4Q Interview with Gerard Collins of New Brunswick.

Gerard Collins is a Newfoundland writer, now living in New Brunswick, where he has recently received a generous grant from ArtsNB to write a novel manuscript entitled Black Coyote and the Magic Café.  His first novel, Finton Moon, won the Percy Janes First Novel Award, was longlisted for the 2014 Dublin IMPAC International Literary Award, and was also shortlisted for both the 2014 NL Heritage and History Awards and the 2013 Sunburst Award for Excellence in Canadian Literature of the Fantastic. Before that, his debut short story collection, Moonlight Sketches, which features a number of individual prize-winning stories, garnered the 2012 Newfoundland and Labrador Book Award.

Gerard’s short stories have won literary prizes, been adapted for a university radio play, and been featured in anthologies, journals, television, newspapers and on CBC radio. He has also published creative nonfiction, newspaper articles, journalistic pieces and academic book chapters. University courses have featured his short fiction, while the NL Department of Education has purchased Finton Moon for all high school learning resources centres across the province. He has a Ph.D. in American Gothic literature and has taught at Memorial University and University of New Brunswick. 

Gerard regularly presents workshops throughout Atlantic Canada and recently hosted a writing retreat in Saint John. In April 2017, he is offering a retreat in Ireland that includes a five-night stay in a Dublin castle, an extensive tour of Yeats country in the West, and two nights in London, England. He has served as faculty at the prestigious Piper’s Frith writers’ retreat and as a mentor at the Write Stuff program for high school students in Saint John, and the New Brunswick Writers in Schools Program (WiSP). Besides private mentoring, he also has mentored for both the WFNB and WANL mentorship programs. He often edits manuscripts and serves on arts grants and awards juries. You can contact him at www.gerardcollins.ca or on Facebook.

 

 

 

 

4Q: Thank you Gerard for being our guest on the 4Q. Before we discuss your writing, it is well known that you have assisted many authors through mentoring and workshops. Please tell us about the upcoming workshops you are working on and the benefits to writers.

GC: Thanks for inviting me, Allan. I’m planning a couple of workshops in the Maritimes, but I’m most excited about the creative writing retreat in Ireland next spring, April 20 to May 1. 

After the Saint John retreat last winter, which was a major success, a local travel company asked me if I’d be interested in taking the retreats overseas, and I immediately said yes. Last March, we sat down and designed what I think is the “perfect writers’ retreat”. Because this one is in Ireland, my first thought was that we should stay in a castle. So, for the first five nights, we’re staying at the Clontarf Castle hotel, which has a history that goes back to the thirteenth century. After five nights there, we’re heading over to Ennis, on the west side of the island, to stay at the 12^th century Old Grounds hotel, and there’ll be visits to Galway, the Cliffs of Moher, a boat tour that includes a jaunt to the gravesite of Ireland’s most famous poet, W.B. Yeats, and a lot more. The tour company has managed to put all of this together – including lots of great meals and a two night stay in London, plus a panoramic tour of that city – for a great price that includes an extensive writing component. 

On the retreat, I’ll be giving three creative writing workshops, providing written feedback on a ten-page writing submission, and consulting with each participant one-on-one. I’m most proud of that part because not many retreats do that – provide quality time with, and direct feedback from, the writer-in-residence. There’ll be plenty of time for writers to do walkabout tours, especially in Dublin, and to have long pockets of free time to do some writing on their own. I think that’s essential, as lots of writing actually occurs in the afternoons and evenings, after the workshops. The idea is that, in addition to the writing workshops and feedback, the surroundings – the culture and history of Ireland and of London – will inspire some creative thinking and research for years to come. It’s the kind of writing retreat that can influence a person’s whole approach to writing for a long time. 

At the “A Winter’s Tale” retreat in Saint John this past February, we had a packed house for the weekend, and it was about the coziest, most inspiring atmosphere you can imagine. Many of the participants are still in touch with each other, as well as with me, and several have asked if we can do it again some time. At least one, and likely more, of those people are coming to Ireland with us, in fact. Mostly, it’s the individual attention to their writing and the uninterrupted time for writing that people enjoy, but the workshops and even the reading on the last night were pretty special, I’ve been told. One writer said on the feedback form, “This retreat has changed my life.” Pretty big compliment, but I can see how it’s possible. If you’re devoted to becoming a good writer, there’s nothing more valuable than having someone with experience tell you what’s missing from your writing, and what you’re doing well.

I do private mentorships as well, and it’s pretty much the same. I love teaching, and I guess it shows. It’s really gratifying when someone tells me I’ve had a positive influence on their writing.

 

4Q: I am presently reading your novel Finton Moon and am enjoying it tremendously. Can you give our readers a brief synopsis and tell us what inspired this story.

GC: Finton Moon is the coming-of-age story of a young boy raised in a strict Catholic family in small-town Newfoundland, and people come to believe he can heal with his hands. It’s a funny book, in some ways, and it’s also dark in places. There’s are a couple of mysteries at the heart of the novel, with quite a few interesting characters – my favourite probably being the witchy neighbour Bridie Battenhatch, whose daughter Morgan is a bit of a wild child. He has a best friend named Skeet, and there’s a girl named Mary he is in love with, and another girl named Alicia, from a very poor family, who loves Finton from afar. She even stalks him a little, but she’s a good and kind person. There’s a murder in the town, and Finton’s father gets accused of being involved, and this traumatic event affects Finton’s faith – and social life – quite a bit. It’s a pretty complex, but lighthearted novel. Every day, someone writes or says how much they love Finton.

The inspiration for Finton Moon is my own upbringing in small-town Newfoundland, to some degree, although it’s not autobiographical. I think anyone who reads it will see that there’s a balance between reality and fiction – drawing on what you know in order to create something magical and new. Finton’s ability to heal was inspired, in large part, by some time I spent in the Fraser Valley in B.C. where I was first introduced to spiritual activities like reiki and touch healing that are partly matters of faith and partly quite real. I’m not a great believer in many things, but there’s no denying the physical effects of touching, hugging, therapeutic massage and that sort of thing – for Finton, he doesn’t know if it’s real or not, or where it comes from. He just knows that it seems to work, and that ability makes him an outsider. I know a little bit about that, and I’m sure lots of people can relate. On some level, we’re all outsiders, I think, or at least have known times when we felt like strangers in certain surroundings, among certain people. 

4Q: Please share a childhood anecdote or memory.

GC: Most of my best memories are stories I was told about myself, and I’ve told them so often, they seem like memories, even though I actually have no true recollection. I once called out my grandmother because I was displeased with something she had done. I was only four, but, according to family legend, I stood on her front door, in quite the huff, and told her: “You bastard, Nanny!” It must have looked pretty funny to her, although appalling, too, I’m sure. I also, apparently, got chased all the way home by a huge moose, after I’d wandered into the woods near our family home. One of my favourite memories is of skipping Sunday mass to go out on the bay in “Uncle” Rich Power’s dory with him. He said, “Your mother won’t mind, b’y.” He was an old man, who taught me a great many lessons, like how to make a whistle from a dogwood tree, and I believed every word he said. But, apparently, my mother did mind. 

4Q: In addition to your novel, you have a collection of short stories called Moonlight Sketches, both of which are available at Chapters. What are you working on now and what’s in the future for you Gerard?

GC: Primarily, I’m working on a novel called Black Coyote and The Magic Café, set in modern-day Sussex. I’m enjoying writing that one. ArtsNB has helped me out with a generous grant for writing it, thankfully. As a full-time writer, that financial boon helps a lot, especially because it’s so competitive and so many writers are worthy. I’m also working on a short story collection called Dying of Exposure, and I recently finished a new novel called My Sister’s Walls, which, although I’m still tinkering with it, I’m hoping will see publication in the near future.

As for the future, I’ve made a shift away from university teaching and towards full-time writing. I’m also doing some mentoring – although I’m pretty selective, being careful of my writing time – and I’m finding that I enjoy giving workshops and, especially, writing retreats. The future looks pretty bright, I must say. The ideas are flowing, and the writing gods have been kind. The time off from teaching right now should yield a pretty good crop of new publications over the next few years. Writing plus travelling makes for a pretty good life.

Thanks again, Allan. I’ve enjoyed this series you’re running on local authors, and I’m proud to be a part of it.

 

 

It is our pleasure to have such a distinguished guest on the Scribbler and the thanks are all ours Gerard.

**And the good news is that Gerard will be back next week with an excerpt from his novel Finton Moon. This will be the first back-to-back guest appearance on the Scribbler.

 

 

 

 

 

Please leave a comment below, we would love to hear from you.

 

Returning Author Gerard Collins. An Excerpt from Finton Moon.

This is a first for the Scribbler.







Gerard Collins was the guest last week for a 4Q Interview (go here) and we are featuring an excerpt from his delightful tale of Finton Moon. The first back-to-back guest appearance of a selected author and there is none more deserving than Gerard.



I've had the pleasure of reading this novel and I can tell you it touches on every emotion. You're right there in a small town in Newfoundland and can feel what the young man is going through. I recommend this novel to anyone looking for a "good book".


Please scroll down to the end of this post to meet Gerard and to read last week's 4Q Interview.






Gerard sets the scene for the excerpt you are about to read.

"This is one of my favourite scenes - and some other people have told me it's theirs, as well. It doesn't have the drama of some other scenes, but it's such a typical Finton moment in which he feels overwhelmed by the problems of his life. He's on the cusp of adolescence, which includes problems with girls and at school, and his responsibilities and worries (including his father being accused of murder) are mounting. At the beginning of an October snowstorm (not unheard of in rural Newfoundland in any given year), he goes for a walk in the woods, half-thinking he might never return home. It's a peaceful scene - based on a walk I once took myself, though mostly with the knowledge I'd eventually return home - but his mind is troubled. Near the end of the scene, there's an appearance from a girl named Alicia, who likes him very much, though he's never shown much interest in her."




An excerpt from Finton Moon.
Copyright is held by the author. Used by permission.

Lost

On the afternoon of the last day of October, snow plummeted from the sky and blanketed the countryside. He’d stayed home from school, saying he didn’t feel well. But everyone had scattered yet again, and, especially with his father taking Nanny Moon to the grocery store, he saw an opportunity to leave unnoticed. Through an opening he’d cleared on the sweaty windowpane, Finton watched in silent wonder and realized—it has to be now.

Now and then, he would glance outside to ensure that the snow was still falling. Then he pulled on his clothes and double-wrapped his long, red scarf around his neck so that it hung like vestments. He soon shut the door behind him, trundled out into the meadow and up the hill towards the woods.

The world was shockingly white, a land without edges or sharp distinctions. On the snow-laden ground, patches of brown grass and brambles poked up through the white carpet, reaching skyward against the rushing, white flakes.

In awe of how quickly the world had changed, Finton trudged the ghostly path. Where once the landscape was brown and drab, all had now turned bright. It was as if he’d breached the forbidden border and emerged into a land enshrouded by snow, where everything blended with everything else. Oblivious to the flakes on his cheeks and bare head, he forged a path into the waiting woods. Twenty minutes later, he stopped on the home side of the cold, dark river, peering into the thicket. Clouds billowed from his mouth. Over there would be darker, colder. The babbling brook seemed to call: “Step over. Hurry up. Don’t waste time.”

At the edge of the stream, he bent down and slid flat onto his belly. He leaned forward, leveraging himself with his arms, and drank from the river. Every time he thought he was done, he thrust his lips and nose back into the cool water, and gulped until he’d had his fill. Satisfied, he stood upright and sniffed the wind that smelled of spruce, pine, and birch, and the rot of half-frozen bog and damp peat moss.

 

For a long time now, he’d had the feeling of being watched, and he’d expected to see his observer when he’d lifted his head.

With the back of his hand, he wiped his mouth, tugged both ends of his snow-stippled scarf, then launched himself across the brook, landing with a thud on the other side. The river’s song was unexpectedly different—deeper, resonant—reverberating in his heart. Hundreds of times he had crossed that river and never noticed the variance. But the thought was fleeting as the sun skittered behind a cloud, and he plodded towards the ominous thicket.

Except for the shimmering, white flakes that continued to fall, the woods were dark. A brown-coated rabbit hopped across the phantom path, paused to face the traveler, then quickly disappeared into the underbrush. Finton paused to notice the imprints of feathery paws and a furry belly that formed a divergent trail. He expected something magical to happen like in Alice in Wonderland, for someone to speak to him, tell him to go back home—or perhaps welcome him back to this place where he once belonged. He hoped not to be scolded, but that wouldn’t have surprised him.

He stared at the branches of a snow-laden pine and thought how majestic it was. He marveled at the moment’s silent perfection, frozen in time. Then, all at once, the branch bowed down, flicked upwards and dropped its load. The accompanying sound was like a gas stove igniting, jolting and abrupt. As a fine white mist sprayed the air around the tree, he gazed in wonder, blinked, and trudged onward.

At last, he came to the foxhole, where he sat on the rim, dangling his feet, and caught his breath. The snow was falling thicker now, as if it might go on forever. If he lay on his back, they’d probably never find him here—at least not until the spring, and then it would be too late.

He climbed into the hole and lay back, closed his eyes and listened to his own breathing rising and falling. Then he heard a sound—a light, quick intake of breath. His eyes snapped open, alert for an oncoming bear or a circling wolf. He swallowed hard and scanned the woods.

But he heard the sound only once and, after a while, his breathing slowed, and his senses attuned themselves to the woodland scene. The north wind whistled through the tops of the snow-covered evergreens, and a lonesome chill enveloped him. Already, the damp cold had seeped through his corduroy pants, and he wished he’d worn his snowsuit. He wondered how long he’d had his eyes closed, and whether he’d dozed. He kept his eyes shut, despite the cold and the truculent snowflakes that slowly buried him.

He knew how it should end. Jesus had to die for the sins of mankind. The world wouldn’t take him back once he’d gone so far and shown them all how badly they’d behaved. Galilee was no place for such an enlightened soul.

All Finton had to do was to lie there and he’d be dead within hours. He was just exhausted. So much much.

No one was looking for him—they were all too busy. No rescue party was coming, at least not until it was too late. But it was some cold. Starting to shiver, he was tempted to wipe the snow from his cheeks and eyelids. But the snow felt so right. The foxhole was welcoming.

“Finton?”

Go away.

“What are you doing?”

“God? Is that you? I’m not answering until you explain some things.”

“It’s not God.”

He felt like that fisherman in The Old Man and the Sea. How much had he hated that book? Skeet actually threw his copy into the garbage can outside school and set it on fire. A few other guys threw theirs in too. But it stayed in Finton’s mind how the old man used to have these conversations with the big fish and the teacher said he was really talking to God. Bunch of baloney, he’d thought. He wanted to open his eyes, but couldn’t. Something not quite like sleep had overtaken him and resisted his attempts to animate himself. His lips were frozen, but he managed to ask, “Who’s talking?”

“It’s me, b’y. What the hell are you doin’?” she asked, and he knew her now. “You can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

“Snap out of it, b’y. Get yerself up or you’ll freeze to death.”

Warm hands caressed his face; soft lips pressed themselves to his frozen mouth. He considered resisting. But it was too late. No one could save him. He felt two fingers pinch his nose and cut off his breath. Sputtering and coughing, he bolted upright. “Jesus, girl—tryin’ to kill me.”

She squat in the snow across from him, her hands red, her discarded mittens lying in the snow beside her. A mischievous grin adorned her face.

 

 

 

 

Thank you Gerard for sharing a part of your story.

 

 

For you readers that would like to know more about Gerard and his writing please drop by his website: www.gerardcollins.ca

 

 

 

Please leave a comment. Always happy to hear from YOU!

The Story Behind the Story with Susan White of New Brunswick, Canada.

 

Susan White is our featured author this week and we are happy to have her return to the Scribbler.

If you missed her previous visit, I invite you to have a look HERE.

 

Susan’s novels have garnered many great reviews and honoured with awards.

It’s an exciting time to launch new work and Susan is going to tell us more about it.

Read on, my friends.

 

 

 

Susan White was born in Moncton, New Brunswick. She earned her BA and BEd at St. Thomas University in Fredericton. She and her husband Burton raised four children and ran a small family farm on the Kingston Peninsula while Susan taught elementary school and Burton had a career in the military. In 2009 Susan retired from teaching to write full time. She is the author of six middle grade /young adult novels, including the Ann Connor Brimer Award winning The Year Mrs. Montague Cried.   She has also written six adult novels including Fear of Drowning which was shortlisted for a NB Book Award in 2019.Her thirteenth novel The Way I Feel will be released by Acorn Press in the spring of 2023.

 

 

Working Title: The Way I Feel

 

 

Synopsis:

No Problem is too big to run away from

For Ginny Collins running away wasn’t on her radar until an old postcard drops from her mother in law’s photo album. Is the life she’s living the only one available to her? Are the dreams she cast aside long ago still waiting to be realized? Can she change the discontent and unhappiness she feels by driving away and leaving everything behind? For Ginny Collins the decision to run away from a 40 year marriage starts the search and she behind to uncover the truth she’s worked so hard at ignoring.

 

 

The Story Behind the Story:

I am not exactly sure where the story came from except to say I had the title first. I knew I wanted or needed to write a story about a woman in her early sixties who finds herself an empty nester, settled in to a life of frustration, discontent and longing. She makes a bold decision to run away. The escape begins an inner journey and a brave, honest introspection. It is not autobiographical but it was written during a very transformative time in my own life. I believe Ginny's story mirrors the way women often feel when the years of centering their lives around maintaining a home and raising  children is behind them. 

 

 

Website: Home - Susan White

 

 

A question before you go, Susan:

Can you tell us about the perfect setting you have, or desire, for your writing? Music or quiet? Coffee or tequila?  Neat or notes everywhere?

 

My mind thinks writing wherever I am and ideas find their way in. Sometimes I jot them down but I have found if the idea matters it sticks or at least it comes back. I have gone on several writing retreats with Gerard Collins and Janie Simpson’s on their Go and Write adventures. Italy, Scotland and St. Andrews have provided wonderful inspiration and comradery with other writers.   But for the actual work of getting it down, I prefer the quiet order and routine of my office. After spending 29 years in the classroom, I love the opportunity to schedule my weeks and days around writing. I normally write from September to June but have been known to write all summer when a book won’t let me go. I often have the drone of CBC radio in the background. Definitely coffee in the morning and I often eat my lunch in my office. I keep notes as I’m writing a book. The notes are contained in writing journals. I love looking back at them when the book is done seeing the changes that took place as the story and the characters took over. 

 

 

 

An Excerpt from The Way I Feel.

 

Spencer lets out a particularly loud snore and shifts a bit. His right leg jolts, kicking the throw cushion onto the floor. I reach for the folded afghan and drape it over him. I stand for a few seconds as my eyes scan the room. The kids’ framed graduation pictures look somewhat ominous, shadowed and eerie. Each of their expressions seem to be taunting me and challenging the decision which minutes ago surfaced, simmered, and came to a boil. Am I being dramatic, selfish, foolish, and ridiculous? Am I overreacting? I focus on the rise and fall of Spencer’s chest, expecting his breathing to balance my own before going upstairs.

I pull up the handle of the suitcase, and as quietly as I can wheel it along the hall. I pick it up and slowly make my way downstairs. I glance at Spencer as I reach to turn the lamp off. The kitchen light guides my way through the dining room and kitchen, then into the back hall. I grab my purse, throw my phone in, and slip on my sandals before I open the back door. Is there anything else I need?

I get into the driver’s seat of the Expedition and look toward the house. It always looks so peaceful in the dark. I love the way the solar lights give the back veranda a glow, a look of enchantment, hiding the flaws of a thirty-five-year-old house. Midnight glow and early morning light always give me an optimism the rest of the day doesn’t offer. I turn the ignition key, wondering if Spencer will be jolted awake by the beam of headlights coming through the window. Will he jump up and come out to see who might be in the yard this late?

I put the Expedition into drive and glance back, making sure the lights on the trailer are working. I look quickly at the gas gauge. About half full. I pull away and start down the driveway. I have no idea where I am going, but I am going.

 

 

Thank you for being our guest this week, Susan and sharing your good news. Wishing you continued success with your stories.

 

And thanks to our visitors and readers.

Do you have a favourite author?

Tell us about him/her.

 

Guest Author Beth Powning of Markhamville, NB

Good news!

One of my favored authors is the guest this week on the Scribbler. So excited to have Beth Powning answer questions for the 4Q Interview.

Beth  was born in 1949. She graduated from Sarah Lawrence College, New York, where she majored in creative writing, studying with novelist E.L.Doctorow. She immigrated to Canada in 1972 with her artist husband, Peter Powning. Since then, she and Peter have lived on a farm in Markhamville, New Brunswick, where they grow much of their own food in organic gardens. They have one son, Jake Powning, who lives nearby with his wife, Sara, and two granddaughters. Beth Powning photographed two gardening books before publishing her own first book in 1995, Seeds of

Another Summer (Penguin) published in the US as Home – Chronicle of a North Country Life (writing and photograpy), recently re-released by Goose Lane Editions.  She went on to write Shadow Child (Penguin Canada - subsequently re-issued by Knopf Canada, short-listed for the Edna Staebler Award for Literary Non-fiction); The Hatbox Letters (Knopf Canada, a best-seller and long-listed for the Dublin IMPAC Award);  Edge Seasons (Knopf, a Globe and Mail Best Book) and The Sea Captain’s Wife (best-selling novel, long-listed for the Dublin IMPAC Literary Award and short-listed for the Thomas Head Raddall Atlantic Fiction Award). This novel was published in French in 2014 by Editions Perce Neige. Her latest novel, A Measure of Light, Knopf Canada, March 2015, was a

Globe and Mail Best Book, was long-listed for the Dublin International Literary Award and won the N.B. Award for Fiction. Her work has been widely published in magazines and anthologies, and she has made many appearances across Canada and in the U.S., Ireland and Great Britain. She was the recipient of New Brunswick’s 2010 Lieutenant Governor’s Award for English Literary Arts, and in 2014 received an honorary Doctorate of Letters degree from the University of New Brunswick. She is active in her community, serving on boards and committees. Her newsletters and photography can be seen at www.powning.com/beth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4Q: I’m a big fan of your novels and it is a real treat to have you as a guest Beth. Your attention to detail and place is a true art. When an idea for a story comes along, what are your writing habits?  Do you outline or just sit and write?

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

    Usually I explore and discard two or three ideas before finally finding the one that is going to work. Sometimes I will write 40-50 pages of something and then know that it’s not going anywhere. I go back to dreaming, scribbling ideas in my journal, keeping my mind open, waiting for that unmistakable prickle of excitement.  The idea that finally becomes a book is usually something that I have written many pages about in my journal, describing the project to myself. My next step will be to study— in the case of my last two novels, at least a full year. When I am ready to write, I know it because I am thoroughly sick of the research and long to enter the story. I simply begin. The novelist E. L. Doctorow, my beloved teacher and mentor, said to his writing students— “You don’t need to begin at the beginning. Start anywhere.” The place I begin writing seldom becomes the actual first sentence of the book. I know that the first draft will be subject to many revisions, so I dive in, flailing about. I don’t know how the book is going to develop; I never have a plot line. If I wrote from an outline, I would not feel as if I were on a quest, a journey. I need to be surprised by what happens. A novel to me is like a question to which I don’t know the answer. I write to find out the answer, I write to take the journey, I write to live in the world that I’m creating.

4Q: There’s been a lot of attention and praise for your latest novel, A Measure of Light and I truly enjoyed the book but my favorite is The Sea Captain’s Wife, both of which are historical. Is this a favorite genre for you?

I was asked this question by someone else, recently, and it made me realize the extent to which I was influenced by E. L. Doctorow. All of his novels are fictions built around actual historical events. I grew with houses built in the 18^th  and 19^th  centuries, my own childhood house as well as the houses of my grandparents. They were filled with rope-strung beds, creaky floorboards, musty linens. I was surrounded by tangible evidence of the past, so it’s not surprising that history crept into my first novel, hatboxes filled with letters that land in Kate’s living room, whose unexpected stories help her to move forward after her husband’s death. The next two novels were complete surprises to me, and came after stumbling on facts that astonished me and made me aware of my own ignorance and desire to learn. I didn’t know that women went to sea with their captain husbands. I had never heard of Mary Dyer nor knew that people had been coldly hanged for their religious beliefs in New England. These facts inhabited compelling stories, stories that I felt needed to be told. Doctorow was one of the first novelists to blur the line between historical fiction and literary fiction. These days, many novels blend history and fiction. I love history, I love learning about history by reading novels. I consider my novels to be literary fiction.

 

 

 

4Q: Some of your earlier works have been inspired by memories. I especially enjoyed Edge Seasons – A Mid-Life year. Please share a childhood memory or anecdote.

   

 

 

 

 

    My memories are vivid and visceral. I remember the iridescent blur of wasps’ wings, sluggish on the sundrenched windowsills of my childhood home. And the sound of the six o-clock bedtime train—the improbable clackety-clack of its wheels as it snaked, hidden, through the dense valley trees. In 1958, when I was nine, most of my friends had televisions, but my parents refused to buy one. I created places to read, like the alternate worlds that I now inhabit when I write. One was a place of many blankets, chair-draped, with a table lamp and pillows, created over the hot-air register, in winter. Another was a tree-house, built by me and my brother (we had several), a platform of boards wedged across branches. One was on what we called “The Indian Rock,” a massive boulder in our horse pasture with a smooth and mysterious oval bowl which we thought had been made by hand-grinding corn. One unfortunate one was built on the ground behind the vegetable garden out of hay bales, where I left a pile of library books in a rainstorm. And under the oak tree that I wrote about in Home was a shipping crate in which my grandparents had sent home all their belongings when they sold their home in Bermuda; its drafty plywood walls enclosed me and my beloved books and the worlds inside them. I carried on a third-person dialogue inside my head, a constant internal monologue that described me to me. “It was getting late, so she started home across the fields.” Only after I spent a two-week vacation with a friend did I lose this habit, and then I mourned it.

 

 

 

 

4Q: What’s next for Beth Powning the author?

 

    I’ve just finished the first draft of a new novel. It takes place in New Brunswick, time-present, with (of course!) a historical thread wound through it. I am just now working through it, editing, so that it reads smoothly enough for me to show to my agent, Jackie Kaiser. Jackie is always my first reader. I usually don’t offer the manuscript to my publishers until I have written three drafts, all of which she reads and comments on. I’m very, very fortunate to have her. Gerard Collins and I have formed a literary committee for our new arts and culture centre here in Sussex. I’ll be doing a lot of work on that in the next year.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                              Posing with Beth are authors Gerard Collins, Janie Simpson and Jane Tims.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thank you Beth for taking the time to be our

guest. 

 

Please drop by Beth's web site to discover more about her. I highly recommend her stories.

     www.powning.com/beth.

 

 

Read The Globe and Mail review of The Sea Captain's Wife here .

 

 

All comments welcome.