The Story Behind the Story with Joanne Daggett of Quispamsis, NB, Canada.

 

Let’s welcome Joanne to the Scribbler.

It’s her first visit and I know you will enjoy reading about her and her book.

She will be participating in the GMRD Book Fair and looks forward to meeting you.

She will be there signing her books.

Read on my friends.

 

Joanne is a Christian author who lives in Quispamsis, NB with her husband of thirty-seven years, Alex. She calls herself a hesitant writer and an accidental author. Sing, Dance, Pray, which was published in 2022, is her first book. She enjoys reading, writing poetry and prose, walking in nature, creating art out of string, beachcombing, and spending time with her loving family.

  

Title: Sing, Dance, Pray

Synopsis: Sing, Dance, Pray is a collection of prose and poetry written in simple faith, even in the midst of the complexities of life. Joanne’s faith in God is reflected in her poems and prose, despite a personal story of tragedy and loss many years ago. She pens poems of hope and defiant joy in present seasons of grief, trauma, and crisis. Her writings reflect a personal relationship with her Kind Shepherd, Jesus, with elements of coastal beauty sprinkled with a love of nature.

The Story Behind the Story:

Many years ago, when I faced an unimaginable tragedy that changed the course of my life, people often told me that I should write my story. But I never considered it, as I was too busy raising a family and enjoying coastal life on Grand Manan Island. Living in a small village on a tiny island, everyone knew my story, so I didn’t feel the need or desire to write it down. My faith in God, which was planted as a tiny seed when I was very young, grew and strengthened over the next years of my life. A tragedy that could have made me bitter instead solidified my faith and hope in Jesus Christ.

 In more recent years, as I (and our family) walked through a season of grief, fear and trauma, I felt the gentle nudging to write. My counselor, family, and God urged me to get things out that were “bubbling up” inside me.

Walking with our son through the heartbreak and chaos of addiction, homelessness, and even incarceration left us limping and struggling. As I began to surrender to God and let go of circumstances I couldn’t control or even comprehend, I started to vulnerably share my heart through poetry. No one was more surprised than me! Over the course of a year I bravely wrote, shared my writings, and in that process saw hope and joy renewed in my life. What’s amazing is that every writing always finds a pathway back to a place of hope and peace. Only God can do that for me. It was a healing journey for me, my family, and others who resonated with my vulnerability, defiant joy and stubborn faith. I felt the calling from both God and others around me to publish my poetry and prose. It was never something I imagined, but God had other plans.

Sing, Dance, Pray is my story, which is really God’s story told through mine. It is a love story of grace, peace, hope, joy and light.

Website: Please go HERE.

A question before you go, Joanne:

Scribbler: Where is your favourite spot to write? Are you messy or neat? Your beverage of choice?

Joanne: I enjoy writing either sitting outside on my deck in the sunshine or in my living room, where there is plenty of natural light.

I am neat, both in writing and in general.

I do not have a favorite beverage so I would choose a couple of pieces of chocolate to savor as I write.

An Excerpt from Sing, Dance, Pray:

BE BRAVE

“So do not fear for I am with you, do not be afraid for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10 

A pretty journal adorns my nightstand.

I love the way it looks sitting there, all peaceful, with swirly gold lettering. And I love the message on the cover—be brave.

Yes. Brave!

I want to be brave—I truly do.

 

I see bravery in the people in my life: my daughters, husband, family, and friends.

In my Bible, friends like Queen Esther, Father Abraham, and bold Elijah meet me, too. But it seems almost impossible to walk in their shoes. 

It’s so easy to see bravery in them, in others, am I right? 

Putting on a brave face has been mine to do a few times in my life, like when I became a widow and a new mom, (on the same day), at nineteen-years-old. 

When I said yes to my new husband and turned the corner into a new life, I was also practicing bravery. When I moved away from my island community to the mainland with my little family—brave. Oh, and when I put on my “big girl clothes” and flew out west, alone, to visit my daughter and her family—very brave. 

Sometimes you just do the brave thing without even thinking about it too much, perhaps it’s easier if your bravery will benefit another? 

Other times being brave feels just too hard. Too much.

Overwhelming.

Bravery can look like speaking hope and beauty from the trenches of grief and trauma. Like writing letters of hope to aloved one in prison. Praying for healing, restoration and “new life.” 

Recently I’ve felt God nudging me to write. To write my story—share the beauty in the broken, the message in the mess.

His story told through mine. 

Singing has always been easier for me, but writing, it feels awkward at times and a bit stilted.

But God, He pushes my pen. 

Because He wouldn’t give up on the message…or the girl. The Messenger has a beautiful story of grace, peace, hope and faithfulness—even in the trenches. Especially in the trenches.

So, I write my story which is really His story. 

His story of mercy and grace, peace, healing, and hope.

The Beautiful Healer, He walks with me and holds my hand, the tiny, calloused hand of the common island girl. 

Leaning on Him, I rest and walk on in the light of His beauty.

I can be brave, leaning on His strong arms of HOPE.

Thank you for being our guest this week, Joanne.

 We wish you continued success with your writing.

 See you at the Book Fair.

And another BIG thank you to all our visitors and

 readers. Please leave a comment below and tell us

 what's on your mind.

The Story Behind the Story with Heather McBriarty of Saint John, NB, Canada.

 

Let’s welcome Heather back to the Scribbler.

 

She is always a welcome guest here and she has something new to tell us about.

If you missed her previous visit, please go HERE.

Read on my friends.

 

 

I fell in love with books very early in my life and began writing my own stories not long after. History has long fascinated me. However, both took a back seat for many years, as my career in health care and life as a mother took over. Fast forward to 2018, when the discovery of love letters to my grandmother reignited the desire to write a book, resulting in my non-fiction account of the First World War. A novel of the “Great War” followed, about a period of history that has become a passion. I have delivered lectures on the war, and blog about the Canadians who fought in it. I have too many ideas for new books and too little time. Retirement is coming soon (if the economy doesn’t completely tank) which should free up time for writing!

As a passionate reader, I have reviewed for The Miramichi Reader, currently review for The Seaboard Review and served as a juror for the 2023 Atlantic Book Awards. By day, I’m a Medical Radiation Technologist, doting grandmother, and avid sailor, and live by the sea in historic Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada.

 

Title: The Island of the Golden Orbs

Synopsis: 

Charlotte and Lucas love sailing with their grandparents, but one day they wake up to find they are on a rather piratical-looking ship and about to set sail on a treasure hunt for the mythical Golden Orbs. With Captain Henry at the helm, they navigate dangerous waters to the Island of the Golden Orbs, only to find the treasure and its guardian are not what they expect! Can the Golden Orbs be saved from the real pirates?

The Story Behind the Story:

I wrote this story as a picture book, about two boys who discover their grandparents are pirates, for my two young grandsons who often come sailing with my husband and me, and love to raise the pirate flag (of course we have one on board) and “fight off other pirates” with squirt guns! Being an illustrator of severely limited abilities, it never came to pass and sat for a few years. The boys are now into chapter books, so I thought the time had passed. In November, I was inspired to re-write it with an expanded story line as a chapter book. Working like a demon, I got it ready for a Christmas present for them, adding a fair maiden who had no need of a man swooping in to save her, spiders (because the younger grandson adores them), volcanoes, bad pirates, good sailors who only think they are pirates, and a subtle reminder that the oceans and its inhabitants are the real treasures. Their copies star themselves, but in the “public” version, all names have been changed.

Website: Please go HERE.

A question before you go, Heather:

Scribbler: Where is your favourite spot to write? Are you messy or neat? Your beverage of choice?


Heather: I need peace and quiet with no distractions, no music, so my little desk in my room at home is my most productive - if not exactly “favourite” - place to work. I’m not a write-in-a-coffee-shop person, being terribly fearful of someone peering over my shoulder judgmentally.

My desk is an absolute mess. The bookshelf portion is filled with my WWI library, piled high with other research books. At any given time, there are three notebooks with my story ideas, novel outlines, and research notes on fallen Canadian soldiers. The drawers are stuffed to the brim, and there are two computers (with too many browser windows open). Also, I desperately need to scrub the tea rings off its surface, once I can find them under the papers! Yes, a nice cup of tea – milk, two sugar, please! – keeps me running.

An Excerpt:

Up came the anchor with a rattle of its chain and out rolled the big white sail. Slowly the Golden Orb gathered speed, out between the navigation marks, past the lighthouse on the point and into the open ocean. Over the waves she flew, and Charlotte and Lucas waved to the other sailboats. Overhead, seagulls chased them and once a pod of porpoises swept above the water, leaping and splashing in the sun. All day long they sailed, passing Grampa’s big brass spy glass back and forth so they could watch the big ships way out to sea and the houses on the shore. But soon the sun began to slip lower in the west, and so they sailed into a little cove, furling their sail and dropping the anchor. And when the sun slipped down below the horizon, lighting up the water with orange and pink and purple, they got into pajamas and crawled into their cozy bunks.

It was early the next morning that a creak and a thump and the sound of running feet woke Lucas. Opening his eyes, he saw dark wood beams above his head not the smooth white of Gramma and Grampa’s boat. Shaking Charlotte awake, Lucas was about to ask where they were when their cabin door banged open, and a heavily bearded man poked his head in.

“Awake ye lazy scoundrels!! We’re leaving port and Cap’n says all hands on deck!”

I’ve had the pleasure of reading Heather’s stories and not only are they captivating, but highly entertaining. AH.

Thank you for being our guest this week, Heather. We wish you continued success with your writing.

And a BIG thank you to all our visitors and readers. Feel free to leave a comment.

The Story Behind the Story with Yvonne Belliveau of New Brunswick, Canada.

 

Please welcome another new author to the Scribbler

 

This is Yvonne’s first visit and we trust it won’t be her last. She will be participating in the GMRD Book Fair in April and during our correspondence, she accepted our invitation to be a guest this week. 

Please read on my friends.

 

Yvonne Belliveau is inspiring, uplifting, and empowering. A successful entrepreneur, motivational speaker, and empath. Yvonne has been a leader and expertise in her field for the past fifteen years, as a coach, mentor, transformational teacher, healer and intuitive. She helps new and seasoned empaths in their spiritual awakening and transformational journey, bridging them into self-enlightenment.

Her professional practice approach is focused on helping clients discover their inner breakthroughs, she helps uncover hidden blockages, and unveil life mysteries. She brings gleaning new information and long-held challenges from their souls, inspiring long-lasting results.

Yvonne is extremely devoted with her time, to her work and clients. Her work is done with compassion, empathy, knowledge, unconditional love, and light, shifting the empath into a higher soul and consciousness level.

Yvonne was born in a small town located in New Brunswick, Canada.

To learn more about Yvonne, please visit her website listed below.

 

Title: Empath: Awakening of the Soul (Transformational Journey into Enlightenment)

Synopsis: This book alludes to the soul-awakening and transformational journey into self-enlightenment of an empath, a transition from the ordinary to the extraordinary—coming into greatness. It serves as a teaching guide and gift to the new and seasoned empath.

The Story Behind the Story: By writing this book, in part, it is the essence of my spiritual soul awakening, my transformational journey as an empath into self-enlightenment. A memoire of my own spiritual journey. 

My role and responsibilities are to bring other empaths to this level of enlightenment. I share with them my personal story and experiences on how I overcame the many life struggles, traumas, challenges, inner battle with the shadow self, as well as fears, loneliness and confusions that I felt growing up. The feeling of alienation that kept me from seeing my own greatness; that kept me from showing to the world who I really am. 

Somewhere deep within, I knew I was different for a reason. Everything felt muddled until the day of my awakening, where everything became clear, and comprehension finally set in. The empath standing before me only needs to know that someone understands, hears them, and confirms that they are not crazy, that what they are going through is real. I am able to share tools, experience, guidance to help them on their own personal spiritual journey. 

In my practice, I have helped many empaths find their way home. This is where their path begins, bringing them to their true purpose and life mission. I have helped many empaths open and develop their own spiritual gifts, while showing them how to use them with grace and sacredness. I can share with them, through my own experiences, that they too are special and unique, despite what circumstances they have already gone through. Opening the door of their soul, connecting to an inner knowing, reaching a higher vibration and frequency is of the upmost importance. I am also able to share with them what helped me along my own unique journey, bringing them answers to some of their own unique questions, while accepting that they too are coming into their own spiritual awakening. What do they need to look for? What event or catalyst helped opened the door of their own spiritual awakening? A recognition will set in so that they too can see their own uniqueness and greatness. Bringing them to self-acceptance of their new status as an empath, and to help them transition into this unknown world with grace and love. 

By going through these transformational experiences, the soul is being awakened and a calling to answer the soul’s desires is being showed to the empath. Through following the desires of the soul, the empath attains a status of achievement and triumphs that the soul is joyfully in acceptance. A heart and soul that will soar to new heights vibrationally and spiritually. I also touch on ways to help the empath manage their own sensitivities, the importance of self-care, the hidden messages of the body, sharing and helping open their own spiritual gifts and so much more. 

This is a gift to the empath, helping them transition, expand, grow and evolve at the soul level. My deepest wish was for them to reach their full potential, bringing them to a higher level of consciousness, ready to journey into self-love, creating and manifesting the life they so deserve.

Website: Please go HERE.

An Excerpt from Chapter 1

The Light Within

I truly believe we forget who we are at birth, leaving behind our power, knowledge, wisdom, and unconditional love, needing to relearn everything. From a very early age, I knew things, information and teachings that I’d never seen or heard before. I can’t recall the specifics, as it was so long ago; however, from time to time, inklings of inner knowing kept resurging to the surface.

I can also recall having serious adult conversations with the angelic realm. Questions were asked, and answers kept pouring in. Through bouts of hurt and sadness, I retreated to this sanctuary of love. Here I felt safe, loved, surrounded, and supported, my home away from home. When I would hang on too tightly to this place, I would be brought back into reality quite quickly. As an old soul, I journeyed on this earth numerous times. In each of these lifetimes, I gained wisdom, knowledge, love, and light, stored in the cellular memories of my soul. So of course, the familiarity of speaking with the angelic realm feels natural to me.

I came into this world, taking on a small statuesque body; I always felt the need to hide, not be heard or noticed. I understood that some people were loved, and some weren’t, as I saw others being treated differently around me. I felt my inner light, yet I realized it was sometimes attached to harsh consequences. I learned to hide it to survive. Life had a way of showing me that I shouldn’t speak, so I stopped revealing myself.

A question before you go, Yvonne:

Scribbler: Where is your favourite spot to write? Messy or Neat? Beverage of choice? 

Yvonne: My favourite spot to write is in my office at my desk. I am a neat and a very  well-organized writer. My beverage of choice is water.

       

Thank you for being our guest this week, Yvonne. We wish you continued success with your writing. 

Another BIG thank you to all out visitors and readers.

Feel free to tell us what’s on your mind in the comment section below.

The Story Behind the Story with Author Diana Stevan of West Vancouver, BC, Canada.

 

One of our most popular guests is back. Say hello to Diana.

 

It’s always a treat to have her join us. She launched her newest book yesterday, March 15^th and everyone is talking about it. 

I look forward to reading it. 

Diana has been here before and if you missed her last visit, please go HERE. 

 

Diana Stevan jokes she’s a Jill of all trades. She’s worked as a family therapist, teacher, librarian, model, actor, and CBC television sports reporter. She’s published poetry, a short story, newspaper articles, a novelette, and five novels: A Cry from The Deep, The Rubber Fence, Sunflowers Under Fire (a finalist for the 2019 Whistler Independent Book Award), and the sequels, Lilacs in the Dust Bowl, and Paper Roses on Stony Mountain (on Miramichi Readers’ List of Best Fiction for 2022). Her latest book Along Came A Gardener (non-fiction) is an inspirational book weaving her experiences working in mental health with her love of gardening. It launched March 15, 2025. She lives on Vancouver Island with her husband, Robert.

 

Title:  ALONG CAME A GARDENER

Synopsis:
From the author of the award-winning Sunflowers Under Fire, comes an inspirational book with personal memories and stories from the world of mental health. Along Came A Gardener is based on the thoughts and ideas the author Diana Stevan gleaned from her 25 years as a family therapist combined with those she found working in her garden. Stevan shows us that even when life looks grim, there are tools we can use to meet its challenges and move toward a better future. This book explores the nature of loving relationships and the lessons Nature provides in our backyards and beyond.

The Story Behind the Story:  

Along Came A Gardener covers my 25 years of working as a family therapist and more. The people I saw in counselling or therapy were varied, from all walks of life and backgrounds. I counselled individuals, couples, and families, and even did some trauma work with bank employees after a robbery. It was rewarding work and surprisingly, mutually beneficial.  The people who came for counselling taught me a lot as well. And over the years, I discovered that Nature also has much to contribute. Nature shows us daily how to live in harmony and how well its vegetation thrives when it’s cared for.

Because I’ve worked in so many different mental health settings, I share stories about those who’ve dealt with addiction, depression, guilt, grief, marital and family conflict, and other emotional pain. Woven in are thoughts on anger management, stress reduction, and other ways to calm our minds and lift our spirits.

I’m hoping readers will find inspiration within its pages, and if they’ve ever had questions about the value of psychotherapy, I hope they find the answers there as well.

WHAT INSPIRED ME:

I had thought about writing this book back in the late 1970s, but I’m glad I didn’t. I wasn’t ready. I had been inspired to write it after a high school student, who I’d seen for counselling wrote me a beautiful poem, called The Seed of Hope. Though a bright student, she was failing and had attempted suicide. More of how I helped her and how she inspired me is included in the excerpt below.

Diana's Website - please go HERE.

A question before you go, Diana:

Scribbler: What is the ideal spot for you when you write your stories? Music in the background or quiet. Coffee or tequila? Messy or neat?

Diana: I’m thankful I have a room in the house that serves as my office. Because of back issues, I have a sit-stand desk, which has been a godsend. And though I love music (who doesn’t?), I like quiet when I’m writing. Coffee is my drink of choice in the morning and lemon ginger tea after that. Though I like a neat desk, it invariably gets messy and I have to take time every so often to get it back under control.

An Excerpt from Along Came A Gardener

THE SEED OF HOPE

It's important to note that our capacity for growth is greater than we think. Neuroscientists have discovered that our brains keep growing and stabilize in early adulthood. Our brains continue to develop new neurons even in our eighties as long as we keep challenging ourselves intellectually and socially. Just as we learned in school that we can succeed if we apply ourselves, it is also true we can better our lives through self-examination, therapy, and other forms of knowledge. We all experience bumps in the road. Some seem insurmountable, but it’s not always the case. That’s when hope has a role to play.

Early in my counselling career, I worked for the Child Guidance Clinic in Winnipeg. As a clinical social worker (and later school psychologist), I visited schools and talked to classroom teachers, guidance counsellors, and special education instructors. School personnel referred children who were showing signs that all was not well in their lives. These were students who displayed aggressive tendencies or showed an inability to engage with others, which was especially worrisome if they were teens who could be at risk for suicide. Sometimes, that meant I would see the student alone in the guidance counsellor’s office; other times, I’d arrange to meet with the student and their parents at their home or the clinic.

On one occasion, a high school guidance counsellor referred two sisters, who were gifted academically and artistically but failing miserably. One was an exceptional violinist; the other a talented poet who had attempted suicide. Their mother had been diagnosed with schizophrenia. Following the referral, I made a home visit to assess the family dynamics.

After meeting with the family, I had a better understanding of what the two sisters faced daily. Their father had a responsible executive position that took him away from home for long periods, leaving the three females of the household to work things out on their own. When the sisters came home from school, they never knew what mood they’d find their mother in. One minute, she was loving, and the next, she lashed out for little or no reason. Meanwhile, their father was of little help when he was home; he was a passive man, trying to hold on to his sanity. Given the mother’s mental illness, family therapy was not practical.

Instead, I met with both sisters and listened while they poured out their problems. They complained about feeling rejected by their mother. They could do no right.

As we know, adolescence is a time for developing a sense of self and gaining more independence. However, adolescents still need their parents’ support while they find their way.

The older sister kept expecting her mother to behave as she thought a mother should by showing love, warmth, and understanding. Given her mother’s mental illness, her expectations were unrealistic. But who could blame her for wanting her mother’s love? We all want our mother’s love; we all need it.

It’s not clear how much their mother loved them. She may have loved them dearly but was unable to show it. She appeared stiff and remote, unable to engage. She could’ve been so preoccupied with her own existence that nothing else registered. Either way, the girls couldn’t get the love they wanted. They kept trying to no avail. All they got for their efforts was an erosion of self, which added to their depression.

I empathized and reassured them that, given their mother’s emotional challenges and erratic behaviour, it wasn’t surprising they were having a hard time at school. In crisis, they couldn’t see the personal resources they could draw on. We discussed strategies for dealing with someone unpredictable. Lowering expectations of their mother helped them step back and see how they could diffuse potentially volatile moments.

Rather than trying to change the people who are important to us, we need to look at what we can do differently about our situation. This way, we take responsibility for our own lives. We find the power within ourselves. The eldest sister did just that, and months later, wrote me the following poem. She gave me permission to share it with you.

The Seed of Hope

They had left me behind
but I did not mind,
for I was content
to live in darkness
and solitude.
No one there to hurt,
no one to start a feud,
no one there to rule me,
somewhere I could be free
I had all the comforts and food to survive;
yet I began to question why I was alive?
I began to shrivel up within and die,
when the gardener happened by.
Most would have thrown me to the wind, as he;
the prey of a ravenous chickadee.
But it was his wife, who reasoned
that it was just patience in need,
for the revival of life,
the emergence of seed.
No matter which direction
I tried to move
the walls of earth kept crumbling in;
it seemed impossible to win.
My world had become corrupt.
My only escape was up.
I hesitated below the surface,
fearing what lay ahead,
afraid I would not find a plow;
abandoned instead.
My determination was stronger than my fear
So I continued more excited
as I grew near.
As I broke through the earth
and met the sunlight,
my heart took to flight
for I’d found rebirth.
Though the tears of heaven
may splash against my face,
weeds try to win my place,
the wind whip and lash me
to the ground,
the sun wither my every leaf
I have faith, it is my belief.
That I can grow,
I have the resources to cope.
for I began below
from a simple seed of Hope.

There are many gardeners out there who are willing and able to plant these seeds of hope. From family members, friends, doctors, priests, ministers, rabbis, imams, counsellors, and psychiatrists to the neighbour next door.

But the seeds we plant in our garden can’t do the work on their own. They need our help; they need nutrients, sun, water, and a decent environment. They need us to nurture the planted seed.

Besides finding empathic gardeners, we can also find the gardeners within when we work to improve our lives. Faith—in others, ourselves, and/or a higher power—can lead us on the path to recovery from the hurts we’ve experienced.

Thank you, Allan, for the opportunity to discuss my upcoming book, Along Came A Gardener. I've been looking forward to the launch on March 15th. It’ll be available for sale on all the bookseller sites.

You are most welcome, Diana. And I thank you for being our guest this week. We wish you continued success with your writing.

A SPECIAL THANK YOU to all out visitors and readers.

Please tell us what's on your mind in the comment section below. Thank you.

The Story Behind the Story with Author Luke Beirne of Saint John, NB, Canada.

 Let’s welcome Luke to the Scribbler.

 

Luke is another newcomer to our blog and he is most welcome.

He is just coming from a successful book launch at 

The Write Cup in Saint John, NB.

He is also a participating author at the GMRD Book Fair in April.

We are most fortunate to have him as a guest to tell us about his novel.

Plus an Excerpt.

Read on my friends.

 

 

 

 

Luke Francis Beirne was born in Ireland in 1995 and now lives on the Wolastoqey land of Saint John, New Brunswick. His first two novels, Foxhunt and Blacklion, were published by Baraka Books in 2022 and 2023 respectively. Saints Rest will be published by Baraka in March 2025. Beirne’s writing has been stylistically compared to Graham Greene, Frederick Forsyth, Ernest Hemingway and John le Carre.

 

 

Title: Saints Rest

 

Synopsis:

Malory Fleet’s son was killed by bikers and now she’s worried about his missing girlfriend, Amanda. But that case was closed shut by the police a year ago and Frank Cain, the private investigator she’s hired, is reluctant to take it on. On the sometimes seedy streets of uptown Saint John, no one wants to talk, even fewer have anything to say, and the police have cast a blanket of fog over everything. As Frank searches fruitlessly for clues, he learns more about Malory than about Amanda, and begins to grow wary. Throughout, Detective Stuart Boucher is following Frank and making little effort to hide it, leading Cain to conclude that the officer may have more to do with the case than he’s letting on. For Frank Cain, as unmoored as a lost ship in the harbour, in unravelling this case he risks unravelling himself.

 

Saints Rest is a neo-noir novel set in a gritty and unforgiving Saint John, a town where few people are prepared for its secrets, least of all Frank Cain.

 

 

The Story Behind the Story:

In September 2022, I suffered a life-threatening brain injury while boxing and spent five weeks in a coma. I had to retrain my body to do everything, from moving my fingers to walking. While I was in a coma, my second novel, Blacklion, was accepted for publication by Baraka Books. With incredible difficulty and determination, I trained myself to write again. Before I was able to structure my own days, my partner would hand me a pen and notebook and ask me to write. My father, who is also a writer, was amazed to see how well my writing had stayed intact, despite the severity of my injury. I worked with a great Speech Language Pathologist, at the Stan Cassidy Centre in Fredericton, who helped me with this. After my release, I structured my days, setting aside specific times to sit down and write. I also followed online writing courses diligently. Before my injury, I had a rough draft of this book, which gave me something to focus on as I relearned how to write. As a result, this is the book I am most proud of so far.

 

Website: Please go HERE.

A question before you go, Luke:

Scribbler: Where is your favourite spot to write? Are you messy or neat? Your beverage of choice?

Luke: At home or the Saint John Free Public Library.
I am neat.
A deep, dark roast coffee, black.

An article in yesterday's (March 8) newspaper in Saint John.

An Excerpt from Saints Rest. 

In Saint John, sunshine was rare. When day broke, the sky turned grey and shards of light glared through to front steps where people huddled and smoked, to dockyards where people worked, to park benches where people slept. In the city’s peripheries––the east and west––people sat in breakfast nooks and morning rooms, and maybe the sun shone there, rising over pine-crested cliffs and frozen bays as bacon sizzled in the pan and accounts were discussed, as affairs ended in lawsuits and bitter resentment rather than fistfights and broken windows; but, in the heart, Saint John woke when the light shifted and darkness retreated behind the clouds, distant but ever-present, looming over the uneven rise of flat-top roofs.

​In our office, Randy and I were wide awake. I hunched over a space heater beside the corner window with a double double and a folder of surveillance photos suggesting that Dustin Colter could walk on his left foot and was, therefore, ineligible for worker’s comp. Randy sat at his desk writing up the delicate details of an infidelity case.

​Our office was on the third floor of a townhouse on Princess Street. The ceilings were tall and the windows narrow. From the corner, you could see over the curve of the road to the plateau of the harbour, where the fog gathered and rolled. 

​Below was the South End. Cannery Row, by another name. In the South End, people were real; ghostly demarcations kept apparitions at bay. I sipped the coffee and looked out. It wasn’t good but it was familiar. 

​Footsteps in the hallway stopped in front of the door, drawing a slouching silhouette behind the glass. When the door opened, a woman stood in front of us. Looking forty or way past it, she had distinct smile lines at the upper edge of her mouth, though it didn’t appear that they’d had much exercise lately. 

​The woman was worn, beaten. She wore an old, fur lined puffer coat: once expensive, now stained and torn. 

​“Can I help you, ma’am?” Randy asked. He set down his pen, looking her up and down as he did.

​The woman glanced at me, then back to Randy. “Is this the Cormier Agency?” She spoke with the rasp of a lifelong smoker.

​Randy couldn’t help but smile. “It is,” he said. He closed the file on his desk. “I’m Randy Cormier. Come on in.”

​Randy was a good guy. I felt a kind of obligation to him because I was his first employee and he hired me before we even met. The woman looked at me again and closed the door. She was nervous.

​Randy gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Take a seat.” She began to unzip her jacket but he lifted his hand. “You might want to leave your coat on,” he said. “Landlord controls the heat.”

​She sat down and folded her arms in her lap, pulling the palms of her hands into her sleeves. Yellow fingertips protruded from the ends.

​“What can we do for you?” Randy asked.

​I set my coffee on the spare desk in the corner and sat behind it. I opened the folder and began to sort through the photos inside. When Randy’s at work, I like to fade into the background. That’s where I feel most comfortable, the background. 

​“My daughter in law is missing,” the woman said. 

​“Ok. When was she last seen?” Randy asked. 

​“Over a year ago.”

​Randy nodded. He opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a thin black binder. He flipped to an empty sheet. “I’m going to start taking some notes,” he said, “in case we open a file. I won’t charge you unless we take you on.”

​She nodded.

​“What’s your name?” Randy began, filling in the blanks at the top of the sheet. 

​“Malory Fleet.”

​I looked up. I did not know Malory but I knew her name. More importantly, I knew the case she was bringing us.

​In 2015, on the night of Halloween, her son Jason Fleet was shot to death outside his apartment. No charges were ever laid. Jason was not much missed by the Saint John Police Department. One year to the day, his girlfriend, Amanda Foster, was reported missing.

​For a while, the coincidence brought attention to the case. Then it faded into obscurity, relegated to unsolved mystery forums and half-hearted Facebook posts appealing for information.

​Randy glanced over at me and then returned his gaze to the woman. “And your daughter in law is?”

​“Amanda Foster.”

​Randy set down his pen. “So, they’ve had no luck then?”

​“The police don’t give a shit. They’re crooked,” Malory said. “That’s why I’m here.” 

​“Are you in contact with her family?”

​“You’re looking at her family.”

​Randy nodded. “Ok,” he said. “Malory, listen. A missing family member is usually an easy enough case, a simple matter of asking around. An investigation like this though, with the complicating factors––your son, the ongoing investigation, the police––it could get complicated. It might take a lot of time.” He paused. “It might be expensive.”

​“You don’t think I can afford it.”

​“That’s no reflection of yourself,” Randy said, exhaling loudly. “I don’t think I could afford it.” 

​Malory shrugged. “Cut me loose when my cheques bounce.”

​For a while, Randy just looked at her, contemplating. Then he nodded. “Ok,” he said. “Let’s open a file. Talk to me.”

 

"Excerpt reproduced with the permission of Baraka Books"

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