The recent launch of Rhonda’s novel was a
tremendous success.
Hats off to the marketing pros of Merlin Star
Press for generating lots of buzz around their first novel.
None better than the dynamic storytelling from
one of the province’s most talented authors.
Let’s welcome Rhonda to the Scribbler.
Read on my friends.
RHONDA BULMER
is a Moncton, New Brunswick-based author with a background in public relations
and freelance writing, and currently serves as executive director for the
Writers’ Federation of New Brunswick. She has published three fiction books
independently, and in 2023, her short fiction appeared in the anthology, Monsters
in the Fog, (Partridge Island Publishing). The Widow & the Will (Merlin
Star Press, 2024) is her first novel.
Title: The Widow & The Will
Synopsis: Lindy
Hall has begun a promising career in Toronto with her boyfriend, George. When
Grandma Runa, her only living relative dies, Lindy receives a shocking
bequest—the d’Avray Manor Inn in Harmony Bay on New Brunswick’s Bay of Fundy.
Lindy takes two
weeks off to visit the inn. Locals call it The Widow’s Inn, said to be
haunted by the grieving widow of its first owner. She finds herself on a
collision course with the proprietors, Tony and Anne Allaby. In the face of
bankruptcy, Anne is bitter. Lindy is sure the couple is holding something back.
When a handsome
tour operator vies for Lindy’s affections, and the ghost of Elizabeth d’Avray
visits her, an impatient George urges Lindy to forget it all and come home.
Could Gram’s
final wishes and The Widow’s Inn be the keys to unlock Lindy’s mysterious
past—and her future?
The
Story Behind the Story:
I am interested
in family conflict. Nothing can ignite (or worsen) family conflicts more than the
final wishes in a will, especially a parent’s will. What they have written down
can make heirs feel loved, appreciated, ignored, or hated by the deceased.
My mother comes
from a family of 12 children, and Mom was named executor of her own mother’s
will (against Mom’s wishes). As a consequence, my grandmother’s stipulations put
Mom at odds with her siblings for many years. I always thought it was quite
unfair of my grandmother to place my mother in this uncomfortable situation for
an extended period – 25 years, in fact. And so, in 2014, I began the initial
premise of my book: a will. A young woman from Ontario becomes the sole heir of
her grandmother, who leaves her with an inn on the East Coast. Her grandmother
charges the heroine with a long-term obligation to those who run the inn, for
reasons that are not explained. This big reveal is both cryptic and
inconvenient.
In the last ten
years, whenever I’ve told anyone the premise of the story I was writing, they
enthusiastically volunteered their own family will story. Money – or the lack
thereof – seems to bring out the worst in people.
Along with that,
I stuffed all my favourite story elements in the same novel: an old neglected
historic inn, with an accompanying supernatural presence (my mom likes ghost
stories, too), a love triangle, the gorgeous setting of the Bay of Fundy (which
I think is one of the most beautiful places in the world) mercurial weather,
grouchy, eccentric people, and a big family secret. I didn’t realize I had
written a gothic novel, until a publisher who heard my initial pitch in 2019
put that label on it.
As a lifelong New
Brunswicker, this book is my love letter to New Brunswick. Throughout my life,
many people I’ve known left the province in search of better opportunities
elsewhere. However, especially in recent years, I’ve come to the conclusion
that with a bit of determination, we can create our own opportunities here.
Websites
Rhonda – Go HERE. Merlin Star Press – Go HERE.
Buy the book HERE.
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?
Rhonda: At home, I like to sit not so much at my desk but on the couch with my laptop, near a sunny window. And I like to listen to baroque cello – or even better, rain noises. I do like sitting at a coffee shop, too. Sometimes a couple of hours of people-watching helps to keep the writing fresh.
I am fifty percent neat. I suppose if it’s too messy at home, I’ll go to the coffee shop so I don’t have to look at it!
The wind rose sometime in the night. It whipped around the corner of the house and preceded an abundance of rain. Under normal circumstances, the thrum of water on the windowsill would be comforting, but the bang of the widow’s walk door was more insistent. It opened and slammed shut with every gust of wind from the window. The latch arm clattered against the groove.
Don’t turn your back to the stairway. Looks like something is moving down there in the shadows.
Melinda, stop being ridiculous.
Yeah, okay, Gram. I hear you.
I threw back the patchwork quilt. Maybe grouching out
loud would push back the darkness, even if it was all imaginary. “Am I going to
have to do this every night?” Tomorrow was my first day in that tiny
office and it was important to be fresh.
I opened one of the desk drawers and found a roll of
packing tape.
Perfect. I pushed a chair against the door and weighed
it down with a couple of old-fashioned hardcover dictionaries from the
bookshelf in the corner. Then I tore a few pieces of tape and applied them to
the latch.
I stood back to examine my handiwork for a moment.
“There. Let’s see you break through that, Mrs. d’Avray.”
I left the light on and climbed back into bed. Comforted by this achievement, my eyes grew heavy, and I drifted away.
In the gentle light of the desk lamp, a woman in a
dark linen gown with a white collar appeared at the end of my bed, holding
something like a photo in her hand. I pulled myself into a tight ball against
the bed frame. I didn’t want her to grab my feet.
Was she looking at me or through me?
A few tendrils of grey-streaked dark hair escaped her
bun, and her face was lined not so much with age, but with sorrow. She paced
the room before sitting on the edge of my bed. Her shoulders shook as she wept.
“They’re all gone. I’m all alone.”
I heard the words clearly. And I answered her clearly.
“I know.
They’re all gone.”
Uncontrollable grief welled up from the centre of my
being. Was it hers, or mine? Loneliness for Gram and Gramp swept over me. For
the parents I never had. “I’m all alone, too.”
“What does life mean without them?” The widow’s walk
door
opened, and moonlight streamed through it. She walked
through the door, dropping the photo as she melted into the darkness.
At five o’clock, my eyes snapped open. My pillow was
soaked. I’d been crying in my sleep.
Last night’s steady rain gave way to a dull, overcast
sky, but the
wind was still blowing. And I shivered, not just from
the cold and damp.
That dream…it was a dream, right?
I sat up. Everything was the same as I’d left it—the
chair in front of the door, the tape on the latch, and the desk lamp glowed in
the daylight. But I could have sworn the door had banged open. And the woman cried
at my bedside, and disappeared up the steps.
Not only had I seen her, I’d felt her. I’d
shared her emotions. I
understood them because I had the same ones.
Hey, it was only a dream. Snap out of it!
I had a big day of number-crunching ahead, and I
couldn’t schlep around indulging my grief-stricken night visions.
I dressed, returned the chair to the desk, and tore
the tape off the
latch. In the literal cold light of day, don’t you
feel silly? Everything sounded louder in the dark. And who can control what
they see in their dreams?
As I turned away, the little door burst open behind
me.
It slammed with a loud bang! against the wall.
I shrieked, jumped back and stumbled over the bed. An
icy blast of wind hit me in the face. My eyes were locked on the steps, waiting
for something to come through. After a minute, I dared stick my head through
the doorway. A strong gust of wind whooshed freely throughout the observation
deck.
Glass shards were scattered on the tiny staircase.
This morning’s
gale had finally broken through the old, cracked
window panes, and they crashed to the floor.
There was something else.
Book Launch. April 2024 |