile.

The lava pushed up against the dome, but it couldn't penetrate the glass, or whatever material it was. It must be mighty strong.

Matt peered at his hand where the residue seemed to be detaching from his glove. It floated into the water around them.

"I think water washes this off," he said. "But it might still hurt marine life." He pointed at the bacteria and looked at the fish people. He pantomimed coughing, choking, dying.

If they didn't grasp the meaning of the residue, Matt's acting ability seemed to do the trick, for they suddenly looked alarmed. Then a vibration rippled through the chamber and the water swirled, caught in some kind of vortex. Everything in the chamber began whirling around, including Matt and Sarah.

"Matt," she said. "I think we're being flushed."

"Never thought I'd see the day," he said.

"I'm not surprised," said Sarah. "It's exactly what we deserve, considering all the worlds we've meddled in."

They were tumbling head over heels, rushing through a tunnel lined with chipped rock. But a mysterious glow lit up the tunnel, somewhere in the distance.

"Matt," she gasped. "I think we're being flushed into a magma chamber."

"Hmm," he said. "Not good."

"Not good? Not good!"

"Relax."

"How can I relax when . . ."

A zap occurred, and then a contraction that squelched her lungs until they nearly imploded. They splashed to the floor, back in the lab.

"Oh."

"Sometimes you just need to relax," he commented.

Okay, so now they were safe. Okay, so now might be the ideal time to strangle him. But was everyone safe? "What about your dad?" she asked.

"Oh, Dad will be okay. Just before we left, I had Isabelle send him a suit in that weird lightning universe you didn't want to go to."

"Are you trying to tell me we didn't have to go to Mars in the first place?"

"N-no. He may not have used—"

"Matt, I'm going to kill . . ." She couldn't choke out the words. "And Nadine? Did you send a suit for Nadine?

He didn't answer.

"Matt?"

"Nadine will blend right in with the fish-people."

"Matt, seriously?"

"Yeah, I sent one for her too. Isabelle made me."

Sarah sighed. At least he hadn't killed Nadine. She didn't want that on her conscience, even though the woman could still use a little hair-ripping.

"We're home," she murmured, her helmet filling with her resonant sigh. Not a thing in the world to worry about here.

Except . . . something was flapping against her suit. Something the fish-people may have decided to flush too. Something that might have acid for blood, or might just make a good pet.

Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeborahJackson5

Join the Time Meddlers Club on Facebook:

Time Meddlers

Promote Your Page Too

How to Balance Writing (or any home-based business) with Kid's Summer Vacation

2011-07-06T04:16:00.000-07:00

Tip 1: Get up early, especially if the kids are a bit older. They'll sleep while you have two or three glorious hours of writing/work.

Tip 2: Project. Involve your children in a project, something they enjoy like creating artwork or gardening. Have them plant seeds, nurture them and watch them grow. They may not like the weeding, but it's a good lesson on sometimes having to do unpleasant work along with the fun stuff in order to experience the satisfaction of a job well done, along with the wonder of growth and beauty. My son is growing unique plants from seed that I'd never attempted to grow myself. It's amazing what weird and wonderful things we have bursting to life in our garden. He also took it upon himself to create a Monopoly game using local street names and his own imagination: Teleportation Booth instead of Reading Railroad and Nuclear Power Plant for Electric Company.

Tip 3: Excursions. Work in the morning, do an excursion in the afternoon, or vice versa. Promise the kids an outing if they occupy themselves for a few hours while you work. A picnic, a swim, a hike, a museum, a water park.

Tip 4: Job for kids. If they're old enough, get them a job watering the neighbours garden while they're on vacation, or cutting their lawn. They'll make some money and they'll learn responsibility, plus it will keep them busy.

Tip 5: Entrepreneurship. If the area supports it, encourage the kids to set up a lemonade stand or a garage sale. When my daughter was younger, we had a hot summer and construction occurring around our house. She sold iced tea, lemonade and cookies, and made a fortune (for her). Of course this will need to be supervised to some extent, but it can still be done while typing on the computer or ipad.

Tip 6: Pick fruit: strawberries, blueberries (especially the wild kind while on a hike), visit a farm, in the morning when it's cooler. Thoroughly exhaust the young 'uns so they want to rest in the afternoon while you write/work. Of course you may want to rest then, too.

Tip 7: Write on the fly. Take along your notepad, ipad or laptop, and jot down ideas while taking your kids to the park or for a shopping expedition. Never ignore them, though! They don't like that.

Tip 8: Send the kids to a movie on a rainy day. If there's an older child in the neighbourhood to supervise, or if they're old enough to go on their own with friends, it will give you a couple of peaceful, productive hours.

Tip 9: Coffee Break or as they say in Dutch, Koffee Tijd. Take a break while out on excursions and sit down for a coffee or iced tea. The kids will probably want a smoothie. Chatting with your kids can give you great ideas for books, articles or short stories. Sometimes listening to your kids is greater inspiration than all the time spent on "deep thought."

Tip 10: Take a longer vacation. When you're all going a little crazy, take a break, if feasible. A week camping or a trip to relatives. Anything to break up the summer.

Please add tips below, if something worked for you.

Uncomfortable silence . . . during graduation?

2011-07-04T05:46:00.000-07:00

Last week, it was graduation week in our family. A time of pride and sadness, joy and laughter. But not a time for uncomfortable silence. I usually suppress things that disturb me. I enjoy a moderate opinion on all topics, attempting to see the reasons behind certain behaviour or situations until all sides come to light. Since the reasons were clear for this, but sad and disturbing, I have to comment.

Our two children were graduating, one from high school, one from elementary school. It was a week of ceremonies, parties, proms etc. Hectic, but wonderful. Of course I was overwhelmed with pride and sadness, especially since my daughter will be going on to a different city to study in university. I'll miss her terribly.

My son, however, was graduating from elementary school and heading to high school. It was sad for him to separate from some friends who will be attending other schools, but, for the most part, it should have been a time of pride of accomplishment and excitement over the challenge and opportunities that will arise in the future.

The children worked hard. A number of them put together an amazing video presentation of each and every graduate, beginning with baby pictures and ending with comments from the students about their favourite memory and what they're looking forward to in high school. Several of the students sang, exemplifying their gifts in music, and the principal and vice principal gave speeches, with insight and humour.

Then it came time to hand out "diplomas" and awards. I was surprised as every student's name was called out, they each received an award or two or three (some even four) for academics, arts, band and athletics. In the elementary school my daughter attended, only the top students in these categories were given an award. We all applauded, not only when the student's name was called out, but after the list of awards. But when it came to end of the second row, one student's name was called and nothing followed. No award. The audience was prepared to applaud, but they couldn't and what followed was uncomfortable silence.

How did that poor girl feel? She looked devastated as she traipsed to her spot in the row with the little scroll in her hand and no medals around her neck. My heart went out to her. I wanted to enfold her in my arms and hug her. This wasn't right.

After that, two other students went through the same silence. Three, of all the 80 or so graduates. How could this happen? I learned from my son that the arts and academic awards were only given to students who achieved an 80% average, the sports award went to any student who participated in an extracurricular sport, and the band award to anyone who participated in band. Did we have such gifted students that so many achieved an 80% average? Not everyone is athletic, so not everyone would participate in sports, and certain people would not be enthralled with music. Should we single out these students "not" to receive an award?

I believe everyone is gifted at something, particularly in the arts, but they must be encouraged and praised at some point to work harder and become enthusiastic about what they can do. For some reason, these children didn't reach the same mark. They could have even had a 79% average, but they stood up in that auditorium as the un-achievers. At that moment, when they should have been raising their diplomas, they probably felt like stomping on it. No child should feel this way, ever. We should place some people at the top, but we should never place anyone at the bottom, particularly young and impressionable people who have so much time to learn and grow and the potential to do more than just academics. There's a time for silence, but when there's uncomfortable silence where there shouldn't be, it's time to speak out.

Techniques of Characterization

2011-06-29T06:14:00.000-07:00

So you have these dynamic, fascinating characters dancing around in your grey matter, but you don't know exactly how to present them. The Dursleys were hateful people, but how did J. K. Rowling convey that to her readers? Liz was an average teenager with unusual "skills." How did Kelly Armstrong allow us to discover who this character was?

There are four main techniques to convey a person's character in a novel.

1. Direct narration. Give readers the characters' description as a narrator in the omniscient point of view (POV) as with Harry Potter or through the POV character such as the example below from The Summoning.

"Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large moustache. Mrs Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbours. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere."

―Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling

"She continued talking, but I didn't hear it because all I could think was, What's wrong with her? If she was at Lyle House, there was something wrong with her. Some 'mental condition.'

She didn't look crazy. Her long hair was brushed into a gleaming ponytail. She wore Guess jeans and a Gap T-shirt. If I didn't know better, I'd think I'd woken up in a boarding school.

She kept talking. Maybe that was a sign."

―Kelly Armstrong, The Summoning

2. Action. Describe what characters do. This is a powerful way of comparing their actions against their ideas about themselves. Habitual actions make a character consistent. If he/she breaks with these habits, it's an effective way of showing change in a character.

One of the main characters in Ice Tomb, David Marsh, steals ideas to gain success in the scientific world. But halfway through the book, the guilt from his selfish behaviour finally determines a new path. He heroically lugs an unconscious astronaut several miles across the lunar surface at the risk of his own life. The pattern is changing. Then he gives credit to the volcanologist, Erica, for her scientific theories over an open channel with NASA. The pattern is changing dramatically. His growth continues in this manner, but we must first see his original behaviour to identify the alteration.

3. Conversation. What characters say about themselves and what other characters say about them.

The following is a conversation between the Russian cosmonaut and David Marsh while travelling on the moon in the book Ice Tomb.

Vochenkov looked unimpressed. “Is just a competition for you, isn’t it? Not adventure of a lifetime. Not most fascinating opportunity for science. Just a race.”

“Wasn’t that what it was to you Russians during the Cold War? As much as it was to the Americans?”

Vochenkov grunted. “That was then. This is new age. We are here to learn and broaden our horizons together. Race is over.”

“Only because we won,” said David.

“I thought you were scientist,” said the Russian, scouring David with a reproachful glance. “Most scientists I meet are interested in that alone – science. Knowledge and wisdom, something to take us beyond creatures of lust and ambition.”

“Then you haven’t met many scientists,” said David. “Haven’t you ever heard of the Nobel prize? Every scientist wants his theory to be lauded and held up as ‘the one.’ How resistant scientists are to new ideas when they break down their own. Scientists are creatures of lust and ambition just as much as the average man, maybe even more so.”

Vochenkov looked him up and down. “How far will ambition take you?”

“To the moon, of course.”

“At what price?”

“Excuse me?”

“What have given up to reach the moon?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said David. “I haven’t given up anything.”

“Really?” The Russian looked away. “I think we’re almost there.”

4. Thought. Explain what characters are thinking and feeling. Internal thoughts and emotions can set them apart from what other characters say or even how your narrator presents them.

Below is an excerpt in Jake Barnes's POV from The Sun Also Rises. He is truly a man in love, but also one with great insight. If we didn't listen in on his thoughts, we might miss that part of his character.

"She was sitting up now. My arm was around her and she was leaning back against me, and we were quite calm. She was looking into my eyes with that way she had of looking that made you wonder whether she really saw out of her own eyes. They would look on and on after every one else's eyes in the world would have stopped looking. She looked as though there were nothing on earth she would not look at like that, and really she was afraid of so many things."

―The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemingway.

"The sulfur cloud contracted into a thick column of smoke that vomited forth thin tendrils; they licked the air like tongues before withdrawing. The column hung above the middle of the pentacle, bubbling ever upward against the ceiling like the cloud of an erupting volcano. There was a barely perceptible pause. Then two yellow staring eyes materialized in the heart of the smoke.

Hey, it was his first time. I wanted to scare him."

―Jonathon Stroud, The Amulet of Samarkand

The remark at the end was internal thought, which contrasts to the description and adds comedy. It lets us know this character is not as formidable as he presents himself.

A few additional things to remember while generating unforgettable characters:

1. Remember to make your characters human, flawed, but in most cases likeable. Dirk Pitt worked for Clive Cussler, but most people don't want to read about Superman, particularly without his cryptonite. Characters have to overcome their weaknesses to become the hero. True courage is facing what you fear the most, pursuing your goals and not giving up even when there's little chance of success.

2. Try to create a composite character. If you're using one particular person as a model, try to add characteristics from other people.

3. Attempt to enhance your main character by creating an antagonist who is a nearly a mirror image of the protagonist (discussed earlier) and by creating sidekicks—secondary characters who work alongside your main character and share the same goal, but are decidedly different. Sarah in Time Meddlers is nearly the opposite of Matt. While he's a slob, she's painfully tidy, while he is daring, she's tentative and cautious, while she has a fairly stable home environment, he has anything but. Another way to enhance your main character is to give him/her a special talent (also discussed earlier). If the character's moral dilemma or ruling passion is poignant, your character will be especially appealing. For example, Matt is parentless, he has a cruel and neglectful guardian and he is desperately trying to retrieve his father. His need for love plays at the heartstrings of readers.

The more fleshed out your character, with problems the reader can identify with, the more satisfying the story. In the end, readers may remember some of the action, adventure, romance, etc. of the story, but with stories that linger, it's the characters they remember the most.

The Death of Bookstores

2011-06-24T07:38:00.000-07:00

Ebooks may breathe life into starving authors and failing publishers, but they will mean the death of brick and mortar bookstores. I must admit I'm feeling conflicted.

What is clear, with J. K Rowling bowing to the pressure of a paperless society, is that this is the dawn of a new age. It will be sad to see the bookstores go. I've spent many a day browsing and filling my shelves with the latest releases, chatting with bookstore owners and listening to their recommendations for an excellent read. But even I rarely visit the retail outlets anymore.

Everything is done online, from banking to mail to shopping, for the most part.

What will this mean for authors? A chance to reach out to readers without the middle man. An opportunity to make somewhat of a living from the countless hours they spend doing research and agonizing over every sentence they write. Authors generally get 10% royalties for their year-long exertion (or sometimes longer), which means peanuts unless they sell thousands or hundreds of thousands of books. Most authors don't. So in the advent of the ebook, authors can make up to 50% royalties. Definitely sounds like more of a fair split, especially since the job of publishers, distributors and bookstore owners to promote an author's work has mostly fallen on the author's shoulders as well nowadays.

I don't want to see the bookstores go. I think, especially for children, they are a place to indulge in the love of reading, explore all the fabulous new titles and simply hang and enjoy the atmosphere of book-lined shelves. I know many bookstore owners work very hard and have trouble making ends meet as much as the struggling author. They support and promote the less well-known authors in their area, and I would hate to see them suffer. There are others, especially the bookstore chains, who could care less about the author, unless they're a big name from a big publisher who has purchased display space for their titles.

So you see, I'm conflicted. I see an opportunity arising for authors and perhaps some publishers, if they keep up with our advancing technology. But I don't see any hope for the brick and mortar bookstore. It's sad to write an epitaph.

How to Create an Effective Character III—Antagonist

2011-06-20T06:54:00.000-07:00

Characters we love to hate.

Nothing appeals to fiction readers more, other than a fascinating protagonist, is an antagonist or villain that makes them squirm or boil with anger. Just as there are certain qualities that make a good protagonist, so there are also standard qualities that make a good (or really bad, which is actually what you're after) antagonist.

What makes a good/bad antagonist.

He/ she will be evil. Think of the seven deadly sins: wrath, greed, sloth (not one to consider too much) pride, lust, envy, and gluttony. Your antagonist will have at least one of these qualities, often more. Greed is usually on the top of the list. Antagonists will definitely be selfish, but try to round these characters out as well, make them three-dimensional. They may be average, but should still have unique characteristics. In Time Meddlers Nadine is neglectful and cruel, she has no trouble sending some meddlesome kids to their deaths, but she's also squeamish of spiders, she's meticulous and painfully tidy, and she has moral conflicts regarding the time machine and what it could potentially do. She has some motives which aren't entirely selfish. We love to hate her at first, but then we come to understand her a little more.

He/she will not appear to be evil—particularly in a mystery. Often the antagonist is hidden for a time period, or sometimes until the end of the story. It adds to the shock when the true antagonist is revealed. In Harry Potter we're unaware that Professor Quirrell is actually being possessed by Voldemort until the end of the story. This is also the case with Mad-Eye Moody, who was Barty Crouch Jr. under the influence of polyjuice potion.

He/she will be clever and resourceful. There can be no thrill of the hunt, or satisfaction with the hero's success if he has defeated an average creature or one of lesser intelligence. The greater the challenge, the more satisfied the reader is when the antagonist is finally defeated. It also gives the author the opportunity to provide numerous conflicts in the story. How many obstacles did Sauron set in Frodo's path: ringwraiths, evil wizards, orks, goblins, wars and a near impenetrable border with an alternate entrance through a cave guarded by a giant spider.

He/she will be wounded. A human factor that has to do with psychology. A wounded character will act out, sometimes in a reprehensible fashion, but readers may feel some pity for this character. Gollum was tormented by the ring, its power altered him and made him obsessive about its possession. We understand why he became a deranged creature who ultimately opposes Frodo, because of what he perceives as a betrayal. The antagonist in Sinkhole is a Mayan who grew up in abject poverty, was beaten down at every attempt he made to shout for human rights, and was unable to prevent his sister and fiance's murder by paramilitary acting under government sanction. Is it any wonder he became an extremist?

He/she will be afraid. Fear in antagonists makes them act irrationally, creating terrifying situations. Terrorists are often programmed, but their motive can be related to fear of western society, of values that are different and freedoms that threaten to undo their way of life (everyone likes to cling to the familiar). Their evil acts are often perpetrated because of fear. Kelley Armstrong's antagonists in The Summoning series are trying to eliminate children with exceptional abilities (supernatural) because they fear the power these children possess and the "evil" things they may be capable of.

Antagonists can have any number of these qualities, but the most important thing to consider is that their actions and motives must come in direct conflict with the protagonist and his goal. You will find that often the protagonist and antagonist are mirror images of each other. One or two changes in personality or incidents of fate and we would see how the protagonist might have turned out, often for the worst. In The Sun Also Rises, Jake Barnes and Robert Cohn are both Americans, writers, working abroad and they both desire the same woman. But Robert Cohn is a lesser character—he doesn't have the same moral code as Jake. In Time Meddlers, Matt and Nadine seem to be opposites, but if you look close, you will see that they're both defiant and intelligent, they were both neglected as children, and they both have a moral code, but in Nadine, she takes it to the extreme, crossing other moral boundaries to uphold her code.

The main thing to consider is how dynamic to make the character. While the protagonist usually grows and transforms throughout the story, the antagonist most likely will not.

How Characters Develop a Life of Their Own

2011-06-16T06:18:00.000-07:00

Isn't it strange how characters sometimes begin one way and evolve into something quite different. Take my antagonist, Nadine, for example. She began as the cardboard villain, evil, selfish, with no apparent redeeming qualities whatsoever, but suddenly she took on a life of her own, quite different from Lemony Snicket's Count Olaf. I mean, she actually has a conscience. Not the typical conscience you or I have. She has no problem abducting children and throwing them into time machines. But she draws the line at murder, although being sufficiently threatening with a gun doesn't seem to bother her at all.

But Nadine has developed motives that are perhaps even superior to Matt's time meddling attempts at seeking justice. I'm not going to give them away, since you haven't read the third book yet, but it may surprise you. It certainly surprises Matt, not that he can ever forgive her for all the nasty things she has done to him over the years, particularly since he discovered the time machine.

Hence we have comments like: "Let's not get carried away," when Sarah suggests saving Nadine along with his father on their little Mars excursion even though he'd be leaving her in an unbreathable atmosphere, in freezing cold temperatures and hurricane-force winds, where the atmosphere is so thin her blood might boil, as Sarah points out. Or "Wouldn't mind if Nadine is, though," when Sarah says she hopes Dr. Barnes isn't eaten by a T-Rex. Or one of my favourites: Sarah is screaming in abject terror through a radio communicator after discovering ...(read about it in Mars Maze) and Matt asks, "Is it Nadine?"

No, he will never love Nadine. But he may come to understand her a little better, just as I've come to understand her a little better because she's become more like a regular person, with both positive and negative qualities, albeit the negative sometimes outweigh the positive. You may ponder, as I did, and Matt does in Time Meddlers on the Nile, "Could his father (Dr. Barnes) be the evil scientist and Nadine the 007 hero? Doesn't seem possible, but then, people can surprise you. It works that way with characters too.

Maybe she'll become so heroic and real that she'll walk right off the page one day and rescue you. Or maybe she'll trap you in an alternate universe. She does that to me all the time. But whatever she does, it's best to go with the flow. Once a character is living and breathing, you simply can't restrict them to predicable patterns. They're uncontrollable, and maybe it's better that way.

Follow me on Twitter: Follow @DeborahJackson5

Join the Time Meddlers Club:
Time Meddlers

Promote Your Page Too

And so . . . the Speculation of King Tut's Demise Continues

2011-06-10T06:05:00.000-07:00

How did the young king die? Head injury, an infected broken leg, malaria, sickle-cell anemia? Still nothing has been resolved. But a recent twitter that married microbiology with historical/archaeological investigations added a new twist.

Microbes found in the tomb, dried, dead, unidentifiable, suggest that the king was buried in a hurry. Dr. Getty examined brown spots, "which had seeped into the paint and plaster at a molecular level." But try as he might, after analysis, he was unable to match the spots to living specimens of bacteria or fungi. They're dead, like Tut. So the only thing they might mean is that they died long ago and were likely introduced at the time of his death, suggesting that the paint had not dried before the tomb was sealed.

It seems that all we can do with Tut is speculate. Archaeology, pathology, and now historical microbiology, provide us with clues, but we may never know what really happened. But isn't that fodder for stories? Lovely, spine-tingling mysteries?

Tuthmosis III most likely died from a parasitic infection. I wrote a story about him, which I haven't released yet, and I used that information to create some authenticity. Then I intertwined it with mythology, to make it more intriguing. After all, what is so fascinating about a king, one of Egypt's greatest warriors, dying in such a mundane fashion?

King Tut is fascinating because his body still exists after 3000 years, his treasure was the greatest ever found, and the tale of the discovery of his tomb is equally spellbinding. But of the boy-king and his accomplishments, there is nothing much to tell. He changed the religion from the worship of Aten, begun by Akhenaten, his father, back to the original worship of Egypt's pantheon of gods. He ordered some monuments constructed and ran some military campaigns, or rather, his advisers did. But in all honesty this king secured a place in history not because of what he accomplished, but because of what he left behind.

How to Create an Effective Character II--Protagonist

2011-06-09T07:02:00.000-07:00

I've already discussed the basics of characterization, how important it is to create well-rounded multidimensional characters. Now I'm going to backtrack and begin with the thin character, the genre character, particularly in standard mysteries, but you will also see the same traits in characters from thrillers, romance and mainstream novels.

What makes a good protagonist:

Courage. The hero must act in the face of mortal threat, otherwise the story wouldn't move forward. Also, readers find cowardice repellent and can't identify with such a character. No identification = loss of interest. That doesn't mean that there aren't occasions where fear overwhelms a character and he falters in his mission. But for a thin character, such as Indiana Jones and Dirk Pitt, this never occurs.

Competence. The protagonist must be an expert of some sort, particularly a detective. Readers don't respect people who aren't good at what they do for a living (unless we're talking about a character in a comic mystery like Inspector Clouseau in the Pink Panther).

A special talent. It may be related to their profession, but not necessarily. Joseph Campbell in The Hero with a Thousand Faces (1948) claimed that a special talent alone will put the reader on the hero's side. (This is related to the Hero's Journey, which is an essential part of any discussion on plot.)

For example, Laurence of Arabia can hold his finger in a flame—not much of a talent but shows the viewer that he's a special person. In most of the current YA fantasies or post apocalyptic tales , the protagonist has a special power. Katniss in The Hunger Games is an exceptional archer, which will save her life in "the games."

As soon as I'm in the trees, I retrieve a bow and sheath of arrows from a hollow log. Electrified or not, the fence has been successful at keeping the flesh-eaters out of District 12. Inside the woods they roam freely, and there are added concerns like venomous snakes, rabid animals, and no real paths to follow. But there's also food if you know how to find it. My father knew and he taught me some before he was blown to bits in a mine explosion. There was nothing even to bury. I was eleven then. Five years later, I still wake up screaming for him to run.

Even trespassing in the woods is illegal and poaching carries the severest penalties, more people would risk it if they had weapons. But most are not bold enough to venture out with just a knife. My bow is a rarity, crafted by my father . . .

―Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games

This special talent gives the protagonist distinction, to set him/her apart from the average person.

Cleverness/resourcefulness. Throw characters into conflict, they have to be able to figure a way out on their own. Otherwise, there can be no vicarious thrill of the hunt, particularly for detective mysteries, but this also goes for mainstream and other novels. Even the comic heroes eventually solve the mystery, or find love etc.

A wound. The hero's wound creates an emotional link between the hero and the reader's heart. And it creates suspense. Readers wonder will the wound be irritated further, cause more pain or bleed, or will it be healed? This wound can be physical or psychological—a detective being shot, the protagonist being fired unjustly, or he/she has made a huge mistake or committed a great sin and is feeling deep remorse. It triggers sympathy in the reader.

Often the wound is the loss of a loved one. Consider Harry Potter, parentless, growing up with abusive, neglectful guardians, or Matt Barnes, losing his father as a baby (to alternate universes) and stuck with Nadine. Thomas Covenant, of The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant, the Unbeliever, is an example of someone in extreme pain for totally unjust reasons. He has leprosy and is shunned by the community and his ex-wife. He actually becomes an anti-hero in the first book.

Being an Outlaw. He/she operates on the outskirts of normality. Speaking of thin TV heroes, think of Columbo, the way he dresses—sloppy, the car he drives—shabby. Most of the TV detectives were named after guns - Cannon, Remington Steel, Magnum - were never married, or were divorced, they didn't have children, and never lived in the suburbs. Some lived on boats, in motor homes or at the office, and they never drive ordinary cars either. Magnum drove a sports cars, or flew a helicopter, Jessica Fletcher rode a bike or took a cab, Columbo drove an old Peugeot. This stems from mythology—heroes rode special horses, some with wings.

The hero is always concerned with justice, but not necessary "legal" justice.

Another aspect of being an outlaw is that he/she is often an outsider. He enters a society that is different from his own. Often you will see Columbo, the epitome of the blue collar worker, called into the Playboy Mansion or a television production studio.

Once again, this has to do with mythology and the Heroes Journey. He enters a new world where he has to learn new rules and encounter people and challenges he would never find in the world of everyday.

Being self-sacrificing. He/she doesn't necessarily have to be on a crusade or throw himself into the line of fire—it might be enough that he wants justice done. Generally, there is some risk involved in the hero's decision at the climax, even if he balks at doing the right thing earlier in the story. In fact, the more agony involved in the choice, the better. Frodo offers to journey to Mount Doom, even though he quails at the thought and realizes what the weight of the ring might cost him. Matt does, literally, throw himself in front of a Nazi's gun, to save . . . you know who.

Now you understand what makes a good protagonist, without adding the human web of complexities, of fears and rationalizations, tortured relationships and fleeting moments of joy, stable and unstable fluctuations. Some further exploration of the human condition is necessary for certain types of novels, some require a little less depth. But to write a decent novel, you, at least, have to scratch the surface.

All Things Egyptian

2011-06-03T04:59:00.000-07:00

I'm often asked, where did your interest in history begin? It certainly didn't develop as a child, not in the typical fashion anyway, taking history classes at school. But I've always been fascinated with all things Egyptian.

That said, I quickly dispensed with history in high school, where I had a choice between history and geography. Yet the allure remained, the urge to explore other cultures, other times, other worlds—particularly the Egyptian one, which usually wasn't covered much in junior grades, and not to any great extent before one could specialize in ancient cultures or archaeology in college or university.

Who piqued my interest the most? I believe it was Wilbur Smith.

Have you ever read the Wilbur Smith series of novels about ancient Egypt? Do you recall the slave Taita, first introduced in River God, or Lostris and Tanus, the two lovers whose union is doomed from the start but who will eventually bring Egypt back to its former glory.

The river lay heavily upon the desert, bright as a spill of molten metal from a furnace. The sky smoked with heat-haze and the sun beat down upon it all with the strokes of a coppersmith's hammer. In the mirage the gaunt hills flanking the Nile seemed to tremble to the blows.

Our boat sped close in beside the papyrus beds; near enough for the creaking of the water buckets of the shadoof, on their long, counter-balanced arms, to carry from the fields across the water. The sound harmonized with the singing of the girl in the bows.

Lostris was fourteen years of age.

The voice of Taita lingers long after you've read the story, a story so richly imagined, Egypt seeps off the pages and envelops you.

His second book, The Seventh Scroll, jumps to modern day Egypt, and the search for Tanus's tomb, the secret location buried in clues left by the wily slave Taita. It becomes a treasure hunt, that will send the main characters, Royan and Nicholas, up the Blue Nile and deep into treacherous canyons inlaid with booby traps. Of course, it's also a race between Royan, the lover of all things Egyptian, and other sinister characters.

Could I resist the third book? Warlock travels back in time to ancient Egypt, where Taita, as an old man following the death of Queen Lostris, must help the prince Nefer rescue the kingdom. Taita has studied the occult and now wields extraordinary powers. And the last epic novel, The Quest, where Taita must travel up the White Nile to discover the source of a calamity: the Nile has dried up along Egypt's fertile plains and caused a drought. The final two installments are not as arresting as the first two, but they are still overflowing with detail and imagination, adventure and battles, they continue to prod your memory long after you've read the final page.

These books not only made me fall in love with Egypt, but also with Africa. The Blue Nile, the White Nile, the very depths of Africa, even though I'd never set foot on the continent. I could picture the thorny acacia tree, the waving date palm, the hippos peering with bulbous eyes from the midst of the river, the ever present, ever dangerous Nile crocodile. I still read about all things African, and especially all things Egyptian.

No doubt this is the reason I wrote Time Meddlers on the Nile, which is really about all things Nubian, dressed up in the Egyptian culture they borrowed, or another little Egyptian novel, one of the first I wrote and have never released. Not sure if I will.

I may ask some feedback on it someday, if anyone is interested. To see if the story is compelling enough for Egyptian enthusiasts.

Since River God, I also read Nile, by Laurie Devine, a modern day story of star-crossed lovers, and The Scroll of Saqqara by Pauline Gedge, another intriguing novel of ancient Egypt and magic—a scroll that can raise the dead. I've explored books by Judith Tarr, set during Egypt's transition to Macedonian/Greek rule and then Roman. I've devoured everything I could find to do with Egypt, but I can't remember most of these tales. It was Wilbur's books that captured me and it will always be Wilbur's books that I keep near at hand, both on my shelf and in my memory.

Which books captured you? Are you an Egyptian fanatic, like me? And can you suggest any books about Egypt that are simply too inviting to set down?

How to Create an Effective Character

2011-06-02T05:18:00.000-07:00

Why begin with a discussion on character, not plot or setting or dialogue? When you remember a book, when it remains fixed in your memory for years, what is it about the book that you generally retain? Let me throw out a few names: Scarlett O'Hara, Frodo Baggins (and Gandalf and Merry and Pippin and Aragorn etc.—they were all equally fascinating and well-rounded), Harry Potter, Shade (the bat in Silverwing for those who haven't read it), Sarah Sachs and Matt Barnes (thought I'd throw those in.) There are certain things that grab us in a book, but usually one or several characters stand out the most and linger after we've read the final page.

Character is, of course, intimately intertwined with plot and setting. But for the sake of discussion, I've isolated these topics into separate categories. You will have to integrate them once you've determined who your characters are, what they want and whether to allow them to achieve or deny them their goals. The author has control. There are times, however, when the characters develop a life of their own and take over the control of your novel, and perhaps that is when you've really created an effective character.

Characters generally have goals and motivations directly related to what they want.

Here is the crux of the matter: A character has to want something, want it deeply, to make him or her interesting and drive the story forward. This is called his ruling passion.

The leading role is the protagonist, the major character. Matt Barnes is my major character in Time Meddlers. The antagonist is a major character whose values are in conflict with the protagonist or hero, obviously Nadine. The major characters are often the most dynamic; they change deeply and dramatically and change things around them.

Matt desires a father because his father has been missing since his birth. This is his ruling passion. He will do anything to get his father back (his goal) motivated by his need for love. This will lead him into conflict with Nadine, who has other motives to keep Matt's father far removed—in alternate universes, no less. Matt will grow in his search for his father. He will learn about other cultures and injustices, and be otherwise motivated to interfere in history when he feels empathy for others. Also his relationship with Sarah, another major character who may be considered his sidekick, will develop, and his love for her may place his goal in direct conflict with new and equally important issues. Protection of her, for example. Notice how the goals may change as the character grows, and may lead to a painful choice for the protagonist, usually at the climax of a story.

I hope you understand the significance of ruling passions, goals and motivations. Now I'd like to discuss something just as vital in creating effective characters. The characters must seem plausible. The best service you can give your readers is to make your characters real—like real people.

How do you create real characters? The first thing to do is to look at the people around you. Hemingway forged his characters from composite sketches of what he observed, what he read, and other people's experiences.

"Blend your own personal knowledge of life, friendship, relationships . . . and work. Especially work." Stephen King says people love to read about work (or school).

Your characters should be multidimensional, they may have several motivations. As you can see from the example above, Matt is developing more motivations derived from a sense of morality and justice. In order to create an effective character, you will need to know a little psychology.

Much of what we know, want, can or cannot achieve is related to our childhood experiences. Read up on psychology, understand why fears challenge even what we perceive as the strongest people. Learn how certain qualities are ingrained in us from an early age. Discover how trauma can affect an individual their entire life, but how some can overcome their weaknesses.

Another important quality of a multidimensional character is contradiction. Look for contradictions in the people around you. Perhaps a person is dedicated to a profession, but still indulges in an inhibiting addiction. There could be underlying reasons for his/her behaviour. Even cardboard characters, like Indiana Jones, have contradictions. He's a dashing adventurer and a mundane scholar, who is—despite facing bullets, poison darts, spiders and Nazis—afraid of snakes, based on a childhood experience with snakes.

One last thing to mention for this segment on character. There are generally two elements of character that you see in a novel. The external character is what we read about in print or observe on the street. It's the basis for creating believable people. Essentially it's what human beings present to the world. Michael Hauge, creator of the Six Stage Plot Structure, calls it identity.

The second element, and perhaps the most important, is the internal character. This refers to the moral composition. It forms the basis of character depth, of conflict and complexity. Hauge calls it essence.

Your plot (and this is where it intertwines) stems from character motivations—two characters working against each other with opposite motivations.

Matt Barnes will do anything to get his father back, including sneaking around and breaking into his father's lab. Nadine will do anything to prevent this from happening, including throwing Matt and Sarah into a time machine. Nadine's character develops throughout the series and you will see that she has (in her mind) very good reasons for preventing Dr. Barnes's return. But it is Matt's internal character, his strong sense of morality that is disturbed as he's introduced to people from the past, people who are destined to suffer a terrible fate, and that motivates him to meddle.

In simple terms, we'll discuss a larger-than-life character as another example.

Frodo Baggins. Frodo's passion is his love for Middle Earth. His goal? To destroy the ring of power. His motivation? To save Middle Earth and everything he loves—friends, family, nature. Conflict occurs when Sauron sends out all manner of creatures to retrieve the ring and eliminate Frodo. But the internal conflict that Frodo endures is more compelling. The ring will claw away his sanity, it will strip away everything that is good in him, the basis of his internal character, and become his all-consuming passion/obsession. If Frodo hadn't stepped forward when others wouldn't (to take on this perilous task), if he hadn't taken mercy on Gollum, if he didn't love and admire Gandalf so that it nearly tore his heart out when Gandalf plunged from the cliff in the Mines of Moria, then we wouldn't be shocked at his transformation and understand what a sacrifice he was making. It even causes us to doubt he will actually achieve his goal. And the interesting twist that Tolkien threw in at the end was that he didn't.

I hope you have a glimmer of how to create an effective character. But this is only the beginning.

Time Travel Theories and a Whimsical Look at Physics

2011-05-29T10:59:00.000-07:00

Time Travel:
Based on science, yes. Possible, probably not, at least not yet. Did I take some creative licence in Time Meddlers and Ice Tomb, for that matter? Absolutely. Or the stories wouldn't be exciting and ultimately the experiment would fail.

But I can tell you which theories I based the multiverse time machine on. The discussion may be long, complex, and dry if you're not a scientist, so I'll try to simplify and make it more interesting.

First we must discuss physics.

According to string theory, everything is composed of strings, both matter and energy. These strings can move and vibrate, giving the observed particles their flavour, charge, mass, and spin.

But what is string theory, you ask? Well, I imagine my characters in Ice Tomb, particularly Dmitri, the astrophysicist, can explain it better. So I've placed an excerpt from the book below.

“The music is rather disturbing, isn’t it?” she said.

“No, not entirely,” said Dmitri, frowning. “It repeats. A pattern of four. It’s telling us something in a language of mathematics and waves.”

“What sort of language is that?” asked Allan. “I’ve studied a lot of ancient languages, but nothing that has to do with waves.”

Erica stared at him for a minute, trying to dredge up a memory that was buried in her brain. “Yes, you did. You said in the chamber beneath the sphinx there were strange oscillating lines and four numbers repeated over and over.”

“Well, yes. As I told you before, four was a special number to the ancients. Native Americans had a widespread numerical theme consisting of the four directions of space, the four divisions of time – day, night, the moon and the year – the four parts of everything that grows – the root, the stem, the leaves and the fruit. I could go on. There were others as well. The Greeks believed that everything consisted of four elements – earth, air, fire, and water. But the physicists I consulted seemed to think the numbers had more to do with quantum mechanics.”

“That’s it,” said Dmitri. “The music of the spheres.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Cathy, looking as frustrated as a child tackling a Rubix cube.

Dmitri smiled. “It is really clever and not likely, unless Allan is more correct than we imagined.”

“You think this was created by an ancient race?” asked Erica, wrinkling her forehead into the tight-fitting headgear beneath her helmet.

“Anything is possible. The music makes it frighteningly so. You see, Pythagoras—the father of mathematics who lived in Greece around 550 BCE—developed the notion that each element of the universe played its own music. He and his followers were the first people to relate numbers with music. They supposed the elements of numbers were the elements of all things, and the whole heaven to be a musical scale and a number. In this way, music was number and the cosmos was music.”

“So we’re listening to the music of the universe,” said Cathy, her face contorted in disbelief. “It isn’t very good, is it?”

“Wait. Wait,” said the astrophysicist holding up his hand.“There’s a great deal more to it. First, we’ll finish with Pythagoras's theory. He defined music as consisting of three types. Of course, there was ordinary music made by plucking strings or blowing pipes. Then there was the continuous but unheard music made by each human being that reflected the harmonious and inharmonious resonance between the soul and the body. I won’t touch that one. The third type was the one I mentioned – the music of the cosmos itself or "the music of the spheres." He broke down this music into a scale counting outward from earth – to the moon was a whole step, from the moon to Mercury, a half step, from Mercury to Venus, another half step, from Venus to the Sun was a minor third, from the Sun to Mars, a whole step, from Jupiter to Saturn, a half step, and from Saturn to the sphere of the fixed stars, another minor third. If you played it on a scale it would be C, D, E-flat, E, G, A, B-flat, B, D – the Pythagorean scale. The distance between the planets was believed to be a gigantic musical scale.

“Are you all with me still?” asked Dmitri, studying their frowning faces.

Erica nodded vigorously, although she still couldn’t guess what this ancient belief had to do with the discordant music on the computer.

Cathy shook her head. “I never studied music.”

“That doesn’t really matter, dear. As long as you understand that sound, including music, travels through space in waves.”

“I know that much,” she replied.

He continued. “So what you’re looking at now are sound waves transcribed from something else, I believe. Produced to signify what, you ask? Surely not Pythagoras’s music of the spheres. I don’t think so. Not exactly, but in a way he might have been very close to the truth that we are just now starting to realize. You see, Allan was right. The number four is very significant in quantum mechanics.”

“Quantum mechanics? Are we getting into physics?” Cathy asked, now with a very distraught look on her face.

“Yes, Cathy,” said Dmitri sympathetically. “A branch of physics that links our whole universe together. But first, we will deal with the number four. In quantum mechanics, the infinitely small particles that make up our world, there are four forces that come into play. The strong force that holds neutrons and protons together in an atom.” He held up his hand. “Don’t worry about it, Cathy. You don’t have to understand everything.”

“I was going to say, I do know what atoms are.”

“Good,” said Dmitri. “But atoms are not the smallest particles. They have a nucleus of neutrons and protons, surrounded by electrons, correct?”

Cathy nodded with a gleam of understanding in her eyes. Erica crossed her arms. This was far too slow for her taste. “We all understand about atoms,” she said. “And most of us know that quarks hold the nucleus together. Can we get on with it? What has this got to do with the music on the computer?”

“Okay,” he said, looking long and hard at Erica. “We are not all scientists,” he remonstrated. “So,” he turned back to Cathy, “of the four forces, the strong force would be Number One. I’m going by their strength now. Every other force is weaker than the strong force, so the force of the quarks,” he looked pointedly at Erica, “that hold the nucleus together has to be exceedingly strong to overcome the natural repelling force of the particles. Remember how like charges repel each other. Now the next force would be the electromagnetic force that makes the magma circulate inside the mantle of the earth and powers our computers and televisions and the nervous system in our bodies, for that matter. The third force is the weak force, which has to do with particle decay. Please stop frowning, Cathy. There will not be an exam. Anyway, the only force that we should concern ourselves with is the final and fourth force - gravity.”

“Number Four,” said Erica with dawning comprehension.

“Exactly. The weakest force in our world, but of extreme importance. It keeps our feet on the ground, the planets circling the sun, and the universe from expanding too quickly and killing the heat that gives us life. It is possible that these ancients are trying to tell us something about the gravitational force, maybe a fluctuation.”

“Then why the music?” asked Erica, wincing again at the discordant notes coming from the tiny speakers beside the monitor.

“That’s where it gets a little bit strange. Could these ancients have known about string theory?”

Erica blinked. “The Theory of Everything.”

“This is really too much for me,” said Cathy. “It’s enough that you think the–(don't want to give away too much, wink, wink)—built this pyramid. But you’re suggesting they knew about physics – something that I can’t even grasp without a great deal of pain.”

Dmitri looked at her patiently. “It does not seem likely, does it? Yet it does not seem likely that they could have built a structure such as this beneath the ice, let alone a computer. The music speaks to me in particular. An astrophysicist. String theory states that all particles in the universe—such as quarks, electrons, and a very important one, the graviton—are themselves constructed of tinier units called strings. What makes it so wonderful is that it explains the universe in terms of music. Each particle’s properties are a reflection of the various ways a string can vibrate—the resonant patterns—which give rise to the four forces, just as the different resonant patterns on a string instrument give rise to different musical notes. What we might be seeing now is the computer picking up from some other source the actual vibrations of the universe, particularly the force of gravity—Number Four.”

“Then why is it discordant?” asked Erica.

Okay, I'll take over from here. You'll have to read Ice Tomb to find out why it's discordant.

In string theory, there are supposedly 11 dimensions, not just the three we are familiar with, plus time, but rather seven others, including a long one where gravity is leached from . . . another universe, explaining why gravity is such a weak force. In the other universe it's strong, but by the time it reaches us it's nothing but a faint signal. The theory suggests that there are multiple universes, an infinite number, floating in this very long, but slim (so we can't see it) eleventh dimension. Some of these universes are totally different from ours, but others may be almost identical, with potentially identical histories. These universes look like membranes sandwiched together—hence M-theory.

Physicists think that at very small distances—10 ̄ ³³centimeters—spacetime is foamy, called quantum foam, and the main structures at these quantum distances are probably wormholes—little bubbles—that pop in and out of existence. These wormholes could potentially be connected to the other universes in the eleventh dimension. If you could manipulate the quantum foam, you could go through one of these bubbles. Carl Sagan consulted Kip Thorne—American astrophysicist and one of the world’s leading experts on the astrophysical implications of Einstein’s general theory of relativity—to come up with an idea for a time machine to help him write his novel Contact. One of Kip Thorne's original ideas was that we could obtain a wormhole by grabbing one of these bubbles, expanding it, and stabilizing it with negative energy.

Negative energy is energy below the vacuum state—the state of motionless nothing.

The Casmir effect was first demonstrated in 1948, by Dutch physicists Hendrik B. G. Casimir and Dirk Polder, with two parallel plates, uncharged, in a state of zero energy. The pressure is greater outside the plates than between them, so they collapse, going to a lower energy state—negative energy. Theoretically what is produced from this experiment is exotic matter with negative energy density. This exotic matter is required to stabilize a wormhole. Morris, Thorne and Yurtsever pointed out that the quantum mechanics of the Casimir effect can be used to produce a locally mass-negative region of space-time, and suggested that negative effect could be used to stabilize a wormhole to allow faster than light travel. It has also been proposed to expand and stabilize a wormhole to another universe—a traversable wormhole.

These theories are what I based the time machine on in Time Meddlers and the "other" thing in Ice Tomb. Granted, I'm not an astrophysicist, and some of these theories removed from the mathematics and broken down into simpler terms may not mesh entirely with their complex counterparts. I borrowed the experiment that produced the Casimir effect and negative energy to open a wormhole, but in practice, it would likely require a great deal more energy to do this than we can currently produce.

For a fascinating discussion on parallel universes with various physicists,see http://www.bbc.co.uk/science/horizon/2001/parallelunitrans.shtml.

For an interview with Michio Kaku about time travel, see http://www.sciam.com/article.cfm?id=borrowed-time-interview-w

For a youtube video explanation of quantum foam: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=84_kXpsDJEk

For a youtube explanation of M-theory: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4BRhjntvGoE&NR=1 and a model of M-theory: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JXeDpO2MG6Q&NR=1

Also watch The "Bubble Universe" Theory on Youtube.

Blog Launch

2011-05-27T12:45:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know, I already have a blog. But it's boring! And because I may have 12-year-olds interested in Matt and Sarah's adventures and fun coding activities, but I also have writers interested in the process of writing or some tips I can provide, and historical fiction and science fiction buffs, etc., I needed something a little different.

So this will be the layout of my blog, categorized, so anyone who is interested in one topic but not another can easily navigate it and instantly find what they're interested in (and ignore the rest).

Book News - the latest releases, author tours, excerpts

Writing Tips - for writerly advice

Matt and Sarah's Misadventures - you know, those time messer-uppers. I'll be writing short adventures that take Matt and Sarah to various times and places throughout the multiverse

Fun Stuff - quizzes, coding and other activities (not for the faint of heart)

Science and Time Travel Related Info - in case you're interested in the science behind the stories

History and Historical Fiction – for history buffs

Personal Notes on How I Developed My Books - for the curious

My Life and Other Little Stories - not as fascinating as Sarah and Matt's, but I have a few adventures of my own once in a while

So that's it. Hope you take a gander. It certainly will be a challenge to maintain, and keep up with writing, teaching and whatnot (family stuff, you know), but I feel genuinely inspired and have already started to write some Misadventures, along with some less humorous material.

The Extremist . . . of Novel Writing (or How My Ideas and Characters Were Developed)

2011-05-25T05:18:00.000-07:00

Your book ideas come about . . . how, why??

The twelve year old at your next workshop asks: how do you get your ideas? Are they floating around in the air and you just pluck them out of the sky? The journalist eyes you during that long, unnerving interview and says, "Interesting topics," or more like, "Rather bizarre adventures you cook up there, Ms. So and So? Where in the world do you get your ideas?"

Well, I'm an extremist. No, no, not the way you think. I seek out the most extreme environment on earth, or elsewhere—Antarctica, World War II in the midst of Nazi oppression, the barren desert dunes along the Nile, a cave, but not just any cave—the most treacherous cave that ever existed (or in my case, a combination of the most treacherous caves that ever existed rolled into one) or the moon—and I leap into true tales about real life adventure. The idea begins with what I'm interested in, but the idea expands when I begin to read . . .

Caves turn to cultures. History is whittled down to the bare bones of history—the people who lived it. I explore environments, then I explore people.

J. K. Rowling mentioned in her speech to Harvard graduates that empathy is essential for every human being, particularly those from a more privileged background. In order to write about people from history (and the current age) I need to understand them and empathize with their struggles. That is why I begin to understand the issues of poverty the Maya face in Mexico, the plight of the Jewish people hiding in cellars, attics and under chicken coops during World War II, the alternate reality of pharaohs and slaves, even the difficulties of a young girl forced to endure the divorce of her parents and having to move to a new city with no friends. I empathize, I create characters close to the real thing. My ideas spring from a jumble of setting, potential plot, and an explosion of adventure, but they really boil down to people, and that's when I start to write.

So is the extremism really about ideas and unique environments, or is it that authors dig too deep, sometimes, to generate a believable character?

News, News, News

2011-03-28T05:51:00.000-07:00

Yes, after a year of a seemingly plodding pace, exciting things are happening. Time Meddlers on the Nile is scheduled for release sometime before Christmas, Time Meddlers will be revised and re-released as well, to make it more appropriate for all school boards, and Ice Tomb will go out of print within the next two months (through ICP) and be re-released by Lachesis under their Classics line. This way I can revise it slightly and improve it (since it was a "first novel"). I'll also be making it more suitable for all ages.

But wait . . . I'm not finished yet. Sinkhole, the long-awaited adult thriller that's been sitting on the back burner for a very a long time, will likely be released in the next year.

Sooo . . . I have my work cut out for me, but I'm still contemplating a new novel and revising and perhaps releasing other novels that have been languishing in my drawer.

Stay tuned for: a new page on my website about Time Meddlers on the Nile and all the associated research, an e-brochure regarding my work that will be accessible to libraries and school boards along with anyone else who may be interested, an E-newsletter with more detailed information once I have specific release dates with previews and excerpts.

Since I've already provided you with the first chapter of Time Meddlers on the Nile, here's a little teaser for Sinkhole:

Sinkhole

Chapter One

You're insane, thought Kat, as she clung to the spear of limestone that projected into the river and felt it again—a heart-stopping shift in the rock. Isn't it enough that you drove them this deep, she berated herself, but now you're risking their lives? She half-turned and looked at Ray, clawing at the slick rock, battling the turbulent current of the sump, even with his skill. Beyond him, the two inexperienced cave-divers were relying on the rope she'd secured to them as dearly as the nodes on the wall. But if you don't keep going . . .

“Rock’s weak,” she said to the others. “Don’t use it. I’ll try to find a more stable one.”

“I think we should go back,” said Ray. His voice came out as a tinny squawk on the underwater PA system.

Kat caught the gleam of his eye in the faint cast of her helmet light. Darn Ray, Mr. I-don't-care-if-it's-a-sheer-drop-into-hell, now the voice of reason?

“No,” she said, ignoring the niggling voice in her head. “Not yet. If we just descend a little farther, we’ll find a dry tunnel.”

“And more specimens,” said Pete. “We haven’t collected many yet.”

Kat felt another wobble in the jutting rock. She reached for an alternate, more solid, handhold.

“I’m ready to turn back,” said Megan. “There’s no sign—” she gasped, as if the effort of just hanging on was too much for her, “—that the Mayans ever came down this far.”

Kat clutched the next rock node, the remainder of some stubble of karst that hadn’t been polished clean by the water. She dug her fingers into a groove at the side.

“But there is something down below. I just know it,” Kat argued ruthlessly. “After what they’ve found in sea floor vents and other caves. Even on Mars. We have to keep going.”

“Kat, this is crazy. You said the rock was unstable,” said Ray. “And the current here’s too strong. If we lose our grip, we’ll be swept away. No one comes back from that.”

“Just ten more metres,” she insisted.

Kat turned and gripped the next knob of rock, hauling the others along with the rope. They each had to copy her movements, clinging to the rock wall like spiders, just to keep the current from catching them and flinging them downstream. At this point in the channel, the current was so wild it whipped up a lather of bubbles, obscuring any view ahead. Kat reached blindly, latching onto another chunk of rock. But as her full weight rested on the next projection, the rock shivered. It twisted and shuddered and grated.

Then it ripped from the wall.

Kat screamed as the water punched her forward, dislodging Ray, Pete, and Megan too. Caught in the current, she flailed helplessly, her head crunching again and again on the walls. The flashlight in her helmet flickered, as it crashed into the tongues of rock and, all too soon, it was snuffed out.

This was it then, the end. Fitting, isn't it, you incredibly arrogant woman, she castigated herself. She was flying blindly through a narrow stream framed by bulging rock that could snap her limbs and split her skull. The dark wrapped around her like a suffocating blanket, preventing her from grabbing a lifeline that might be within reach, and the force of the current pummeled her chest so violently she couldn’t even scream. Kat waited for the last brain-nullifying impact.

But it didn’t come.

Incredibly, and without warning, she bobbed up like a buoy into empty space. It must be an open chamber, but the suction pulled her under again before she could react.

Oh no, you don’t.

She pumped her legs. Her hands plowed through the water until she bounced up into the cavity again. Now, to stay there. Kat grappled for a handhold in the dark and finally found purchase in a slippery crack. It took the last kernel of strength she had to pull herself out of the water and onto some flat surface. She ripped off her mask and gasped the stale, dank air.

Sanctuary.

But it wasn’t over yet. Ray, Pete, and Megan were still attached to the rope, and as the current swept them past and sucked them farther down the stream, it wrenched Kat from the solid ground and into the water again. At the last second she shot out a hand and just managed to clamp onto a jagged spear of rock. She had to stay there or they were all dead. Somehow she had to pull them out. Struggling against the vortex, Kat slapped another hand on the rock. Although it was smooth and slick—maybe a stalagmite—she managed to haul herself up, wedging a knee behind the limestone fragment.

She was out of the water now, but the noose about her waist felt like it would slice her in half. Keep going. Just a little bit more. Using the stalagmite as a pulley, she dragged the ropes around it. She heard the faint crumbling of calcite as she liberated the first team member from the undertow.

The suction snapped like a plug suddenly popped free from a drain. Kat felt Ray flop beside her, the seal-slick neoprene brushing against her leg. He gasped and smacked wet palms on the porous rock. She hauled again on the rope, wincing as she heard chunks of limestone break off from the stalagmite and tumble to the ground with a hollow clatter. But the drag lessened when Ray caught his breath and must have added his biceps to the task. Out came Pete—the lesser weight—and then Megan, releasing the strain altogether. As they stripped off their rebreathers, Kat could hear them panting.

“Thanks,” rasped Megan. “Thought we were goners.”

Preview of Time Meddlers on the Nile

2011-01-26T05:44:00.000-08:00

Time Meddlers on the Nile

by

Deborah Jackson

1

Cretaceous Park

Sarah parted the leaves of the gigantic fern and peered out at the riverbank. A duckbill dinosaur was directly in front of her, dipping its muzzle into the water for a drink. She glanced back at Matt, who was being far too noisy, rustling leaves and crackling dead branches beneath his feet.

"Matt," Sarah squeaked. She wrenched him backward as the duckbill raised its head and examined them suspiciously.

"It's okay, Sarah. It's only a plant-eater."

"A plant-eater that's big enough to crush you with its feet, or one swipe of its tail. This is crazy. What are we doing?"

"Dad is here, just past that clump of trees. I'm sure of it." Matt pointed to a spot in the forest congested with cypress and palm trees.

"Right," said Sarah. "It looks like the Everglades, but it sure isn't. Why couldn't we rescue your father in a safer time period?"

She couldn't believe he had roped her into another mad adventure, not in a war this time, but in the Alberta badlands 60 million years in the past. She remembered visiting Dinosaur National Park several years ago with her parents—the crumpled and scarred desert-like hills where one of the world's most renowned collection of dinosaur fossils had been unearthed. Her visit had been one of the greatest thrills of her life. Now, here she was, in a tropical jungle of vivid greens and yellows and reds, a landscape so remote from the badlands that it seemed like she'd stepped from the moon into the Amazon rainforest. The thrill was lost to her. All she could feel was the clench of her teeth and the sickness in her belly.

The duckbill eyed them one more time, then spun around. Sarah dove on Matt as its tail slashed the air just where his head had been. They crashed to the ground, nearly disappearing beneath the plush carpet of leaves.

Matt turned his head and spat out some rotting plant material, coughing and hacking, enough to wake a field full of dinosaurs. "Wha'you do that for?"

"What do you think I did that for? The dinosaur was about to take your head off with its tail."

"Oh," said Matt, sounding somewhat humbled. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Now can we get out of here?"

Matt didn't answer. He swiveled his head to the side as a crackling, zapping sound penetrated the undergrowth. "There he is," he said, pointing toward a flattened clump of ferns where streaks of flesh and linen had suddenly appeared. Matt's father emerged, wrapped in a Roman toga and looking every bit as imposing as Julius Caesar. Another figure, with jet-black hair and a jagged pale face, similarly draped in linen, appeared at the same instant. "And there's Nadine," he snarled.

Sarah felt a shiver ripple through her at the sight of the woman.

"And there's an Albertosaurus," Sarah hissed under her breath, indicating the enormous lumbering dinosaur trampling the small trees and creating deep depressions in the mud farther along the riverbank.

"Hey, T Rex's cousin."

"I hope your father doesn't get eaten."

"Wouldn't mind if Nadine did, though," said Matt. "Let's grab Dad, then wait for the computer to jack us out of here."

Matt leaped to his feet, prepared to dash through the screen of vegetation and grab his father. At the same time Nadine screamed, "What is that?" Her eyes bugged out as the Albertosaurus approached, letting loose an earsplitting roar.

Nadine charged into the mesh of growth as Matt made an equally fervent attempt to race toward his father. They met in the middle, an explosion of creamy white and bleached blue where toga met jeans and T-shirt. Both of them fell backward, Nadine managing to land in the large pile of dino excrement deposited by the duckbill before it had fled. There was a squelching sound as Nadine shrieked and squirmed, now waist deep in the mound of dung.

"Wh—what happened?" Her eyes ballooned when she spied Matt. "You!"

Matt shook his head as the shock wore off and eyed her sideways, his mouth twisting into a self-satisfied grin. "Exactly where I expected to find you."

Nadine scrambled to her feet, shaking the deposits from her hands with a grimace. Matt jumped up too, keeping a wary eye on her.

"Wish I still had my gun," she muttered.

"Yeah, I suppose so," said Matt, "'cause I'm bigger than you now." Another roar made him start and turn back to his father. "Dad, over here!" he yelled.

Nathan Barnes had his eyes fixed on the dinosaur, his body immobile. "If I don't move . . ." he said.

"What if it's not like Jurassic Park?" yelled Matt. "What if he can see you just fine without having to track movement?"

"Right," said his dad, making a split-second decision and diving into the bushes just as the giant beast snapped its jaws. Matt reached out for him and pulled him farther into the ferns. The dinosaur nosed the tree above them, searching for his escaped prey, while Nadine scrambled away from a massive claw. It smashed down right where she'd been standing, flattening a magnolia tree and splattering dino droppings in all directions, coating Nadine even more emphatically.

"Matt, what are you doing here?" gasped his father. "Haven't you learned anything? Cretaceous period, for goodness sake."

"What do you think I'm doing? I'm trying to save you before you get eaten, or killed, or something else nasty. I'm trying to save you from her too." He jerked his head at Nadine.

"She's not the problem, Matt."

"You can say that again," Nadine snapped in their direction. "Did it ever occur to you what you may be doing? Interfering, making a mess of everything? Impulsive, like your father."

"You stole my father from me!" Matt yelled. "Trapped him. And I'm the bad guy here?"

"Be quiet," said Sarah, eyeing the probing Albertosaurus. "Shouldn't we talk about this somewhere else?"

"Nadine may be right," said Matt's dad.

Matt faced him, wide-eyed and gaping. Nadine may be right, he mouthed.

"But Sarah's also right," he continued. "This is neither the time nor the place. We have to elude this predator, and perhaps we can finally go home and sort this out."

"I'm all for that," said Matt.

Suddenly the Albertosaurus swung back in their direction. His head came down and his jaws snapped centimetres from Sarah's torso.

"Matt," she screamed and dove to the side, rolling into the dino droppings herself. At that moment, she felt the familiar tug on her body. The failsafe was activating, beginning to draw them home.

"Time to go," said Matt, echoing Sarah's thoughts. "Hang in there, Sarah. It's going to work this time." His fists tightened on Dr. Barnes's toga.

They were surrounded by a gush of air, pulling them away from the jungle floor. But at the same time Nadine caterwauled like an injured cat and scooted between the dinosaur's feet. "Not without me," she shrieked, leaping at Matt and his father and landing on top of Dr. Barnes, wrenching him from Matt's grasp. The air twirled around them and Sarah felt her body compressed into what seemed like atom size and rebounding on the floor of the lab. Matt plopped down beside her, without his father.

"No, no, no!" he cried, pounding his fists on the now-slimy floor. "I had him. I had him in my hands. We were nearly home. That miserable soul-crushing demon!"

"Oh, Matt. I'm sorry. This is all so hopeless."

"No, it's not," he said, muscling himself from the ground. "I'll just set it up again and we'll go back."

"Not th-there?" she said, unable to disguise the shiver in her voice. "Not in Albertosaurus territory." She stood and the excrement oozed down her body, pooling on the floor around her. She must be a sight, but she hardly cared about that. It was the thought of those giant jaws nearly crunching down on her spine. She couldn't go back.

"Isabelle?" Matt asked the computer. "Is . . . is my father still alive?" His voice shivered too, so he must also be thinking about the dinosaur.

"Your father still exists," the computer replied.

"Is he still in the Cretaceous Period?"

"Your father has moved on in time and universe. Son," she said as an afterthought. "He is in 701 BCE, in Nubia."

"Nubia?" said Matt. "Where's Nubia?"

"The Nile River," said Sarah. "Sudan today."

"Well then, we'll just have to go there."

"Matt, I'm not going."

"Come on, Sarah. You can't bail on me now. We were so close this time."

"We're always so close," she said. Close enough to see Matt's father, touch him. Close enough to speak to him, but also close enough to nearly get killed. "We have to come up with a plan that doesn't involve rapids, arrows, guns, or dinosaurs. Understand?"

"But . . ."

"No skunks, bears, pigs, or chickens, comprends?"

"They weren't that dangerous."

"Look at me, Matt."

He did finally look at her, up and down, from sopping head to slimy legs, leaking a syrupy brown substance on the tiles, and his expression did change. Instead of the tense, focused look he always wore when he embarked on his "missions," his face slackened, his eyebrows rose, and his lips curved. He burst into a bellowing laugh.

Sarah narrowed her eyes and nearly kicked him. She held out at the last minute when he seized her hand and leaned his clean forehead against her dirty one. "I always take too many risks with you," he said. "But you always seem to come out like this—alive, healthy, but a little bit stinky."

"Oh, you rat!" She wrenched her hand from his and turned away, hiding the grin she couldn't suppress. At least, on that point, he was right. "But I'm still not going."

"We'll do some research first."

"Lots of research."

"And we'll get cleaned up too."

"Why, thank you." She smirked. "And maybe we should stock up on food. We might have trouble finding it in the desert."

"Desert? I thought you said Nubia was on the Nile River."

"Yes, I did. Don't you know anything? The desert's all around it. You really do need to do some research. Imagine if we just jumped back in there and we wound up without any food or water in the middle of the Sahara."

"Right," said Matt. "So let's go home and do the research, before your dad finds out we were here."

He grabbed her hand again and this time she didn't extract it. She was having some trouble getting used to the change in their relationship, but she kind of liked it. Dad, however, didn't, and he was looking for an alternate place for Matt to live. He wasn't having much luck so far, though. Matt had no relatives to speak of.

They exited the lab and headed down the long corridor to the sliding doors at the back of the building. Just as they reached the doors a huge rumble sounded from deep within the structure's core. The floor shook under their feet and seemed to ripple. Sarah had to lean against Matt to keep from falling. Gradually the ripples faded away, but now the air was clouded with dust, even though no plaster, paint, or drywall had detached from the walls. Sarah and Matt coughed and hacked for another minute before they could even talk.

"What was that?" Sarah asked, still wheezing.

"Heck if I know," said Matt. "Minor earthquake, maybe."

"Seemed like a major one."

"Well, the building's still standing. Could have been a bomb too."

"Bite your tongue."

"It's possible. We are near Parliament Hill."

Sarah clenched Matt's hand as the door slid open in front of them. She reached out to keep her balance, but something extraordinary happened as her hand connected with open air. Flakes seemed to peel from her skin, molecules lifted away. Her hand was disintegrating before her eyes.

"What!" she shrieked and snatched back her hand. It reassembled within the security of the building.

Matt stared at her, stunned. Then he attempted to do the same thing, extending his hand out into the alleyway behind the building.

"Matt, don't!" Sarah exclaimed, but he ignored her warning. As soon as his hand passed through the doorway, it seemed to come apart too.

"What? How?" He quickly retracted his hand.

"This is insane," said Sarah, staring at the invisible barrier between the lab and the outside world. How could they just . . . disintegrate beyond it? She'd always known that no good would come from their meddling with time, but never had she imagined something this bizarre, this horrific. They couldn't even step out of the lab.

"We're coming undone," she whispered, suddenly feeling faint.

A Freeze-frame Moment

2010-09-30T10:12:00.000-07:00

So much of fiction is drawn from real life. The idea—a child refusing to practice the piano—suddenly emerges as a ghost story, or an overheard conversation becomes a piece of dialogue, sometimes taken totally out of context. A National Geographic story on caves becomes a thrilling and terrifying adventure deep within the earth's crust. And sometimes you have these moments, freeze-frame moments you'd like to capture for eternity, just like the still-shot of an eagle in flight.

I had one of these moments last night.

It was Meet the Teacher night at my son's school. My son had also volunteered to help out in the Scholastic Book Fair, along with a couple of his buddies.

I entered the library, with all of its colourful displays: a rainbow assortment of hardcover and paperback picture books arranged in fans on tables draped with white tablecloths, the older early chapter books, middle grade, and nonfiction books stacked side by side on upright displays. Of course there were the inevitable nonfiction titles front and centre, one about mummies, with a crumpled face on the cover, another about the supernatural, with an abstract cover that looked like someone had splattered phosphorescent paint on it, and even some with the rather bland black and white scenes from World War II. I must say I was fascinated with the holographic switch from ordinary human face to werewolf on one book, but I'm getting tired of the vampire/werewolf craze.

I did what I usually do. I began browsing the nonfiction titles first, then the picture books for my great-nieces and nephews—although it's really because I have a secret love for Scaredy Squirrel and Olivia even though I'm way past the age where I'm supposed to—and gravitating, inevitably, to the middle grade and teen books. I picked up a book called Plain Kate with this quote on the back, "Plain Kate is anything but plain. Full of poetry, magic, humor, sorrow, and joy—featuring possibly the most delightful talking cat in children's literature." Okay, everything but the sorrow piqued my interest.

Next to this book I found a Newbery Honor award-winning book about a dog and some cats. It also had a quote on the back and a blurb that intrigued me. I can't remember exactly what it was, and I won't tell you the title, because that wouldn't be fair to the author.

So I chose these two books and my daughter chose another. We headed over to the cash where my son and his two friends were tallying prices.

My son's friend looked at this particular book and said, "The dog dies."

"What?" I exclaimed. "Are you telling me the ending?" Thinking, you've just destroyed my reading experience. Why would you tell me the ending?

"No, I haven't read it," he replied.

"Then how . . .?"

"It's an award-winning book," he said. "The dog dies. Someone always dies."

I looked at the book. I looked at him. These kids are wiser than they're ever given credit for and a bit fed-up with being told what they should read.

"You do realize you've just talked me out of a sale," I said, and put the book back.

His other friend chastised him. "What kind of a salesman are you?"

He just shrugged, a shrug that probably meant, "I tell 'em like I see 'em."

Now . . . I'm not saying that a book with a good dose of reality isn't a worthy book. I'm just saying I don't want to be depressed every time I read, and I wasn't in the mood to read a depressing book. And I think he was saying that too.

Fun Stuff

2010-08-27T08:05:00.000-07:00

I've wanted to include a section on my website called Fun Stuff for some time, but since I'm at the mercy of my web master's very busy schedule, I thought I'd post some of it here. The first section has to do with coding. Here it is:

(Unfortunately the blog program thinks it's smarter than me and likes to compress my letters and dots and dashes with no spaces so you can't read them. I'll see what I can do.)

Fun Stuff

In World War II, the Special Operations Executive used Morse code to send their messages. They converted poems into numbers—called a "transposition key." Towards the end of the war, these keys were written on silk and the poems were originals that only the sender and receiver knew. But first they used familiar poems.

Instead of using a transposition key, I've made things a little easier to decode.

Here a few codes and familiar poems. See if you can decode them.

Morse code

A . _ H . . . .
B _ . . . I . .
C _ ._ . J . _ _ _
D _ . . K _ . _
E . L . _ . .
F . . _ . M _ _
G _ _ . N _ .

U . . _ Question mark . . _ _ . .
T _ Full stop (period) . _ . _. _
S . . . Z _ _ . .
R . _ . Y _ . _ _
Q _ _ . _ X _ . . _
P . _ _ . W . _ _
O _ _ _ V . . . _

Poem (The slashes represent a space, since the program won't allow spaces.)
_ _ _/ _ ./ _ ._ . /./ . . _ /. _ _ . /_ _ _/ _ .
. _ /_ _ /. ./ _ . ./ _ ./ . ./ _ _. /. . . ./ _
_ . ./ . _ ./ ./ . _/ . _ ./ _ . _ _

. _ _ /. . . . /. ./ . _ . . /. /. ./

. _ _ . /_ _ _/ _ . /_ . . /./ . _ ./ . /_ . .

. _ _ /./ . _ /_ . _/ . _ /_ . /_ . .

. _ _ /. /. _ /. _ ./ _ . _ _

Can you guess the poem?

Here’s the title: _ / . . . . / . /. _ ./ . _ /. . . _ /. /_ .

And the author: ./ _ . ./ _ _ ./ . _ /. _ .
. _ /. _ . . /. _ . ./ ._ /_ . /. _ _ . /_ _ _/ .

If you know the poem, it might be easy to crack the code. That's why the SOE made up their own poems later, but by then it was already too late for a number of agents.

Find the rest of the poem on the Internet once you’ve figured out what it is. Then substitute these words in the first two stanzas:

Lost: seen/sighted

Curious: Holland

Nodded: cancel

December: position

Rare: contact

Evermore: tomorrow

Came: parachute

Over: safe

Door: drop

Angels: time

Ghost: compromise(d)

Sorrow: enemy

Quaint: in

Radiant: same

Poem

This one may be a bit tougher:

. . . . /_ _ _/ . _ _ /. . ./ . _ _/ ./ ./ _
_ /. . . ./ . /_ _ /_ _ _/ _ _ _/ _ .
. _ . . /. . /_ _ . /. . . . /_ /. . . /. _ ../ ./ . /. _ _ . /. . .

. . _ /. _ _./ _ _ _/ _ .
_/ . . . ./ . . /. . ./ _ . . ./ . _ /_./ _ . _ /. _ . _ . _

Google the first line and see what you come up with. Then substitute these words for the complete set of verses:

Quiring: time

Moonlight: cover

Floor: portal

Creep: next

Sings: alternate

Orb: close(d)

Touches: rendezvous

Cherubims: method

Motion: need

Music: extraction

Young: travel

Sleeps: blown

Other codes:

During World War II, the Navajo language was used for messages. They didn’t need to be coded because no one but the Navajo knew the language and no one but the Navajo sent and received them. Here are some examples of Navajo words:

English (Français) Navajo

One (Un) Łáá'íí
Two (Deux) Naaki
Three (Trois) Táá'
Man (Homme) Hastiin
Woman (Femme) Asdzání
Dog (Chien) Łééchąą'í
Sun (Soleil) Shá
Moon (Lune) Tł'éhonaa'éí
Water (Eau) Tó
Eat (Manger) Yiyą
See (Voir) Yoo'į
Hear (Entendre) Yidiists'a'
Sing (Chanter) Hashtaał
Leave (Partir) Diiyá

Here is a simple message using Navajo: Yoo'į hastiin diiyá naaki shá.
Remember sometimes messages aren’t totally clear. You have fill in the blanks to make sense of them.

My next Time Meddlers book takes place on the continent of Africa. Below are two examples of ancient African languages. I’m going to write a message in one of these languages. That will be a clue as to where this book is set. The message may give you further clues. The cartouche at the bottom you may have trouble finding. Keep watching, spying . . .

Islands of Adventure

2010-05-06T07:40:00.000-07:00

We knew we would encounter pests while travelling in the tropics. But these particular devils, we never imagined. "Sauba ants that could reduce a person's clothes and rucksacks to threads in a single night, ticks that attached like leeches and red hairy chiggers that consumed human tissue, cyanide-squirting millipedes and parasitic worms that caused blindness, berne flies that drove their ovipositors through clothing and deposited larval eggs that hatched and burrowed under the skin . . ."

No, this isn't really what it was like. It's an excerpt from a book called The Lost City of Z, which I highly recommend, if you can stomach it. We didn't travel to the Amazon, we travelled to the Turks and Caicos Islands—truly the opposite of what I just described.

There are times when research for a particular novel will drive me to travel to various exotic locations—it's such a chore. Sometimes the travel occurs first and the idea sprouts from the excursion. For example, Mexico, and my novel Sinkhole—something I eventually hope to see released, but it needs more work. I didn't exactly travel to the moon or Antarctica, but I did visit NASA's Kennedy Space Center—a pre-launch equivalent, and Antarctica?—well, I do live in the North, so there are some similarities. Yes, I have been to Holland and England, so the settings may have an authentic feel to them in Time Meddlers Undercover, and of course, I live in the Ottawa Valley—where I did extensive delving. My next project—the YA artistic endeavour I'm attempting—stemmed from numerous trips I've made to a certain location in Florida—an island that captivated me. (If you plug the "c" word into Google, along with the general location, you may just figure out where it is.) As I was doing research for this book, I looked into pirate history, now nested in the narrative. There are certain settings that I have to research without visiting, but most of my tales involve a place that has triggered my imagination.

This trip was coincidental—it was last minute, a recommended location, but still considered among others, and somewhere I'd never travelled to before. You can imagine my surprise when I learned that the same pirates who stirred my interest on the Gulf coast of Florida, had one of their first hideouts on an island called Parrot Cay (pronounced "key") in the Turks and Caicos Islands—now home to another pirate—Bruce Willis. Or was he a hero? Or perhaps he was an artificial hero living on a real island of adventure.

Bruce Willis's House

Let me backtrack: The Turks and Caicos Islands are located below the Bahamas and across from Cuba, surrounded by a reef of extraordinary wealth—not the artificial kind—and emerging as a deep emerald and white jewel in a setting of turquoise water—a colour I've never seen in water before.

Is that really the ocean, I wondered. And what are those dark, murky shapes, just below the surface? (At the time, I was on a plane.)

Reefs.
I mentioned them already, but they're worth mentioning again.

I like adventure of any kind. If you skim down my blog you'll eventually come upon the rattlesnake in the path (in Florida) that I didn't back away from as my sister kept yelling at me to do. I'm this reserved writer-type who doesn't talk much, but sometimes jumps in the water, even if there are sharks.

Well, this time I jumped because I was getting seasick, but I'm leaping ahead in the story again. Sorry.

We were ushered from the airport into an oversized taxi and the driver took off . . . then stopped abruptly . . . then took off again. He had a penchant for speed, but had to slow down for the speed bumps. He whipped onto the road—onto the wrong side, and I thought we were in England—but I learned this was British territory. Ahhh. We circled numerous roundabouts and ended up at a resort engulfed in gardens and tropical trees. Coconut palms, saw palmettos, even a plot where various cactuses zigzagged through a white-pebbled ground. I saw this enormous, life-like lawn ornament.

Then it moved.

They call it an egret.

Well, we settled in and got wet.

The next day we took a cruise, a snorkelling cruise. We stopped on an island and were attacked by these huge lizards.

Actually they were iguanas—protected on this island because they're losing their habitat and fading from existence. What a shame. Beautiful creatures.

Then came the snorkelling, where we encountered the most vivid display of coral—brain coral (yeah, it's really called that) cactus coral, ribbon coral and broad purple sea fans that swayed in the current. We didn't see any sea turtles, although I wanted to (sniff, sniff) but the fish made up for it. Blue Angelfish and White Grunts (who were actually blue/green) Rainbow Parrotfish and Yellowhead Wrasse, even a Trumpet Fish. I'll let you see for yourself.

Well, what do you expect? It was one of those antiquated underwater cameras you have to wind by hand and we didn't realize you had to wind it back too, so some of the film was exposed. I know, excuses, excuses.

And there was more than one fish, I swear.

We also dove for conch. Afterward, the captain of our "ship" prepared a conch salad, cooked in lime juice—the acid is what cooks the meat—combined with green peppers and tomatoes. Shellfish usually makes my kids gag, but they ate it . . . with smiles. Amazing. "Tastes like chicken," they said. We trolled for sanddollars on an island, came back with broken bits of treasure. Not satisfied, the captain tossed his crew member overboard to dive for real treasure—unbroken sanddollars. Then they were broken in our suitcases. Sigh.

The next day was for relaxing . . . and burning. Oh, you naughty Canadians! Don't you know to wear sunscreen? Hey, we lathered ourselves with sunblock, but did it make a difference to the indifferent Carribean sun? Not at all. "I will scorch you," it said, rubbing its rays together. So, instead of a lovely bronze tan, we returned with splotches of red just. . . about . . . everywhere.

No photo included. You don't need to see this, and laugh.

As we were leisurely burning and swimming and sipping piña coladas—the kids are hooked on the virgin kind—we were plotting. This is fun, but we need more adventure. More snorkelling, more island-hopping, more investigating of those incredible reefs.

We did find a starfish in the waters on the beach, though.

But that just wasn't exciting enough. So . . . back to Silver Deep—the boat company—and back to the sea we went.

Yes, this is where the jumping in the shark-infested water came in—or should I say, barracuda-infested.

The first snorkel site was calm, full of peaceful chop, a smooth drop into the pristine turquoise water and a relaxing flutter through the waves, gazing at remarkable creatures—mostly fish—but oddly shaped, or swimming sideways with flapping fins, or a rather large blue-green specimen that serenely swam right below me.

A hypnotic experience.

But our captain wasn't satisfied. We needed to see more. The corals here were just boulder-like mounds. "Let's try another site," he said in his lilting Spanish accent. Our captain was originally from the Dominican Republic, and an expert snorkeler who'd grown up in the waves. He accelerated the boat to a wind-slapping, nearly-catapulting-your-passengers-out-of-the-boat speed and headed around a network of islands (cays). He found us a remarkable reef. Unfortunately, it was in the roughest seas I've ever encountered. The entire boat whipsawed in the waves, I could barely keep my footing, and suddenly my stomach was ricocheting back and forth from my ribcage to my spinal cord, then it decided to bounce upward. Oh, oh.

I had two choices. Stay on the boat and . . . mess up the boat or . . . stuff my feet into my flippers and jump overboard. Not always the smartest thing to do in rough seas. You might find this hard to believe, but I'm not always known for my intelligence. I stuffed and I jumped.

Before I could breathe, a wave splashed into my face, and then I was coughing, but not spewing. I whipped my mask and snorkel on, and, phew, I could breathe. The cool water (that was still pretty warm) splashed around me--rolling, tempestuous waves--but I could breathe, and the queasiness was subsiding. The captain and my husband and kids joined me—but not quite so frantically or inelegantly—and we explored the reef.

What a reef it was—archways and grottos, enormous puffy coral and staggered cactus-like fire coral. "Watch those," our captain warned. Hmmm, gorgeous, but . . . dangerous? He led us right above sharp, jagged coral that stretched nearly to the surface—coral that was treacherous to touch, but the waves seemed determined to shove us closer. And the boat was getting farther and farther away.

Then I looked down. What was that? A fish? A large fish, maybe five feet long, staring at me with beady eyes and, were those teeth?? A long row of jagged teeth. He was framed in a grotto, beneath a coral gateway, just like in those National Geographic documentaries. Watching. Is that really a barracuda? It sure looks like a barracuda.

Can't be dangerous, though. Our captain would pull us away if it were dangerous.

I raised my head above the surface.

"Ma'am," said my captain. "Stay away from the reef. There's barracuda there."

I guess it's dangerous.

Remember the krill in Finding Nemo that said, "Swim away! Swim away!" I swam away, quickly.

But not before B took a shot (with his camera, that is).

Evil barracuda.
These underwater shots don't capture real size, and glinting saw-like teeth.

Well, our snorkelling was becoming quite an adventure. But all good adventures must come to an end. Ours ended when J accidentally kicked the snorkel out of L's mouth. At least she said it was accidental. He received a mouthful of salty surprise, and wanted to go back to the boat . . . which was WAY over there. My hubby took L back to the boat and our captain continued to swim and dive under the coral archways, hoping to chase some fish our way, or find some turtles, or come upon an octopus. J was only too happy to follow him, but I was worried, and getting tired, and looking with longing back at the boat that made me queasy.

Our captain, ever in tune with our needs, albeit, at times, after-the-fact—I'm talking barracuda here—suggested we head back.

The rest of the day we spent fishing.

First my hubby caught seaweed . . .

. . .then Nemo (the captain immediately sliced him open and rigged him as bait for bigger fish—shark bait, oo hah hah)

. . . then an odd angelfish who barked and revealed teeth before we threw him back . . .

. . .then . . . yes . . . we caught a shark. Really, seriously, we did. "A five-footer," our captain told us. But that big fish fought with us and, let's face it, these little fishing lines aren't meant for shark, so . . . just before we brought him to the surface, he snapped the line. I kid you not. This is NOT a fish story.

So I did jump into shark-infested water.

I didn't do much fishing. I was still feeling queasy.

Okay, so the time had come for real adventure. Before departing the dock, I'd asked the captain to take us to Parrot Cay—former hideout of notorious pirates Anne Bonny and Calico Jack Rackman and the still-notorious Bruce Willis. So off we went.

On the way we saw a shipwreck. Could be one of those Spanish galleons, don't you think?

Well, since you've seen Bruce Willis's house, and it really doesn't conjure pirate-like images in your mind—at least it didn't in mine—we'll continue on to the sublime discovery.

An island paradise, a beach of pristine water, rays floating just below the surface and conch shells galore.

Hey, and there's our captain in the yacht.

We returned home a couple days later, but not before witnessing some glorious sunsets . . .

. . . and contemplating the waves . . .

. . . and wanting to stay forever in the haven of Anne Bonny and Calico Jack, within earshot of the crooning waves and the friendliest people on earth, and continue exploring a complex and untamed world of incredible beauty.

But, you know, it's always fodder for novels, or even slapdash blogs.

Update on Availability

2010-04-22T09:42:00.000-07:00

Just wanted to let you know that yes, Time Meddlers Undercover has been released and is available. However, due to the recent downswing in the economy and publisher/distributor issues, the best place to purchase (if you haven't picked up a copy yet) is the LBF web site or Amazon.com. There is some mishmash with Amazon.ca--a takeover by Amazon.com, I believe--that has left the site frozen in time. Time Meddlers Undercover is "still" listed as Pre-release and no changes are being made to any titles. Chapters, which has always been a great support, now has distribution issues with our US distributor, but some local stores are carrying copies. Barnes & Noble? I don't know what's going on with them. Borders, yes, it is available. Now, that said, LBF is making huge strides in the e-book market. They have contracts with BN, ARe, OmniLit, Fictionwise, OverDrive, MobiPocket, My bookstore, More, and Sony eBooks. Books should be available on Kindle by the end of the year. That means the series should be available at a number of different retailers, including some in the UK. They're also making inroads in foreign sales--so you may see the series pop up on the other side of the globe one of these days.

I appreciate your understanding. This is a difficult time for all publishers and many other businesses.

Signings

2010-04-08T05:48:00.000-07:00

I'm scheduling some signings this spring.

Saturday, April 10: Chapters, Kingston 1 - 3 pm

Saturday, April 17: Chapters, Montreal (Pointe Claire) 2 -4 pm

I'll also be doing one or two more in May. Details to follow.

In between, maybe a vacation. That anniversary thing is coming up. Twentieth. Can hardly believe it. I'm thinking tropical--even though it's nice and warm here.

Latest Reviews, Course Update

2010-03-10T04:43:00.000-08:00

Hey there,

The first reviews for Time Meddlers Undercover are out:

" . . . this is an enthralling story that will have middle grade readers turning the page to find out what risky situations Matt and Sarah will place themselves in next. Information about the English spy network and the Dutch resistance add historical context to the story, and readers are even introduced to famed diarist, Anne Frank. Also included are an Historical Note which outlines some of the facts revealed in Jackson's research for the story, and discussion questions and activities for reader groups."
Canadian Teacher Magazine
http://www.canadianteachermagazine.com/pdf/CTM_Jan10_Book_Reviews.pdf
"*****Five Stars! This is a great time travel thriller with a super surprising final twist. The story line is fast-paced and loaded with action . . . Deborah Jackson interweaves the Dutch resistance to the German occupation especially hiding Jews like Anne Frank and her family and other targeted people from the Nazis as a key element in the strong plot. Middle school readers and anyone who read or saw The Diary of Anne Frank (except Holocaust deniers) will enjoy this fine sequel to the Time Meddlers as courage is an equal opportunity trait that ignores religion, ethnic origin, age and gender."
Genre Go Round Reviews
http://www.genregoroundreviews.blogspot.com/2010/01/time-meddlers-undercover-deborah.html
"****Four Stars! This book continues shortly after the first, Time Meddlers, ends. You do not have to read the first book in order to understand and enjoy this one; however, I strongly urge you to. It gives more details on the time machine and backgrounds on the teens. As for this story, it overflows with danger, excitement, and adventure. Readers will easily connect with Matt and Sarah. . . . An enthralling story that readers will have a difficult time putting down."
Huntress Reviews
http://www.huntressreviews.com/allkids.htm
If you're interested in upcoming courses at Shenkman Arts Centre, here is some basic information:
A Novel Idea (Adult)--Fiction Writing, 10 classes, 2 1/2 hours per class. Sharpen your writing skills and learn how to submit your manuscripts for publication. From Hemingway to Tolkien, brainstorming, character, plot, setting, dialogue, editing/revision, queries and synopses. Course structure: lecture and critique.
Spring session will be open for registration soon: http://shenkmanarts.ca/course_workshops_camps/sac_en.html#P178_8010
A Novel Idea II (Adult)--Fiction Writing, 10 classes, 2 1/2 hours per class. A Novel Idea recommended prior to taking this course. Improve writing skills with intensive critique sessions/feedback, writing exercises focus on character development, setting, dialogue, fresh language, show vs. tell, active vs. passive writing skills.
To begin in the fall. Private classes are sometimes held.
Fiction Writing--The Basics and Beyond (Ages 11- 14) Learn the basics of story writing from an author--idea, setting, character, plot, dialogue, conflict, etc.--while developing your own unique voice. Complete a story or the beginning of a novel with step-by-step guidance.
To begin in the fall.

Time Meddlers Undercover Launch

2010-01-15T05:42:00.000-08:00

Yes, the day has finally arrived. Time Meddlers Undercover will be launched (skyward) January 30 at Chapters, Gloucester--that's in the east end of Ottawa--from 2:00 - 4:00 p.m. Snacks and refreshments will be provided, and I'll do a little reading from a comical/intriguing section of the book. If you're in the area, drop by. I would love to see you. But . . . sneak in, if you can. Incognito.

Delays, delays

2009-12-04T08:46:00.000-08:00

Sorry, I haven't posted any updates, but I've experienced nothing but delays this fall, so there hasn't been much to tell. Finally Time Meddlers Undercover is available at Amazon and the publisher's web site. It may still be some time before it's available in other bookstores. My launch has been delayed as well. I'm shooting for January now. But I'm hoping to get signed books to those who requested them soon.

As for other news, I've thoroughly enjoyed teaching fiction writing at the Shenkman Arts Centre. It was a treat and inspiration to meet enthusiastic new writers and encourage them to develop their skills as they begin a career that is both exciting and challenging. The course will resume again in January.

Now, as far as my web site is concerned, I've finally revamped the biography section and added a new photo. I'm hoping my web master can get around to changing this one in my blog as well. I'd be happy to see the death of it. But new adaptations may take some time. I was hoping to add a "fun stuff" area and the book trailer for Time Meddlers Undercover. In the meantime, I'm adding the trailer here: (and for some reason it's posting a double image--just ignore the second one).

Fall Update--School Visits, Writing Course

2009-08-31T07:56:00.000-07:00

Book Tour

I will be traveling to southern Ontario this fall where I have some school visits planned and I'll be doing a signing at the Birtch Farms Applefest. There have been some delays in the publication process, so I may not have copies of Time Meddlers Undercover with me. If that's the case, I'll try to make another trip to the Woodstock area this fall, or at the latest, around the Christmas Break.

Writing course

I will also begin teaching a writing course at the Shenkman Arts Centre in Orleans. It's called "A Novel Idea 1." Don't groan. I didn't come with the name. My initial proposal was for a children's writing course, because there is nothing available for enthusiastic young writers, but, at the time, it was too late to insert it into the listing, so that course will begin in the spring. But when approached about teaching the adult course, I decided it would be a perfect opportunity to share what I've learned about the writing process and help others improve their craft.

Launch

Regarding the upcoming launch of Time Meddlers Undercover, I'll post details once they're finalized. Hope to see you there.

Web Site Update

2009-04-29T08:59:00.000-07:00

Just to let you know, I have added a new page to my web site for Time Meddlers Undercover. It has basic information on the Special Operations Executive, Anne Frank, and the Dutch Resistance. It also has a little personal note, and some reading group questions in the Bonus section--please don't read these unless you've read the book. Release is still scheduled for the fall. What do you think of the cover? I think it illustrates a great deal of what this book is about, and captures the deadly atmosphere.

Now I'm on to other things. Time Meddlers Three, first draft done. I have some ideas for a YA series--little romance, little supernatural activity, great tropical setting, intriquing characters. This should take me a few months, or years. . .

March Break

2009-03-24T15:31:00.000-07:00

Just a wonderful break, and we didn't go far. A museum trek: The Aviation Museum, to get some dazzling photos for the website and take in the gargantuan aircraft. The Museum of Civilization, to gawk at the Egyptian exhibit--Ramses II statue, a couple of mummies and amazing artifacts. We took in a movie and a hockey game--the Senators even won! Like a holiday at home, but the sun was deceptive. It's still Ottawa, after all.

I'd like to thank Mrs. Shaheen's Grade 6 class for the incredible letters! I'm busy answering them, but it may take me a few days. I'm tickled pink that you enjoyed Time Meddlers so much. To answer a recurring question--No, Matt and Sarah are not based on anyone in particular. Although there may be a few traits that my kids and I share with them, they are entirely the product of my imagination. But I love them just the same.

Letters in the mail soon . . .

New Release Date

2009-03-05T10:37:00.001-08:00

Actually,the release date has been moved up. We're now looking at a fall release, September 28. I hope everything will go according to schedule. In the meantime, I should be posting information about Time Meddlers Undercover on my website shortly. It will give you a comprehensive look at some of the research components of TMU. Hope you find it interesting.

Release Date

2009-02-26T07:02:00.000-08:00

Hi there. I just received word of a tentative release date for Time Meddlers Undercover. It should be December 28, 2009, but I won't hold my breath, because you know how these things go. I should have some information about it, a cover page, and the first chapter up on my website in the near future.

Stay tuned . . .

Back from Sunny Florida

2009-02-20T08:43:00.000-08:00

Hi there. I just got back from a much-needed vacation in the south of Florida. It was wonderful to escape the snow. I've included a couple of photos, since I had quite the experience.

Pristine beach, Bonita Springs

On our excursions we ran into this "little" fellow: Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake. Luckily avoided a nasty bite.

Florida Panther National Wildlife Refuge

And we tried to keep out of range of the dozens of alligators, except when I was trying to get a good shot.

Highway 41, near the Everglades.

But mostly, we encountered these fearless guys!

Time Meddlers up at Fictionwise

2008-12-31T05:31:00.000-08:00

Just a little note to let you know that Time Meddlers has just been released as an e-book on Fictionwise. Already it has leaped onto the bestseller list, after one day. Interesting, and rather exciting! I will have some more news shortly regarding Time Meddlers Undercover--hopefully a release date.

First Draft Almost Complete

2008-11-28T07:16:00.000-08:00

Yes, I'm still waiting on Time Meddlers Undercover. An endless process, I know. In the meantime I've nearly completed the first draft of Time Meddlers 3. Now, first draft means just that. I like to leave it to grow dusty in a drawer for a few months before I pull it out again and begin revising. But I really think it's coming!

Update and Kindle

2008-10-08T06:25:00.000-07:00

Okay, the fall season is upon us, and usually that sends me into a melancholy mood, thinking of impending snowfalls and bitter winter cold. But, instead, I've been focusing on the "next" project. Time Meddlers Undercover is presently in the editor's hands, and I must wait for news on revisions, and a release date. So . . . I've been researching and have begun to write the first draft of Time Meddlers 3. If you have access to Facebook, and have been tracking the books I've been reading, you may get a sense of which time period and what direction the next book will take, but I'm not giving anything away at this point.

The last few weeks I have been attending writers' conferences as well. It's always a great experience to meet with other writers, discuss the business, and get a sense of what is occurring in the publishing industry. The Amazon Kindle seems to be catching fire, even with agents, because of its convenience. However, I still think much more can be done with it. Considering the electronic age we live in, the amazing computer graphics, why can't they combine an electronic book with additional graphic components and make it more enticing to children? Since most kids are hooked on electronics anyway--you know you are--it would be the ideal solution to drawing them back to books. Imagine, the author describes a particular setting, or character, and you click on a highlighted word—-up pops the scene or character. Or, let's say there’s an action sequence that merits a second look. Click, pop, you’re actually witnessing the sequence, almost like a movie. I know it's been done with multimedia books, without the greatest success because of expense, but if the cost could be lowered, it might be another option for children other than video games. That's my opinion anyway.

Finally, I will be resuming school visits again this school year. If you're interested in having me visit your school, you can email me regarding a possible date, and I will be happy to discuss it with you.

2008-08-29T05:41:00.000-07:00

Well, summer is almost over, and so is Time Meddlers Undercover. Besides giving a few more polishes to the manuscript, I've been traveling, exploring, something I love to do. This summer my family and I did our traditional camping trip to Algonquin Park, but we also discovered the east coast of Canada. Here are a few shots of our excursion:

Grand Falls, New Brunswick--Still shots can't capture the force of the water barreling through this canyon.

One misty morning on the Fundy Trail, Bay of Fundy, New Brunswick.

Waterfall, Fundy Trail

St. Martin's Caves, New Brunswick.
These are sea caves exposed only during low tide. Right now we're walking on the bare sea floor.

Seaweed, snails and barnacles. The sea floor, Bay of Fundy.

Cape Enrage, Bay of Fundy.

Confederation Bridge, on the way to Prince Edward Island.

Cavendish Beach, Prince Edward Island. Note the red rocks!!

Cape Tyron, PEI. This was at the end of a dirt track, sort of in the middle of nowhere. We wouldn't have found it if a former resident hadn't given us directions. Amazing view. No photograph can capture it sufficiently.

Grape jelly-fish. It would have been risky to swim here, but the water was too cold anyway.

Artsy shot, Dunes Gallery, PEI.

Seal watching, Montague, PEI.

Unfortunately we only saw one seal bobbing up and down on the water, but we did catch a couple of lobsters.

How did that get in there?

From the top of the Dunes Gallery.

Had to stop at Anne's village--Anne of Green Gables, in case you're not familiar. This is a fictional village based on a fictional character--ain't that grand??!

Rough seas, endless rain, time to pack it in and head home.

Recent Reads

2008-05-26T09:38:00.000-07:00

Doing research for Time Meddlers Undercover. I always loved this book.

More research. This is a fascinating book if you're interested in the SOE during WWII, the way messages were sent by code, and if you enjoy a good laugh. Strange the author can discuss such a serious (and sometimes tedious) subject and yet capture the reader with his wonderful sarcastic sense of humour.

I didn't enjoy this book at all. I found it long and preachy, not even that funny.

I'm reading more Stephenie Meyer because I enjoyed her Vampire series, but I'm starting to find the main character surprisingly similar to the Twilight one--entirely too self-sacrificing to be believable.

Love the Thomas Covenant antihero. I'm re-reading this series.

Update--Time Meddlers Undercover

2008-05-21T07:35:00.000-07:00

To get you up to speed, I'm just finishing a second draft of Time Meddlers Undercover. It will need a bit more tweaking before being subjected to an editor, but progress is being made. I've had that "eureka" moment, which means I think I've figured out the greatest flaw and corrected it. Now you wouldn't want to see a second book unless it's every bit as exciting and interesting as the first. Patience is required. For a sneak peek, I'm adding the first chapter below. Beware, though. This is not the "final" draft, so there may be changes made again.

Chapter One

Bite the Bullet

She was doing it again--tempting fate. No sane kid would go back in there. No sane kid would blindly follow Matt, who dared cars to crash into him and plunged into reckless adventures without a nibble of doubt or fear. Was that it? Had she lost her cool, logical mind?

Sarah shivered and paused at the threshold to Matt's old house. She sank her teeth into her lip as she pushed the door a crack wider. She had to keep going. Matt would notice if she lagged too far behind. She winced as the door rasped on rusty hinges, then crept into the foyer, her powder blue sneakers treading lightly on the hardwood floor. Not lightly enough, though, as a creak leaped off the floor, ricocheted in the hall and up the massive, winding staircase, mocking her like a witch's cackle. No matter what Matt said, this house truly was haunted. A chill breeze swept through the corridor, lifting ringlets of hair off the back of her neck and rustling past her to flutter over Matt's bristly head. He didn't turn around or even seem to notice. He was making for the stairs, his Nikes leaving definitive tread marks on the oak floor like an animal's footprints in mud.

"Matt. Take your shoes off," Sarah whispered.

"Why?" he asked in a rather loud voice.

"Because," she said, pointing to the tracks he was leaving. "What if Nadine's around?"

"Nadine's long gone," said Matt. "The cops are still searching for her. She's probably in China by now."

"I wouldn't be so sure. All of her belongings are still here. At some point she's going to come back to get them. Now that the police aren't watching the house anymore, this is her chance. What if she catches us snooping around?"

"I don't see what she could do to us. She's just one scrawny woman."

"She did quite a bit of damage for one scrawny woman." Sarah shuddered. She could never forget that evil woman with ice chips for eyes and a bony face that, if it hadn't been coated with make-up all the time, would make her look like a hag. Nadine had been Matt's guardian for the past twelve years since his father had disappeared, but she had cared little for him, doing the bare minimum to keep him clothed and fed. All she'd really cared about was gaining control of the multiverse time machine--Matt's father's creation--and making those who stood in her way disappear into the past.

"She's gone now," said Matt, gazing at Sarah calmly. "So we don't have to worry."

"I can't help it," she said, still whispering.

"This is my house. We don't have to whisper. And we don't have to sneak around like a couple of thieves."

"Then why are you hunched over? And why are you walking on tiptoe?"

"Oh," said Matt, straightening up and placing his feet squarely on the floor. "Got me there. But hey, I kind of like being a detective."

Sarah smiled. "Admit it, you'd do anything for a thrill."

"And you always come with," he stated.

Sarah eyed him narrowly, but she couldn't deny it. Why did she always have to come with? Was it because they were best friends, or was it something else? Was it the aura of mystery or the sense of adventure--which always seemed to accompany him--that she couldn't resist? Her heart pattered as she surveyed the gigantic hallway of the decrepit mansion.

"Right," she said, looking away to conceal her frown. Well, at least there was a good reason for her to consent to this little break and enter. Matt still maintained hope that he could crack the code that Nadine had incorporated into Dr. Barnes's--Matt's father's--computer. She'd ensured that Dr. Barnes would remain trapped in the past, using his own creation—the time machine—against him. Sarah and Matt had been searching for this code for the past year, ever since Matt had come to live with her and her father, but with no luck. Scientists had been selected to assist him, but no matter how much they battered at the wall Nadine had erected in the computer, they couldn't break it down. But maybe, just maybe, they could find some clues the police might have missed in Nadine's personal paraphernalia.

The stairs groaned as they mounted the spiral staircase. "It sounds like a banshee," said Sarah, giggling a little hysterically. Matt just rolled his eyes and kept climbing. It looked like he was trying his best to climb casually, but soon he'd hunched over again and his toes barely touched the steps. He turned back and winked.

"You really get into this, don't you?" said Sarah.

"And you don't? I seem to remember you breaking into the lab last year."

Sarah ground her teeth into her lower lip, remembering, yes, that she, the girl who always abided by the rules, had become somewhat of a delinquent since she'd met Matt.

"Let's not talk about it. Let's just find Nadine's code and get the heck out of here." She'd forgotten to whisper. Her words bounced off the vaulted ceiling and seemed to rain down on her.

"Shh," said Matt.

"Nothing to worry about, he says," she muttered, tiptoeing into the hallway close behind him.

They stopped beside the elaborate French doors leading into Nadine's old bedroom. Matt pushed them open hesitantly. A gush of stale air rushed into the room, stirring up cobwebs and driving some scuttling insect out from under the furniture.

"I swear this place is haunted," said Sarah. "How did you ever live here?"

Matt shrugged. "You survive, I guess, with what you have. The house never bothered me. Just Nadine."

He walked purposefully into the obsessively ordered bedroom. Dust clouds seemed to follow him.

Sarah hung back for a second. Crossing this threshold seemed like crossing into another time period. Nadine had state-of-the-art organizers, computers and video recorders on the desk she kept in her room. There wasn't a paper to be seen, and everything was filed, even her make-up and perfume. Not a wrinkle deformed her bedspread or a mislaid item of clothing spoiled the creamy carpet. It seemed even the spiders had been reluctant to spin their webs. She walked over to the dark mahogany dresser.

"What are you doing?" asked Matt. "You're not going to go through her underwear, are you?" He crinkled his nose.

"The police have already looked through this room. If she left anything, it would have to be hidden somewhere they'd missed or didn't want to look through."

"Okay," he said. "You can do it. I'll look through her desk." He opened the top drawer of the matching mahogany desk.

Sarah sorted through the drawer, lifting and shaking underwear, examining pantyhose. She ran her hand along the bottom and back panel, but could find nothing unusual. She slammed the drawer shut.

"Anything?" Matt asked.

"Nothing but skimpy silk undies."

Matt shuddered.

"You?"

"No luck," he said. "Maybe we should try somewhere else." He gently clicked the next drawer open. A slightly louder click came from downstairs.

Sarah froze. "Matt. Did you hear that?"

"What?"

"There was a noise downstairs. I think it was the front door."

"That's impossible," whispered Matt. "I locked it after we came in."

"And who has the key?" asked Sarah, raising her eyebrows.

"Oh no," said Matt, shaking his head vigorously. "Not good."

"We’ve got to hide." Sarah looked frantically around the room. She dove for the closet door at the same time as Matt. They scrambled inside and pulled the door toward them just as a floorboard creaked on the top floor.

Sarah and Matt peeked through the crack they had left between the door and the jamb. A thin scarecrow of a woman thrust her high forehead and narrow nose through the French doors into the room.

"Bloody kids," she muttered, her greasy blonde hair hanging in tangled clots around her face. Devoid of make-up and creased with frown lines, her face was like a white mask. This was nothing like the Nadine that Sarah remembered. It seemed that life as a fugitive had wreaked havoc on the formerly immaculate woman.

Nadine wobbled on the chipped heels of her pumps toward her dresser. She wrenched open a drawer and withdrew some underwear and knee-highs. "Bloody miserable kids," she muttered.

Matt made a motion with his hand around his ear. Sarah nodded.

Nadine turned abruptly and headed for the closet. Sarah and Matt quickly backed up--it seemed forever--in the enormous walk-in until they hit a wall. Long evening gowns hung beside them in the corner. They snuggled in behind the silk layers and puffy taffeta. Sarah held her breath as the woman teetered into the closet-warehouse and thrust aside dresses and suits.

Sarah and Matt shrank together as she came dangerously close to their corner. Finally, she withdrew some items of clothing and stumbled back into the room. The door to the closet remained ajar.

Matt and Sarah sighed quietly and rested their heads together, but Sarah sensed something in Matt that was more that just fear. His neck and shoulders appeared tight, his eyes narrowed with intensity. Sarah tried to snare Matt's arm as he sneaked out from behind the gowns and crept toward the opening. Matt shook off her hand. It seemed like he'd come to a decision and she probably wasn't going to like it. He pantomimed attacking Nadine, making punching motions.

Sarah shook her head. Was he crazy? That woman was evil. There was no telling what she would do.

Matt clenched his fist.

Sarah grabbed his arm again, pleading silently for him to reconsider. Matt looked at Nadine, now hunched over her make-up table trying to repair her face, then back at Sarah. She shook her head again. Why couldn't he see that this was madness?

Matt ground his fist silently into his hand. With his chin thrust out, he inched up to the door. Sarah stepped in behind him and peered over his shoulder. Nadine was getting up from the table, her icy blue eyes now enhanced by dark make-up. She crossed over to a mirror beside her bed. Strange. She'd just spent five minutes staring at her reflection in front of her make-up table. Why was she looking in another mirror? Sarah's brow puckered as the woman reached out and caressed the smooth surface. She must see more in that ghastly face than Sarah did. With a jerk, Nadine slid the mirror aside to reveal a square steel door with a dial on the right-hand side. A safe! She spun the dial right, then left, then right. Click. It opened. She reached inside and clamped her spindly fingers on a dark object with a bluish sheen.

Matt coiled back, ready to spring on her, but he froze in that position. Sarah peered over his shoulder and sucked in a gasp.

The object was a gun.

Sarah yanked Matt back into the closet, clamping a hand over his mouth.

Nadine moved as a distant shadow through the room, the gun extending from her hand like an additional appendage. Any thought Matt might have had about jumping the woman seemed to have sped out of his mind. He was heaving silently, his eyes flicking from Nadine in the other room to Sarah with her hand still clenching his mouth. They heard a click as Nadine released the clip to check if the gun was loaded. She slammed the magazine back into the pistol. The snap echoed throughout the room and seemed to drum right into Sarah’s head. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. She couldn't believe it when Nadine touched her lips to the barrel, then slowly lowered her arm and aimed at the closet.

"I'll get you kids," she snarled. "One of these days, I'll get you back." She laughed--an eerie high-pitched laugh that sent chills down Sarah's spine.

Nadine tucked the gun into her purse and walked out the door, leaving the safe wide open. Her sneer was still vividly imprinted in Sarah's mind as she heard the front door slam shut.

Matt sighed loudly. Sarah couldn't seem to catch her breath. She was gasping, hyperventilating. "I . . . don't . . . feel . . . so good."

"Look at me," said Matt, grasping her by the arms and making her face him. "Calm down. She's gone. We're okay."

"I . . . thought she . . . was going . . . to shoot us."

"So did I," said Matt, "but she didn't really see us. She only pictured us in her mind. We're safe for now."

"For now," heaved Sarah.

"Besides, what kind of detective are you if you can't face the wrong end of a gun barrel once and while?"

"Matt. I just decided. I don't want to be a detective anymore."

Matt let go of her arms and walked into the room.

"Matt. I'm waiting for you to say the same thing."

Matt didn't answer. Sarah reluctantly left the shelter of the closet.

"What are you doing?"

He was heading for the safe.

"Have you flipped out? Let's get out of here."

"I think she left something."

Sarah shuffled behind him and peered into the murky black hole. "I don't see anything."

"Voila!" Matt held up a tiny ebony capsule.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I think it's microfilm. This might be our code."

"Why would she use microfilm? It's way outdated."

"I know it's kind of strange, but then again, she's kind of strange. I don't really care as long as I've got something to go on now." Matt’s face seemed radiant as he clasped the film to his chest. He peered into the safe again and removed a bullet.

Sarah backed up a step.

"It's not going to bite," said Matt, "unless it's in a gun."

"I hate guns."

"I don’t think we have to worry about guns or Nadine anymore," he said. "Because, with this," he threw the microfilm up in the air and caught it, "I'm going to set my dad free."

Article in MORE

2008-03-25T05:17:00.000-07:00

There's an article in MORE Magazine--Canadian edition--Midlife Career Change: from banker to rabbi, nurse to novelist. I suppose you can guess which one refers to me. It's in the April issue, which just hit the stands. Have a look. It contains a few telling details about my life.

Also, I wanted to let you know that Time Meddlers is sold out in Amazon.ca and Chapters.ca at the moment. You can still purchase it from the LBF website or Amazon.com.

2008-03-05T06:39:00.000-08:00

Just wanted to share this:

"I never had read a book that I've liked until this one! Before I read this book, I thought of reading as homework or a chore. I never read for a pastime, I was what you would call a "Couch potato". Soon after I started reading it, I would stay up WAY past my bedtime to read saying to myself "Ok, just one more page." I would bring it in the car every were I went. As soon as I finished the book, I went to the beginning and read it again. I am proud to say that this is by far the BEST book that I've ever read. And it's going to stay that way until she makes a Time Meddlers 2!"

-Sarah. R., age 11.

I became all teary-eyed when I received it. Sarah, I'm diligently working on Time Meddlers 2. I hope it will keep you reading!

School Visits

2008-02-28T07:48:00.000-08:00

I just visited Berrigan and Jockvale Elementary School in Barrhaven. It was wonderful to see the students so interested in books and reading. So much for the Internet and video games. There's still nothing like a good story, in any form, right? If you still have any questions, just email me, or add a comment to my blog.

Visual Bookshelf

2008-02-09T06:03:00.000-08:00

People often ask me, "what kind of books do you like to read?" I've composed a visual list of books I've read recently, to give you an idea. Currently I've been reading mostly children's or young adult books, but I'm inclined to read the occasional adult book as well. A bit of an ecclectic list, but it still reveals a little about my taste. I have reviewed a few of these books on facebook, if you want some more details.

I' ve set this one aside because it's an Ottawa author--Peter Clement. You may want to look up his books. They're medical thrillers.

This is a Canadian SF author who is quite talented. Below is the review I wrote of her book:

People don't usually realize how difficult world-building in science fiction and fantasy is. The Okal Rel Saga is a perfect example of the complexity of the craft. Every detail is slotted and fitted like the cogs of an old timepiece, setting in motion a world with entirely unique qualities through a combination of genetics, culture, politics and space travel, but with a few uncomfortable similarities to our own. Although primarily science fiction involving intriguing concepts such as "reality skimming," it has certain aspects of fantasy--sword-fighting, for example--that make for an interesting blend. And because of its complex structure, it is not a novel to race through at blockbuster speed, but one to be sipped and savoured like a fine cappuccino.

The story begins with young Horth Nersal, the product of a union meant to unite two rival clans and put an end to war. Horth has a speech impediment, but makes up for this with a remarkable skill in battle, particularly in sword fights, which are the primary method in this society of settling differences. Lynda Williams skillfully portrays this character--his fears, his shame regarding his difficulty expressing his thoughts, yet the depth of intelligence and the strength of heart that exists within him. We follow his growth and increasing maturity, and often the lack of words is made up for with significant ones. In the end Horth will have to make a decision that may fundamentally change this world and break his own heart.

Space battles, sword fights, but ultimately a human story--a story that will resonate for years to come.

I'm currently reading this one. A bit didactic, but I love learning about pirates.

Up and running

2008-02-06T06:52:00.000-08:00

Well, I'm back at it again. I'll be doing some school presentations this month and some signings in March, maybe a tour in the spring. Further details later on.

I also wanted to let you know that I am reaching a conclusion to this years-long quest of writing an unconventional "ghost story". By George, I think I've got it. Then I will resume revising Time Meddlers Undercover, and I have some NEW ideas I want to sort through--maybe an unconventional pirate story. We'll see.

The website may undergo another update. Since I seem to getting very positive feedback on my school presentations, I may add a page that will supply more information about it. In the meantime, just to let you know, the presentation is not the typical reading, Q & A that an author generally does in schools. Instead I have a power point slide show explaining several aspects of the curriculum that I had to research, plus an interactive workshop on the process of writing. I also bring along some hands-on paraphernalia for the children to examine. Birch bark canoes etc., although not life-size, in case you're wondering.

Finally, I wanted to add that I have reached the pinnacle of my career. Not a bestseller. Not oodles of money. Not critical acclaim. What does a writer write for anyway? To be read. A children's writer? To hear of the delight of a child in your book. I have learned recently that I have reached that goal. Not only has Time Meddlers been read to the delight of several children, but it has been devoured by a "reluctant reader" no less. Sigh.

Epiphany

2008-01-08T08:57:00.000-08:00

Grey's Anatomy Quote:

Meredith: At the end of the day faith is a funny thing. It turns up when you don't really expect it. It's like one day you realize that the fairy tale may be slightly different than you dreamed. The castle, well, it may not be a castle. And it's not so important happy ever after, just that its happy right now. See once in a while, once in a blue moon, people will surprise you, and once in a while people may even take your breath away.

This is my favourite quote. It's rife with the world's potential. 2007 was a rather rough year for me, healthwise, and as much as I love to bury myself in the fairy tale, it's reality that really got me through it. The reality of people. Not the dreams and visions of far away places, not the delicious soaking up of words from books (as much as I love books), but the love and support of those around me. At one point I was robbed of my passion--incapable of reading and writing--and it really made me view the world in a different way. Without your passion, what is left?

People. And I realized that people should be my passion.

Tagged

2007-12-20T11:45:00.000-08:00

Yes, I'm still alive. I've been focusing rather exclusively on my writing lately, and ignoring my blog. But I am out there signing occasionally, and participating in school visits. Not to worry. I haven't become encased in an ice tomb.

Apparently I have been tagged. This means I must reveal ten random things about myself. So here goes:

1. I love skiing. I hate falling, though. So I'm a little more cautious than I used to be, but you may see me weaving, and sometimes flying, down the slopes.

2. I'm volunteering in the school library this year--because I love books and kids and kids' books. Also because I've been cooped up in my house, writing, and the four walls are driving me crazy. It's been great fun, chatting with the librarian, cataloguing new books, and just being surrounded by stacks. Can you guess I'm a bookish person?

3. I grew up on a farm, but I have no pets. Okay, we did have rabbits, a hamster and some fish for a while, but now there's a void in the house. What will I fill it with?? I was thinking a polar bear.

4. Unlike Lizann, I love writing a first draft, drek or no drek, but I can't stand revising. Especially that Ghost in the Piano thing. I've redrafted it so many times that it seems to have lost its magic. First drafts possess a spark--the initial inspiration. Revisions sometimes lose their shine.

5. I learned how to use the snow blower this year. We already have six-and seven-foot banks on either side of our driveway, and this is only December. It wasn't as painful as I thought it would be. In fact, I enjoyed it so much that I can't wait to use it again. Weird, eh? Well, I suppose the allure will eventually wear off, particularly if this trend of snow dumps (not just storms) continues.

Update

2007-06-01T08:09:00.000-07:00

So, there you have it. A first look at Sinkhole--in the "Books" section of my web site. I hope you enjoy it. This is just the beginning--the situation becomes increasingly desperate, and the discoveries mysterious and rather shocking. And what I put my poor characters through: the rigors, the misery, the pain and terror--I should be ashamed of myself. But, hey, I write fiction, so I'm not. In my opinion, the more reckless, the better, as long as you readers are satisfied.

There is also a new section on my web site. It's called "In the News." My web master and I were pondering where to put articles written about me or my books. So we developed this section specifically for these articles. I don't have access to every article, so only those that certain journalists were generous enough to allow me to post are on the web site. Have a look, if you're interested.

Now, I've resumed visiting schools. I had a little "health hiatus," but I'm back at it. The book signings should begin again soon, although I won't be making full rounds until the fall. If you would like me to visit a school or bookstore in your area, please feel free to make a request. I'll do my best to include you in my tour.

What I'm doing now: final revisions on Sinkhole, and Ghost in the Piano. Will I ever finish this one? The answer is yes--I think it's almost there. It was a rather complex novel to sort out, because I've mixed a ghost story with a thriller subplot. Has it been done before? I can't seem to recall one. Watch the editor tell me to rip it all apart--because it SHOULDN'T be done. Why not? Why does everything have to be so traditional? I imagine they'll say that readers want books to follow one genre or another. But is that true?? Or do you want something different?

Spring Cleaning

2007-05-04T06:04:00.000-07:00

Hello again. I just examined my web site and realized that some of the material is antiquated. I believe it requires a good deal of spring cleaning, just as everything else in my house does. The add-ons for Ice Tomb are especially outdated, regarding a moon base, etc. Now I ask your patience. My web master is a very busy man and he may not have updates--such as a Sinkhole sneak peek--up and running soon, let alone a revamping of the site. But I do intend to get to that as soon as possible.

I have a bit of other news. Well, I would say, an enormous chunk of news. LBF Books is now under new management, and I hope to see the distribution and availability of Time Meddlers improve over the next few weeks. I imagine some people have been frustrated. In fact, I don't need to imagine--I've heard complaints from people who really, really wanted to purchase the book, but couldn't seem to get hold of it. As an author, there's nothing more blood-boiling than to hear this. So it has been my priority, and hopefully will be with the new management. I intend to nag them until it's done!

As for appearances, I'll be resuming those at the end of May and into June. I have a few school presentations booked and will probably do some signings in Ottawa, maybe Montreal and upper New York State.

Well, that's about it. Back to revision.

Update

2007-03-15T08:07:00.000-07:00

Sorry, I've been remiss in posting updates. I've been working diligently on revisions of Sinkhole, and finishing the first draft of Time Meddlers Undercover. Torn between updating my blog and polishing and perfecting my novels, I tend to gravitate toward the novels. Anyway, I will be visiting schools and doing signings at various bookstores again in May and June. I'll be sure to list them in the spring. If you would like to book a presentation or reading, please contact me via email or contact my publicist, LeeAnn Lessard.

I also intend to post something on my website fairly soon regarding these new novels--teasers perhaps. So check back in a month or two for your first glimpse of Sinkhole.

Still Selling Out

2006-12-14T05:41:00.000-08:00

Hi there. I just wanted to let you know that many of the bookstores are selling out of Time Meddlers. Hopefully they'll restock soon, but, in Ottawa, you should be able to get copies at these stores: Chapters Gloucester, Coles St. Laurent and Bookstop in Barrhaven. I'm not sure of the status of stock in southern Ontario, but many stores in London should still have some copies and Coles, Conestoga in Kitchener. I do hope that the situation online will be cleared up soon, but apparently they're selling too quickly there to keep an adequate stock in the warehouses. But, as before, you can still purchase a copy from Amazon.

I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause!

Now, I would like to encourage any children who have read Time Meddlers to email me with their parents' permission. I would be happy to answer any questions you may have. There is definitely a second book underway--Time Meddlers Undercover. As soon as I have some hints as to a publication date, I will post more information on my web site.

Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas and a Peaceful New Year!

Signing Cancellation

2006-11-22T08:22:00.000-08:00

Hi. I just wanted to let you know that due to circumstances beyond my control, the signing this Saturday, November 25th at Chapters, Rideau has been cancelled. I will, however, still be at Chapters, Pinecrest in Ottawa on Sunday from 2:00 - 4:00 pm.

Sorry about the stock situation at Chapters online and Barnes & Noble. Apparently they're still sold out, but if you want to purchase the book through Amazon or LBF Books, that's not a problem.

I may have some exciting news in the near future. Stay tuned . . .