The Story Behind the Story with Author/Poet Jane Tims of New Brunswick, Canada.

 

Good news! Jane is back to the Scribbler. 

I’ve known Jane for many years now and enjoy her stories. I’m looking forward to reading this novel and I’m pleased she is here to tell us about it.

Jane has been a frequent guest and if you missed her last visit, please go HERE.

Read on, my friends.

 

 

Jane Tims is an author, biologist and historian. In her writing, she includes themes from her interests in botany and built landscape. She illustrates most of her books. She has published 7 books of poetry, five books in the Kaye Eliot Mysteries, and two children’s books (one as illustrator). Under the name Alexandra Tims, she has published 13 books in her science fiction series ‘Meniscus,’ and six novellas in the Urban Mysteries Series. Her latest book, ‘Open to the Skies,’ is published by Merlin Star Press. Jane won the 2016 Alfred G. Bailey Prize for her book of poems ‘mnemonic,’ and her poetry collection ‘a glimpse of waterfall’ was short listed in the 2022 New Brunswick Book Awards. She is currently working on four novellas in the Rural Mysteries Series

 

Title: Open to the Skies

 

Synopsis:

Sadie, a weaver and writer, and Tom, a retired welder, become interested in repurposing an old, soon-to-be-deconsecrated, church. The building fits into their plans to create a writers’ retreat on their property in rural New Brunswick, as part of their larger plan to give Sadie a future, since Tom is dying of welders’ lung. To acquire the church and move it to their own property, Sadie and Tom must understand the mythology surrounding the church and face antagonism every step of the way. Their plans raise the hackles of the neighbours, including a spiteful claimant to the church land. As Sadie and Tims work to win over the community, fire becomes a recurring threat. Sadie learns that churches are not only stained-glass windows and candlesticks, but places of community memories, stories and deeply held secrets, including the mystery of a blue toy truck and the identity of a young boy who shows up whenever drama unfolds.

 

The Story Behind the Story:

I have always been interested in built heritage: old homes, old churches, empty schoolhouses, and covered bridges. This, coupled with my understanding of biology, constitutes a reverence for protection of landscape and conservation of older buildings. I have been involved in the decommissioning of two older churches in the Anglican Parish of New Maryland and worked with the New Maryland Heritage Association to establish the local Saint Mary the Virgin Church as a Heritage Centre for the community. During this work, I learned about the various stages of repurposing an old church and the important role of the community in the process. I have also worked in various community consultation processes.

          The setting for the story is a part of rural New Brunswick in Queens County where my husband and I have a summer home. We have explored the woodlands and shorelines of the rivers in the area, as well as the shops and restaurants of Gagetown and Cambridge Narrows. Our experiences in the local area are incorporated into the way Sadie and Tom love their property and their local communities.

          I also am interested in the idea of a writers’ retreat where writers can learn and explore their craft. The concept provides a setting that is established in ‘Open to the Skies’ and continues to grow and evolve in three more books/stories yet to be published about the Whisper Wind Writers’ Retreat.

 

Website: Please go HERE. 

A question before you go, Jane.

Scribbler: Who was your favourite author, or story, growing up?

Jane: I loved writer Lucy Maude Montgomery, known for her books about Anne of Green Gables. In particular, I love her book ‘Blue Castle,’ which follows the adventures of a young woman who discovers she has a fatal illness and decides to live her final days in a setting of her own choosing. Her adventures in rural Ontario and her relationship with her naturalist husband have inspired my own approach to living with nature all around me.

 

An Excerpt from Open to the Skies:

 

Some people go to church on a Sunday morning and come home poorer by thirty dollars. My wife goes to church and comes home with, what else? The church.

I should be happy. Sadie, who has resisted the plan for a writers’ retreat from the beginning, is finally enthusiastic. Her specialty is history and of course she wants to save an old building. Wants to preserve the stained-glass windows and the brass bell. I think the writers’ retreat is a convenient excuse.

An expensive excuse. When I left work, I carried a tidy compensation package with me. Enough to keep me from suing the company for hazardous working conditions. Enough to buy the flat-screen TV my friend Paul is always going on about. But enough to buy a church? And a hall and house? And move them more than ten kilometres? Not to mention foundations, renovations and perturbations.

I give a glance at the parking lot in front of the tavern. Look for Paul’s Land Rover. Since I left work, we meet here once a month for a draft and a burger. He and Rigger have barely enough time to drive here, eat and get back to work, but I like staying in touch.

At the table by the window is a thin guy in a ball cap. Older than me, drinking by himself. Whiskey by the dark of it. He uses the tip of a key to scratch his initials into the wood of the table. He sees me looking his way and shoves his keys into his pocket. Throws down a five-dollar bill. Manages to give my chair a jolt as he pushes by, spills my drink. In no mood for a scuffle, I watch him as he climbs into a green pickup. Leaves rubber as he pulls away.

I catch the eye of the server and order another lager just as Paul and Rigger arrive. Paul, lean and lanky, and Rigger with the build of a short line-backer.

We order, sling a little bull, talk about the price of gasoline, and whether there’ll be lay-offs this spring. Getting together with your buddies can be a tad depressing.

“How are the house plans going?” says Rigger. He’s never quite as up-to-date on my life as Paul who drops by most weekends.

“Plans are changing,” I say. “We came across an old church, slated for demolition. And a house and hall that go with it. We’re thinking about moving them to the property.”

“A church! You getting religion in your infirm years?” says Paul, a heathen, especially on Sundays.

“We’d use the church for a teaching space. Live in the house, let them camp out in the hall.” Rigger considers the idea as he ravages a three-decker burger.

“I still wonder about this writer idea,” says Paul who is fond of presenting his pros and cons to open air and arguing with himself aloud. “I mean, who really writes? Everyone talks about writing, but who actually does? Of course, all these baby boomers will be wanting something to do when they retire. Install a wheelchair ramp and you’ll be in business.”

“Sadie writes. Poetry, right?” says Rigger, between gulps of draft.

“I think the guy who won that big literary prize a couple of years ago lives out there,” says Paul. “Wrote a book about a little kid who steals a truck.”

“A kid who steals a truck? What happens?” says Rigger. Like me, Rigger gets all his literary knowledge second hand.

“Don’t look at me,” I say.

“An old church,” says Paul, mulling. “Are you sure it’s even sound? I think about Howie Jessop, you know, the guy who used to run the gantry crane at the yard. I think he does big haul moving. Takes a shitload of money.”

“And what about moving all those power lines,” says Rigger. “To let the steeple through.”

Buy the Book HERE Or HERE.

Thank you for being our guest this week, Jane. 

We wish you continued success with your writing. 

Thank you to all our visitors and readers.

Feel free to leave a comment below.

We’d love to hear from you.

The Story Behind the Story with Author Doug Dolan of Moncton NB, Canada.

 This is Doug’s second visit to the Scribbler. 

Welcome Back!

If you missed his first visit, please go HERE for a captivating short story.

Read on, my friends.

 

 

Doug Dolan was born and raised in the Miramichi region of New Brunswick. His work life was spent in the field of education, both in the classroom and program management. At the age of seventy, he picked up the writers pen and shows no sign of slowing down. Dolan is the author of three books including, “Christmas On The River.” Doug and his husband Gary live in Moncton, NB.

 

Title: “Christmas on The River”

 

Synopsis:

The book is a collection of short stories where readers connect with authentic characters in evocative tales. They experience powerful storms and the magnificent but unpredictable Miramichi river. The profiles feature Miramichi residents, including ninety-eight-year-old Katherine, whose inspiring story conveys positivity after personal tragedy. 

 

The Story Behind the Story:

The narratives come from Dolan’s experiences and those of other Miramichi folks. “The stories are nostalgic and I make no apologies for that. They offer an alternative to the mad rush of consumption that Christmas has become. Friends and relatives graciously allowed me to write about times that gave them real joy.

Visit Doug’s website by going HERE.

Buy the Book HERE.

A question before you go, Doug:

Scribbler: Who was your favourite author, or story, growing up?

Doug: Cornelius Ryan, an American author wrote about real people experiencing life events and growing from them. His narrative style was very much, the newspaper reporter.

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

Thank you to all our visitors and readers.

Feel free to leave a comment below.

We’d love to hear from you.

The Story Behind the Story with Author Alison Taylor of Fredericton, New Brunswick, Canada.

 

Let’s welcome someone new to the Scribbler. 

Alison has kindly accepted our invitation to be our guest this week and and talk about the process of writing their debut novel.

Read on, my friends.

  

 

Alison Taylor (they/them) is a writer, editor, and filmmaker based in Fredericton. Taylor’s short stories have appeared in various journals, and their debut novel Aftershock, published by HarperCollins Canada, received the John and Margaret Savage First Book Award (Fiction), and was shortlisted for the Rakuten Kobo Emerging Writer Prize. They received the 2024 David Adams Richards Prize for Fiction for their work-in-progress, Confessions of a Binge Drinker (working title). As a video editor, they cut a hundred-plus hours of television and many award-winning short films and music videos, and their own experimental films have screened at festivals internationally. They currently work in the communications field for the Government of New Brunswick, and freelance as a video editor and as an editor of books.

 

Title: Aftershock

 

Synopsis:

Shame and nightmares still haunt Chloe thirteen years after her baby sister died. Her mother, Jules, has lost herself in her tech career; she has a long history of chronic pain—and little time for Chloe. Aftershock follows their parallel journeys: When Chloe drops out of university to travel for a year, Jules’s Oxy dependency quickly escalates. Jules struggles to regain control of her life while Chloe, after a rocky visit with her estranged father in New Zealand, takes herself offline and off the map. When Jules suddenly can’t find her, the feeling is all too familiar. Mother and daughter will need to address old secrets and the emotional impact they have wrought before they can reconcile with each other, with the past, and with themselves.

 

The Story Behind the Story:

Aftershock, my first novel, began as a story I wrote for a short story masterclass I took through Continuing Studies at U of T. The class was amazing — a sixteen-week workshop, where every participant emerged with four stories that had been intensely critiqued by the whole class.   Terrifying, but amazing. One of the stories I wrote for this class was called “dead baby.” Someone had once told me to “write about what scares you,” and what scared me then, and still does to some extent, is my own family history, my own upbringing, my own life.

I had a sister who died from SIDS before I was born, and there was always this shadow presence in the house, because both my parents and my oldest sister had been through this horrible thing together, and they still carried within themselves that shock and that grief. It filled the air in the house like a charge. It ran under the surface of their relationships with each other. 

So I wrote this story, wanting to imagine what that was like for them, and how it shaped them, and ultimately, how it shaped me. And of course it’s all imaginary: these characters are not my mother and sister — at all. If anything, I would say both the mother and the daughter are different versions of me. In order to figure out a character and build empathy for them, both in myself and in the reader, I imagine myself into that character’s situation and explore how I would feel and react.

“dead baby.,” then, is told from the alternating perspectives of Jules, the mother, and Chloe, her six-year old daughter. It starts with Jules getting a call from the babysitter, saying the baby isn’t breathing, and we go through the next few hours with them: Jules, in shock, going through the motions, going to the hospital, coming home, trying to be a mother to Chloe while she drinks a bottle of whiskey; and Chloe, trying to stay out of sight, watching the paramedics come, watching her mother unravel, and thinking about how she’d been playing with her sister, but then her sister had started crying, and Chloe just wanted her to be quiet because the babysitter was busy with her boyfriend, and she could be really mean, so Chloe had tried to get the baby to suck on a stuffed animal… the story ends with Chloe crawling into bed with her mother, who’s half-passed out, and whispering that she’s sorry, because she’s pretty sure she killed the baby. 

As a story, it’s not very successful. It was undoubtedly underdeveloped, and at least one guy in the class couldn’t stomach that a mother would act the way Jules acted. Also, alternating perspectives in a short form is tricky, because you only have so much time to invest in each character, and to get readers invested in each character. So the general comments from this workshop about “dead baby” were that there was some great writing in it, but they weren’t completely sold.

I still felt like there was something there. And the comment from that guy about it not being a plausible depiction of motherhood really got to me. For two reasons: one, because patriarchy. Two, because while the story was definitely fiction, the aspects of the characters that my classmate was reacting to were definitely real.

But then, as one has to do with all feedback, I had to find the value in it, and examine what made him say that. What was I doing or not doing, and what did I need to do to make it work? Another classmate, one whose sparse, cutting writing I admired, said she really wanted to know what happened next. She felt the story ended just when it really began. Finally, I had done a great deal of writing about the world, the backstories, and the inner workings of the characters. I wasn’t done with it.

Fast-forward a couple of years, and I was applying to the Humber School for Writers’ 30-week correspondence program. Intended for people working on book-length projects, they pair you with an author-mentor who will give you feedback on up to 300 pages. And because you have to send ten pages a week, it really encourages momentum.

I remember the night I was completing my application. For my project proposal, I had this idea that I would do a short-story collection, because it seemed less daunting, and maybe a good place to start. But as I was filling out the application, I remember thinking, why am I forcing myself to do that step, when I know I just want to write a novel?

So then I had to come up with something pretty quickly, because the deadline was probably that night, knowing me. And then it all just came together in my brain. I would write a novel about the characters from “dead baby,” but set it 10 or 15 years later: how had those events affected them, and where were they now? I already had this meaty, traumatic backstory to build it around, and some deeply troubled characters to explore. So that’s what I did. I applied with that idea, got accepted, worked with David Bergen as my mentor, and wrote my first draft.

  

Website: Please go HERE.

A question before you go, Alison:

Scribbler: Who was your favourite author, or story, growing up?

Alison: The first book I remember loving was Judy Blume’s Superfudge. I read it in one sitting, seven hours on the couch, when I was about eight. But the book that sticks in my mind, that I would have read when I was about 14, and that I actually tracked down a few years ago because it’s haunted me ever since, is The Missing Persons League, by Frank Bonham (Scholastic, 1986). Dystopian YA at its best: a dying world, a missing family, a mysterious ring. And an ending you won’t see coming. It’s out of print, but worth it if you ever get the chance.

An Excerpt from: Aftershock.

© 2020 by Alison Taylor. Reproduced by permission of the author.

[Chloe is in New Zealand at her father’s house. Amanda is her stepmother, and Char is her half-sister. Lizzie is the baby that died, and Mo-mo, for Maureen, was the babysitter who was at home with Lizzie and Chloe. Lance is Amanda’s friend who is living in a tent in the backyard because he lost his house in the last big earthquake.]

Neptune.

When a kid invites you to see their room, it’s like being invited into their mind: you have to pay it the reverence it’s due. And you can’t say no. Unless you hate the kid. Which I apparently didn’t.

As Char took my hand and led me through the house to her room, Amanda called out that I shouldn’t judge her by its state because she tidied it every evening but then Char happened every morning. I heard Lance telling her she should just blame it on the earthquakes.

The room was a mess, but I’d seen worse. I thought it was probably genetic.

Stuffed animals crawled over piles of books and blankets, and the dog I’d met earlier (Spot) sat at a toy piano. A princess castle dominated one corner, which made my lip curl a little, but the whole centre of the room was cleared to make room for a pad of paper as long as Char when she lay down beside it.

Sit down here, Chlo. She pointed to a spot beside her. I moved to sit close by. No, not there. Here.

Okay, I laughed. I’ll do what I’m told.

Yes, she said. Here, you can draw with this colour. She handed me a blue crayon. Over there, she said, pointing to one corner of the paper.

Okay, I said. Not really knowing how to act around kids, I found her instructions quite helpful. What should I draw?

Char looked up at me for a few seconds, thinking. Can you draw . . . a dog?

I think so. What kind of dog?

Um . . . the kind that rescues people.

I looked at her, remembering the torn-apart buildings of this city she lived in. That’s bleak, kid.

She nodded.

Okay. And what are you going to draw?

She looked down at the paper and started sketching a shape in purple. I’m going to draw our spaceship, she said.

Our spaceship?

Yes. We’re going to go to Neptune.

I froze, watching her, a whorl of forces scrapping it out in my brain, my chest, my stomach. Love, kinship, jealousy, resentment, fear. At Char’s age I had a favourite game, invented by me and my father. He would smooth out the sand in the sandbox in our backyard and draw a rocket ship in it, big enough for us to sit inside its outline, me in between his legs, and Lizzie, a few months old, propped up between mine. He’d already taught me the names of all the planets, we’d paint them together, uneven splotches of colour across a page in the order of their distance from the sun. Neptune was our favourite destination, the beautiful purple-blue jewel that called to us, invited us to go as far as we could, and then farther. David would make some sound effects while I narrated our trip through the galaxy and Lizzie giggled and gurgled in my arms. I knew he would look after us, and we would both look after her, and we would adventure together every minute we could before he went away again for work. And then it would just be me, keeping my sister safe.

Char looked up from the very not-aerodynamic shape she’d drawn, saw my blank corner of the page. You’re not drawing, she said. Draw! But I couldn’t.

I left her there looking confused, and I felt even worse. But I wasn’t about to get too attached.

The pressure from Amanda didn’t help.

I knew she was just trying to make me feel welcome, but her approach was all wrong. First there was the conversation where she asked me if I would babysit while she ran errands.

I don’t babysit, I told her, thinking of Mo-mo and how that turned out.

But she’s your sister.

I barely know her. I’m not good with kids.

Well, you’ll have to learn sometime.

Why?

Don’t you want kids of your own?

No.

You’ll change your mind.

I don’t like kids, I finally said.

But she’s your sister.

And maybe I would have caved, just to be nice. The truth was, I found it hard not to like Char. But then Amanda called her in from the backyard, where she was terraforming with her mini-bulldozer, to the kitchen where I sat reading at the table.

Wouldn’t you like Chlo to stay and play with you while Mummy goes out for a little while? As she talked, she bent over, wrapped her arms around her daughter and nuzzled her face into her curls.

Char’s face lit up. I closed my book.

I wish I could, I lied. But I’m still so jet-lagged. And I went to the guest room and shut the door, trying not to hear my half-sister crying in the kitchen.

I felt bad, but I hate being manipulated.

 

  Buy the book HERE.

 

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

Thank you to all our visitors and readers.

Feel free to leave a comment below.

We’d love to hear from you.

The Story Behind the Story with Author J.K. Rankin of Fairfield, New Brunswick, Canada

 Let’s welcome a new author to the Scribbler.

I met Jen at one of our popular book events last year. She has kindly accepted our invitation to be the featured guest this week.

Her story is garnering many 5 star reviews.

Read on, my friends.

My name is J.K. Rankin, but my friends call me Jen. I’m originally from Ontario, having spent some of my formative years on a small island in British Columbia called Saltspring.  After graduating from the University of Ottawa in 1991 with a double major in Criminology and Political Science, I moved to Nova Scotia where I lived in the Annapolis Valley and started my career in the field of  Corrections.  In 1999, I moved to Rothesay, New Brunswick and continued my career with Correctional Services Canada as a parole officer. I retired in 2020 shortly after the pandemic started and currently enjoy a quieter life with my husband in Fairfield, NB. 

I am the indie author of The Sanctuary, my first published fiction novel.  It’s sequel, The Inheritance, is currently being edited with the goal of publishing it in 2026. Eventually, this will be a trilogy as I have started writing the third novel to the series, entitled, The Sacrifice.  But...never say never.  I love my characters so much I might not want to say good-bye. Maybe there will be a forth... 

 

Title: The Sanctuary

 

Synopsis:  The Sanctuary is a fast paced suspension thriller about a young woman who finds herself being hunted by the cartel and a retired CIA Agent who is haunted by hindsight and will give his life to fulfill  a promise he made years ago.  What could possibly go wrong with love?  You are about to find out.

  

The Story Behind the Story:

To this day, I can’t point to one specific event or thought that triggered the origins of The Sanctuary.  Perhaps, it’s been the wisdom that comes from living, if I could be bold enough to make such a statement. I would be remiss to suggest my choice of careers did not shape the person I have become to certain extent. My strong desire to understanding the complexity of decision making and human behavior has been a part of me for as long as I can remember.  Guiding me, warning me, you could even say – saving me - like a lighthouse in a storm. 

Regardless, I remember sitting down at my computer one rainy summer day in 2020 and beginning to type.  It started with John and then I added Savannah.  I didn’t have an outline or a goal, I just wrote. I spent countless hours over the course of the following months into 2021,  developing the story lines and soon realized that I might have the beginnings of a book here.  I asked a friend if she would read it and she did.  She liked it but there were some plot issues and character development that needed work.  Stuck, I walked away from it for close to three years. 

Fast forward to May 2024.  I walked into the book section of a large department store looking for something to read for the flight home from Alberta.   As I picked up book after book, admiring the covers, reading the write-ups, something inside me said, maybe someday, your book will be here.  I scoffed it off as utter foolishness, an unachievable goal.  I ultimately chose a book by one of my favorite author’s, Nicholas Sparks  entitled – The Rescue.  I was hooked on the first page and couldn’t put it down.  I was reading the last pages as we descended from 35,000 feet preparing to land in Halifax.  It was one of those books that you don’t want to end and when it did,  I felt a tinge of sadness knowing my involvement in the character’s lives was over.  I wanted to know what happened next. But there was nothing.  Just silence. Now, that’s a good book.  I thought about how that book spoke to me on the drive home to Fairfield and decided I wanted to write something that reminded people why they loved to read.  John and Savannah were calling me back.  So, I opened up my unfinished story and let my characters guide me. I returned to Cache Gulch, Savannah and John.

After a second read through by another friend, at her encouragement and that of others, I made the decision to take the next step.  I found an amazing editor and seven months later, following countless edits, title and cover changes, The Sanctuary was published on 2025/02/14. 

 

 

Facebook Author page: Please go HERE

A question before you go, Jen:

Scribbler: Who was your favourite author, or story, growing up?

Jen: I was a voracious reader as a child. After reading all the Nancy Drew books I could find, I was given a book entitled  “The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant” by Stephen R. Donaldson.  At that time he only had three in the series, I read them all.

 

 

An Excerpt from : Chapter 5 of The Sanctuary

 

Dammit! John Mitchell turned off his tv and slammed his fist on the table. It was all over the evening news. What had always worried him was finally happening. He’d seen the missing girl’s photo and knew it was not a coincidence. Years of painful precautions evaporated the moment Savannah wrote her mother’s obituary. Yes, he’d seen that too. John knew the people looking for Savannah would never stop looking, and there had been just enough information in there that they could have connected the dots. He could never blame her though for posting the obituary. He was certain she didn’t know.

Buy the book HERE.

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

Thank you to all our visitors and readers.

Feel free to leave a comment below.

We’d love to hear from you.