The Story Behind the Story with Author Sarah Butland of Nova Scotia, Canada.

 

The first post of 2023 is with Nova Scotia Author, Sarah Butland.

This is her second visit to the Scribbler, and we are pleased to have her as a guest once more. To revisit her first posting, please go HERE.

She has lots of new books and she’s going to tell us about her newest publication.

 

Let’s hear from Sarah. 

 

 

Filling her days with writing adjacent to-do’s, Sarah Butland has always considered herself a writer and a fraudster. A total pantser, whenever Butland gives herself permission to write the characters show up and chat. While writing is a struggle for some, just finding the time is the challenge she faces as she works full time, plus freelances, and markets, and sometimes cleans the house, rarely but even folds the laundry sometimes.

At five years old Butland knew she was a writer and still lets that kid out sometimes through the page. Despite all doubts, discouragement and challenges, for Butland writing is as vital as breathing. Now living in Nova Scotia, she spent fifteen years in New Brunswick impressing teachers with her ability to create darkness, edit newspapers and often have her letters to the editor in the local newspaper published.

 

Working Title: Gaining It At 41

 

Synopsis: Annabelle's story isn't over. After being introduced to her in Losing It At 40, readers demanded more; Gaining It At 41 offers all that and more! A mix of romance, comedy and characters that will last a lifetime, Gaining It At 41 is a must read.

Annabelle says:

My age was a factor. Not to mention my contraceptive measures that failed and delayed menopause that I had to look forward to while raising a toddler. I asked about tying my tubes before the test was positive and they laughed, very unprofessionally, but I had the right. Abigail was a miracle, after all. A healthy miracle child, they told me, after numerous precautions taken not to have her exist at all.

 

 

The Story behind the Story: I wrote Gaining It At 41 as the sequel to Losing It At 40 which was in high demand. My second romance, Gaining Its premise was sparked when a friend mentioned Annabelle should get pregnant. Nothing else seemed to inspire me until that was mentioned which magically sparked the next step.

Writing romance has been interesting as it wasn’t my first genre of choice, not reading many in that category. With the recommendation of the genre gaining in popularity due to ereaders and readers not being ashamed of the racy covers, I thought I’d give it a try. What an adventure it has been!

Birthdays for me have always been skewed with emotions, false starts and forgotten wishes so this was my opportunity to write a birthday themed celebration that honoured a fresh start and a great day.

Within about three months I wrote the first book and, about a year later, another three months to write the second, something sparked. With a natural comedic tone, Annabelle reinvents herself when she turns 40 in Losing It At 40 (written before I turned 40 myself, not before I lost “it”) and in Gaining It At 41, Annabelle learns even more.

Gaining It At 41 to me is just wrapping up a chaotic, hilarious adventure of a romance with a nice bow with icing on top.

Website: Please visit my site at www.SarahButland.com to see what I’m up to, for a free award-winning short story and my latest review.

 

A question before you go, Sarah.

 

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?

 

For me it’s never about the setting, it’s about the time. With limited time available to dedicate to the art, setting up the perfect place and finding the best drink cuts into the time I have to write. I simply open my laptop and let my fingers dance across the keyboard, hoping they make sense while blocking out the room. While I’m not organized at all, though would love to be, as a pantser I don’t need notes – just a blank page and a keyboard, and to stop checking Facebook.

Thanks so very much for having me here and for supporting Canadian authors!

 

 

Thank you so much for being our guest this week, Sarah. Wishing you continued success with your writing.

 

 

And a BIG thank you to my readers and visitors.

Who’s your favorite author?

 

 

 

Guest Author Sarah Butland of Nova Scotia

 

It’s always fun to have one of my guests return for a second visit and that’s the case this week. Sarah shared an excerpt from her novel Blood Day on the last visit and you can see it HERE. She is kind enough to participate in a 4Q Interview.

 
 
Sarah Butland was born in Ontario, the year was 1982. She moved to New Brunswick for over 15 years and now resides at home in Nova Scotia, Canada. Butland has been married to her high school sweetheart and has a superstar son named William and Dogo Argentino named Lumen. Besides home schooling and working part time, Sarah finds time to follow her dream of being an author and teaching others that they can do the same.

 

 

4Q: It’s been awhile since your last visit Sarah. You’ve been quite busy as one can see from your website. Tell us about your latest work, I Saw the Forest.

 

SB: My latest work is I Saw the Forest, a short story, a practice in imagery and realizing my own obstacles I was letting keep me down. Being in the writing or any creative industry can be daunting and disheartening at times, frustrating when you feel like you’re beating your head against a wall in hopes someone, anyone, will hear. But for most of us in the creative arts, it would be harder to stop breathing than it would be to cease being passionate. 

I Saw the Forest ties in the saying “see the forest through the trees” as I have always had the opposite problem – dreaming so big I couldn’t see or celebrate the little steps or successes which often mean much more than we give them credit for. So, if you will, I always see the forest and not the trees.

 

 

4Q: So, where do your ideas come from Sarah? What inspires you?

 
SB: Good question and I wish I had an answer. The simplest way I can describe this is the ideas come through my fingers. Whether I’m typing or writing, I seem to be transported out of body to write the tales that come from literally thin air. Since I was a child I would wander through the forest behind my house and simply imagine. I didn’t need video games or role playing, I just needed a moment to enjoy the peace before the voices would visit and create chaos.
I write like I read, by the seat of my pants and not knowing what is coming next. It keeps me motivated to listen to the characters and the freedom to just tell their story with no expectations or fears of insulting anyone.

 

4Q: Pleased share a childhood memory or anecdote with us.

SB: When I was “taught” to craft stories in school it was mandatory to show a brainstorm or plot layout before writing the real thing. I struggled with this until I realized I could draft a story and go back to brainstorm or “draw the web” in the time it took my classmates to write out their plotline. I would present my scattered thoughts to the teacher, leaving my story on my desk, and then return to my seat to write another story so it looked like I was hard at work. Then, before the deadline, I would present the story I wrote and I don’t think my methods were ever questioned.  
 
 
 
 

4Q: You have an ongoing story on your website at present and you add to it daily I believe. What is this all about?

 SB: In March I happened to find an organized “AtoZChallenge” which invited participants to write a blog post every day in April starting with the next letter of the alphabet. I felt like I abandoned my blog for other projects at that time so immediately signed up, knowing it wouldn’t be easy but that it was necessary to get me out of my writing funk. And I did it! I wrote random posts about writing and the process of finding time to do what you love.

After I wrote I would occasionally blog hop to see what others participating were writing about and discovered some wrote a short story with each post. I thought it was brilliant and decided to personally challenge myself to keep going with the word a day challenge but write fictional pieces. When I got started I realized the project was turning into something bigger than I imagined as the story the characters were telling weren’t worthy of just one blog, they needed the entire month.

I try to write less than 500 words for a blog post in hopes that someone will actually read it and it just naturally breaks up like that.
*As I am replying to you it is May 27^th and I feel like it will either come to a very abrupt and awkward end or could continue. We’ll need to wait and see (or you can go back now as you’re readying this after May 31^st and see what happened). 

 

 
 
 

Thank you Sarah for being our guest this week and sharing your thoughts.

For those of you that want to discover more about Sarah and her writing, please visit her website at www.sarahbutland.com, on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/SarahButland/ and follow her Twitter feed at https://twitter.com/sarahbutland_co

Guest Author Sarah Butland.

This is Sarah's second visit to the Scribbler. She was born in Ontario, the year was 1982. She moved to New Brunswick for over 15 years and now resides at home in Nova Scotia, Canada. Butland has been married to her high school sweetheart and has a superstar son named William, and a cat named Russ who all make her house a home.

On her last visit, we were able to sample the beginning of her paranormal tale - Blood Day. See it here This week you can read another section.

It was the first time I tried to take a deep breath and noticed I couldn't.

Their image had me confused. I couldn't believe they would show up this way, at such an uneventful time in my life. I remembered dressing for the grade 12 prom, knowing how I'd be mocked for finally showing my scars by wearing short sleeves. The first time anyone would see my bare skin with the exception of my face. I decided to be comfortable and stand out versus being mocked and uncomfortable.

While I prepared I knew I would turn heads by just being at the prom but longed to only turn my parents’ heads. They were gone for so long yet their presence was as missed as it always was.

My foster brother, a few years my senior, offered to be my date. He bought the corsage, the matching suit for my dress and told me I was beautiful. I then ended up canceling, faking illness and escaped to my room to cry myself asleep in my dress.

I skipped graduation, too. These are huge events where I expected my parents to be. Life changing experiences, especially without proper guidance helping me through. Top of my class in marks, bottom in the social game and not missed until my name was called and no one stood to accept the diploma.  The school mailed it to me which was then forwarded a few times as I was still in foster care.

And then my 19^th birthday when I was officially on my own. I expected something special, looked forward to it being a me day and I made it so as it was all up to me.

That morning I awoke to an empty house, made my favourite breakfast then packed my things and took a bus to the bus station in hopes of going far, far away. A few things stopped me – not lack of money or courage, though. Lucy stopped me.

We remained in touch although going our separate way. I was on a full scholarship for interior design and she, well, she chose a different path I'll reveal later.

Instead of during these times in my life when I decided I needed my parents, they showed up now when I thought I needed them the least.

As my chest expanded, oxygen reached my blood and I coughed I realized this was my first breath and maybe I did need my parents’ images after all. It was strange before, my breath would never fog up the mirrors, wouldn’t fog in the cold and I never found anything took my breath away. It seemed to already be gone. Seemed impossible and unlikely but true.

Instead of my own reflection my parents were staring back at me. They looked no older than when I had last seen them – almost three decades before. Standing perfectly still, too timid to move, I stared back at them. Suddenly, out of the reflection I heard my mother's voice but it still took me a few minutes to realize it was the image of my mother speaking.

“Happy birthday, Veronica.” My name never sounded so sweet. Even as a child hearing my father sing it, the music of it now was the most beautiful thing I ever heard. Suddenly a flood of information overwhelmed me; the reason I was named Veronica, the reason my parents were taken when I was so young, why I didn't bleed. When I looked down I saw my mother and father's arms reaching out from the mirror, and, finally, I took a deep breath.

“Babydoll, how are you? Are you OK?” They must have thought I was only a statue I stood silently for so long. Then I didn't know whether to simply reply, to run out of the house or to kiss the mirror. After contemplating the situation for several minutes I decided just to reply and see what happened. Expecting to ruin the moment, to have it diminish with my sanity it instead worked only to confirm their presence.

“Sorry, I'm fine. Just startled really. I'm good though, wonderful. I have my own place now. What are you doing here? How are you doing here?” I was rambling which was to be expected under the circumstances, I guess, if there ever was an expectation for this. Honestly, I really didn't know if this circumstance actually happened before or would again. I had no idea what was going on. Shrinking to the floor, using my legs for a cushion, I didn't take my eyes off my most recent indulgence. Now I no longer wondered why I bought the mirror, I knew it was for them. This was what the universe planned and I was just along for the ride.

As suddenly as I saw them they disappeared, leaving only a wealth of knowledge in their wake just as they had before. Still sitting with my legs folded beneath me I tried to stand with no luck. Instead I crossed them and began my meditation ritual, the same one I had seen my mother conduct while I played in my crib. I understood, even then, the importance of solitude and calmness.

Today, on my 28^th birthday, I needed it most.

Thirty minutes passed but it seemed brief. The images of my parents long moved on still haunted me but I knew sitting still wasn't what I needed most. Although helpful and revitalizing, I needed to write. Making my way to my new office, designed with efficiency and beauty in mind, I quickly grabbed a bottle of water from my mini fridge and sat down. Always old fashioned I reached for a pencil, some paper and “ouch!” gave myself a paper cut in my haste.

Instinctively I put my finger in my mouth and covered it with saliva. It covered my tongue in a bitter taste I never had the pleasure of experiencing before and as I took my finger out and looked at it I smiled. I was bleeding red. 

                                                   ***

Our Return to Veronica

Was it better to have loved and lost than to have loved and to give away? To watch a loved one grow, prosper and be happy without the sense of family you longed to provide? Watching her bleed was the greatest thing we ever did.

“Veronica, the true image of our love, you're beautiful.” A proud father stood over his newborn baby and cried, gushed and rejoiced. The universe took far too many years in his mind to provide but now that it has it's a miracle to bestow. Yet he knew, for his babydoll to be all that she could be their time together would be cut short.

Ethan looked from his newborn baby's majestic blues to the emerald greens of his lover's and he knew immediately what she was thinking but she said it anyway. “I love you, Ethan. Veronica is beautiful and she is exactly what our relationship needs.” She whispered the last part, worried the doctors and nurses would hear but they were distracted with the clean up. They'd done this many times before and knew to respect the new parent's privacy, as much as they could after helping the woman give birth.

“Scarlett, we needed nothing but gained everything through Veronica. Let's cherish the time we have and teach her as much as we know. Of course, it'll have to wait until you're both cleared to go home.”     

He is already pressuring me, she thought. Just enduring a 15-hour labour and delivery was something no man could understand, even one as wise as Ethan. She glared at him as the doctor did what he did in Veronica's passageway into what the world has become. Scarlett almost wished her daughter was born into a different world or, at the very least, a different time. But wishes were like night dreams, plentiful but not sought after. Veronica's world would be made the best it could be in the months ahead to prepare her for so many years alone.

Their future absence, however, wouldn't be mentioned until the last possible moment. They were together now and now was what they had. If only she could heal quickly or Ethan would accept that the days ahead would be hard on her. If only children came to them in a way that wasn't so harsh but then everyone would be running around with babies and the world would be an even worse place than it already was.

“If only's” were worse than wishes as they were on everyone's mind, in everyone's heart – well, at least those ones who had a heart – and they meant nothing to anyone for almost everyone accepted that some things were impossible. She didn't and Ethan didn't so it was up to them in the short time they had to show Veronica the possibility of what she could become; with or without a family to support her.

The doctor finished his duties and vanished, leaving the nurses in charge of instructing the new parents as much as possible to what they could expect. Although expectations were something Ethan and Scarlett never believed in, they nodded and gave the impression they were listening. Then a male nurse helped Scarlett out of bed and into a wheel chair, through the hall and into a recovery room. Just a number to them, another patient moving to the next stage and they'd go back to their waiting area to anticipate the next woman. So cold, harsh and mechanical. A world she'd be glad to be rid of.

And, in a sense, Scarlett did rid herself of that world in just a few long days. Finally, Ethan, Scarlett and Veronica were home and able to realize the unnormalcy again of their lives. Without gawking eyes, listening gossipers and prodding hands they were free to explore this new experience. Then the visitors started.

Never before had the couple realized how many people thought they were friends. They didn't have family but they were quickly being introduced to other families who offered to do whatever needed to be done for the new family. It was on the tip of Scarlett's tongue to admit she needed them to leave, she desired to be alone with Veronica and to ask for them, whoever they were, to take Ethan with them to give her a break. Instead Ethan would always interject and politely explain that they had everything they currently needed but would absolutely call if they found they were in need of something more. Scarlett shook her head knowing that they didn't have anyone's phone number but didn't speak up.

Staring at her sleeping baby was something that brought her calm. Usually one to sit on the floor to meditate, that wouldn't be the way she'd relax in the next few days. Instead she gazed upon the miracle of life and reflected upon all it offered her in the 42 years of living it. They had a bassinet for Veronica, pure white with metallic threading and a small stitched elephant on the side but they rarely laid their little girl in it. Scarlett could seldom let her go and when she did, Ethan was ready for a turn.

Even when awake, which was getting to be more hours than she was asleep, Veronica didn't cry, wail or whine. She seemed to be listening, taking the world in as only an innocent child could and her parents embraced that. When the house was deserted and they could be one, Ethan and Scarlett continually talked, instructing their baby with as many lessons as the time they had would allow. They talked as if their daughter knew what was being said, understood it and embraced it. The words would be spoken in many languages, teaching their young one not only lessons but about their dedication and love.

Stories weren't read from books but created from past lives and experiences and all the while Veronica watched and often nodded in response. She already knew that for some reason or another she was a chosen one, that her life was special beyond comparison. She didn't realize that she wasn't actually alone, that there were others similar to her but so far away from her that she wouldn't meet them for decades to come. For now, she embraced all that the world had to offer with a sense of foreboding she didn't care to acknowledge.

The colourful toys given to her by strangers still in their boxes, Veronica instead played with the knowledge, the lessons and languages caught in her head. It was obvious she listened well to her parents while they spoke about her and to her but it wasn't until the final day she knew them that they would actually make any sense.

Scarlett and Ethan remembered the day as their third most important, with their meeting being the first and the birth of Veronica the second. They were heartbroken and mystified but not confused as they knew this day would come and they knew it would be exactly three months after the birth of their first, and then, only child.

Twenty-eight years later they had no desire to relive the moment but knew if they did they'd both be stronger for it. They knew that after meeting their now all-grown-up daughter through the realm of reflection she'd be forever lost if they didn't finish the conversation they started so many years before.

Ethan took his love by her hand, led her to a white marble desk and sat her down before a paper, pen and a vase of bougainvilleas. He knelt beside her, took Scarlett's hand and helped her write their final letter.

 

 

 

Thank you once more Sarah for sharing your wonderful tale. Read more about Sarah and discover where to buy her work at www.sarahbutland.com





Next week you will be able to meet Becky Meyer Pourchot of Florida, USA, and get an opportunity to read a sample from her enticing story - Open Souls.

 

What a Year it has Been!

 

The last post for 2022.

 

After a three-week break, I’m glad to be back with you wonderful visitors and readers. I won’t ramble on too much about what I did or didn’t do in 2022, nor too much about 2023 other than wishing you only happy things in the future.

 

The Scribbler had a terrific year with super guests and interesting posts.

78,500 page views in 2022.

No statistics on how many stayed.

Some highlights below.

These are the five most popular:

#1 - MJ LaBeff with 1905 page views Go HERE.

#2 – Janet Sanford – 492 page views. Go HERE.

#3 – Christian Brun – 489 page views. Go HERE.

#4 - Darlene Foster – 359 page views. Go HERE.

#5 – Heather McBriarity – 328 page views. Go HERE.

 

Most popular Page views.

#1 – SHORTS with 2270 page views. Go HERE.

    #2 – About Me with 1680 page views. Go HERE.

                            #3 – Father with 1007 page views. Go HERE.

 

 

I’ve had the good fortune of publishing two novellas this year, Father & Shattered Dreams, as well as my newest novel, Code name: Iron Spear 1941. I also participated in an anthology – Winter Paths - with eight other authors. The response to my stories has been overwhelming and I am so thankful to my faithful readers and new readers who take a chance on my stories.

 

For more info, please go here – Father

Shattered Dreams

Code Name: Iron Spear 1941

Winter Paths. An anthology.

 

  THANK YOU

 

There are so many people I need to thank, and I probably missed a few but I appreciate every share, every comment, every purchase of my books.

Gloria

Allen & Gracia

Sally Cronin

Anne Smith-Nochasak

A M Mawhinney

James Fisher

Leonard Shortall

MJ LaBeff

Stephen Shortall and Therese LeBlanc

Angela Wren

Merk Scott Piper

Caleb Pirtle III

The Seasonal Collective.

Debby Geis

 

There is lots of good things to look forward in the new year. Returning guests and New Guests. Some artists as well as authors.

Sarah Butland - Author.

Susan Bernhardt - Author. 

Kayla Geitzler- Author & Poet Laureate. 

Mark Scott Piper - Author.

Sonia Nicholson - Author.

Christopher Sweet - Author.

Margaret Eaton - Author.

Susan White - Author.

Shannon Beers - Artist.

….to be continued with more fun guests.

 

 

What’s coming for 2023!

 

The Alexanders. Vol 2. 1921 – 1930.

I am working on the first draft of I hope to have it ready for summer 2023.

The Roaring Twenties. Flappers and Speakeasys. The good years before the Depression.

Dominic Alexander watches his business grow, itches to be a father but fate works against him and Maria, his wife. In his adventures, he will encounter enemies, questionable friendships. There will be good times and sad times. Dealing with a criminal element trying to disrupt his business. Issues arise which people aren’t prepared to deal with in the twenties.

 

 

Shattered Series with Jo Naylor

I am almost finished the fourth installment in the Shattered Series. Not sure what the title will be yet but I’m leaning towards Shattered Hope. The story takes place in New Zealand. Jo is nicely settled in and avoiding all possible trouble spots, but…

When a new friend explains how her sister might be in trouble, Jo can’t stop herself from getting involved. A young man from Canada is missing and assumed dead. Jo’s not alone this time either. The parents of the boy missing have asked a good friend to intervene. Drake Alexander and Jo Naylor make a formidable team. What they uncover is one of the worst crimes possible.

 

 

Spring Paths

I’m planning my short story for the next Anthology with the Seasonal Collective which is targeted for November 2023. We will have two new members joining the Collective – Gianetta Murray of Great Britain and Eden Monroe of New Brunswick.

 

 

Planned for the future:

Fifth and final installment for the Shattered Series.

A novel based on my short story, One Bedroom Ark. Go HERE.

The next Drake Alexander Adventure which will take him and his team to Africa.

 

 

Other than that, I'd like to go on a trip somewhere with my best friend, Gloria. Maybe Spain.

 

I’d like to volunteer but can’t decide. I’m giving myself until the end of January to make a commitment.

Do you volunteer anywhere? I’d love to hear about what you do and/or some suggestions.

 

Thank you again all you valuable readers and visitors. May you only have happy things happen in 2023.