Intrepid reporter, Isaac de Trut, is our special guest with his Santa Claus interview.

 

The Scribbler’s intrepid reporter, Isaac de Trut, caught up to Santa in the Caribbean in late August. 

The only open window for an interview with one of the world’s most popular men was a one hour slot on the last day of the month. A Sunday. 7:00 PM.

The Bequia Island Golf Paradise. On-course suite #1.

 The edited version from head-elf of the North Pole’s PR department, Snortin Morton, was finally received in time for this week’s tribute to Christmas.

This is not Santa's first visit with us. If you missed the others, Please go HERE.

Read on, my friends.

 

Isaac de Trut.  Whoa! I’ve never met such a busy person. The Scribbler is most fortunate to have a rare moment with Mr. Claus. Our last interview was in 2020. We were bumped out each time the following years due to the long list of people, organizations, magazines, authors who want to chat with the famous man but due to my tenacity and my contacts at the Pole, we have a golden opportunity to speak with Santa.

Upon my arrival at his suite, he wasn’t in the best of moods. Having played in the Reindeer Open, a fund raiser for homeless elves, he was presented with the MHG (most honest golfer) award, having the highest score. Much to his credit and reputation of being jolly, such was the case when we began our conversation.

 

de Trut: Thank you for this opportunity Mr. Claus. I’m sorry to hear about you having such a bad day on the tournament this afternoon.

Santa: Yes, well it’s my fault, too many sweets, too much eggnog on my yearly rounds. This pot belly gets in my line of vision at times when I have to look down for the little bugger … I mean the little golf ball. I overindulge and end up paying for it for twelve months… and the silly thing is I do it again, every darn year. Ho Ho Ho.

 

de Trut: It’s been a while since the Scribbler has the pleasure of sharing your thoughts with our readers, Santa. We’ve talked about elves, the reindeer, your hobbies, the mystery of your presence and magic of gift-giving, in celebration of the birth of Jesus. We’ve chatted with the Mrs. and her views, such a lovely lady. What has been the highlight of the last five years we missed you?

 

Santa: The Covid pandemic was a little crazy but thankfully we were all vaccinated in time so no sick days or deaths in the Pole. It was difficult, to say the least, but we got the job done.

Other than that it’s been the normal routine. Our elves checking on boys and girls. The manufacture of all the toys and gifts. Reindeer herding with several new calves. Rudolph finally retired after 45 years of service but his grandbaby, Rudolph Reindeer III, is being trained to lead the sleigh as his grandfather did. If  only I can get the little ones to stop calling him names.

We’ve had to job out the making of candy canes to a company in New Brunswick. Perhaps you’ve heard of them, the Ganong family, famous for their ‘chicken bones’, the pink delicacies. The elves consume way to many to keep the candy making here. There was a weight problem and the elves were growing sluggish with all the sugar so we closed the Sweet Chambers.

Other than that. It’s been the same here.

 

de Trut: I understand from previous interviews, you are a musician. Tell us what you’ve been doing and who is your favourite musician?

 

Santa: Yes, well as I mentioned to Allan a few years back, I am involved in a trio with my friends, Jaspar and Merle. We do a lot of laidback jazz on Sunday afternoons at a little seaside bar called the Clam Shack. Merle is a whiz on the saxophone and we cover a lot of Clifford Brown, Stan Getz  and Kenny G.  

But JJ Cale is still my favourite and we do a few of his tunes as well.

 

de Tret: Sounds like fun Santa. I’ll have to check it out one of these Sundays. What’s your favourite cookie?

 

Santa: Well that’s an easy one. One of my special girls, one who has been good all her life and is a wonderful baker, Natasha Young. Her peanut butter cookies with chocolate chips are the best ever. She always leaves me a dozen or so and although I eat several, I try to take some home to the missus.

 

de Trut: Yes, I’ve heard of her. Can you tell us what you are reading these days Santa?

 

Santa: Yes, well I’ve been trying to read more Atlantic Canadian stuff as there is so much talent there. The wife gets upset when I bring those smut novels home I sometimes read (de Trut: on an aside, Santa winked at me when he said this and added, “I can be naughty too sometimes. Ho Ho Ho.) I usually leave those in the glove compartment on the sleigh and read on the time lapse travelling from one continent to the other.

I’ve discovered some great authors. S.C. Eston and his fantasy novels, Suzanne Casey and her lovely collection of tales, Christopher Sweet and his spooky stories are top-notch and I lately discovered Anne Smith-Nochasak of Nova Scotia, another talented writer. And Angela Wren of Great Britain is also one of my favourites. And the thriller lady from Arizona, MJ LaBeff, good stuff there, too. This is to name a few but there are so many more. I learn a lot about new authors on the Scribbler which I read every week, no matter how busy it gets.

 

de Trut: I can see our time is almost up Santa. Any last words?

 

Santa: Yes, as always, I would like your readers and visitors to be kind. That’s the best advice I can give anyone. Be Kind! And thank you Mr. de Trut for giving me an opportunity to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas and an exciting New year.

 

Santa showed me to the door and gave me a new pen before I left. He told me it will NEVER run out of ink. That’s hard to believe but… I don’t think Santa would lie to me. Do you?

 

 

 

Scribbler: Thank you Isaac de Trut for sharing the interview.

Thanks to Santa.

 

Thank you to all our visitors and readers.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Tell us about your Christmas.

Will Santa show up?

Have you been good!

 

 

***Please join us next week when we recap the year’s Highlights and Special Moments. Plus a small taste of what to expect in the New Year.

The Story Behind the Story with Sheryl Doiron-Powers of Maugerville, NB, Canada.

 

Let’s welcome Sheryl back to the Scribbler.

 

Sheryl has a new book out and we are most happy to share the good news with all you visitors.

Plus, she’s sharing an Excerpt for you.

This is Sheryl’s second visit to the Scribbler. If you missed the first one, please go HERE.

Read on, my friends.

 

 

Sheryl Doiron-Powers is a disabled Canadian writer who has written for the youth, young adult, and adult markets. While she is a diverse writer who has dabbled in many genres, she leans heavily towards dark fantasy and horror steeped in Canadiana. She graduated from St. Thomas University in 2016 with a Bachelor’s Degree in Communications and English with a Concentration in Creative Writing.

 

Title: MacDonald’s Farm

 

Synopsis:

Sean Murphy has lost everything. His job, home, and marriage have all disintegrated in the past year, and he’s stuck sleeping in his uncle’s garage. When an opportunity to start over arises, he takes it.

An old farmhouse on a hundred acres, isolated but close enough for shared custody sounds like the perfect solution.

But there’s a catch. Beneath the stones of the old family graveyard behind his new home, an ancient evil stirs.

When a careless act cracks its earthly prison, Sean must confront the ravenous creature and fight for survival against an evil that should have remained buried forever.

 

The Story Behind the Story:

My writing leans towards dark fantasy, and often involves retelling or modernization of old tales many people have forgotten. When I chose to write about the Abhartach, I knew if anyone stood a chance against it, it would need to be a place where the people had gusto, tenacity, and had people who could stand together against it.

I grew up in the small town of Dalhousie, New Brunswick. Kids from neighbouring communities were bussed in to attend middle to high school, many of them from Nash Creek, Jacquet River, and Lorne. For some of us, those kids were the first ones we’d been exposed to outside of our small town. They were very much like us “Townies” in a lot of ways, but a little more rowdy and boisterous. They had fantastic senses of humour, were very loyal friends, they worked hard, and they were tough. They are a smattering of communities that has deep ties to each other, a fierce pride, and they know how to stick together and get through whatever life throws at them. 

The big cities may keep the world turning, but it’s the small town folk who can hold it all together when the going gets rough.

A more annoying story behind the story is that I somehow overwrote my final manuscript copy with a previous draft. That draft had all of its developmental edits, but absolutely zero grammatical editing. When or how this happened remains a mystery. I figured this out after it was published to Amazon. I then had to edit the entire thing over again, and get the corrections uploaded as quickly as possible, as the book was live and available for purchase. There’s no way to pause the sales while you correct anything. Your only options are to scurry to get it fixed, or unpublish it entirely. The second option often causes issues as Amazon’s system thinks I’m trying to publish copyrighted material, so I opted to scurry.

 

Website: Please go HERE.

Buy the book HERE.

Scribbler: A question for you, Sheryl. Who was your favourite author, or story, growing up?

Sheryl: I’ve been an avid reader my whole life, so that makes this a very difficult question, as I’ve read a ridiculous amount of books.

I guess Stephen King stands out the most from early on. I started reading his works at about age eleven. My favourite story prior to any of his stories was The Dollhouse Murders by Betty Ren Wright.

An Excerpt from: MacDonald’s Farm

 

Sean watched a chunk of melting snow slide down the window and felt both exposed and relieved at the same time. The house’s cozy atmosphere felt more like a tomb with the poor visibility, and it had left him feeling more than a little claustrophobic. Improving conditions meant that they’d be able to spot the creature approaching the house, and would allow them to go out for necessary support and supplies, but it would also mean their movements could be watched by whatever was stalking them. “I’m not sure how much help we’ll drum up. The storm’s winding down and looks to be just some rain right now, but it’ll take a while for people to get out of their driveways, and I’m not sure who will be ready to just run over here when we tell them there’s a monster running around Nash Creek. They’ll think we’re nuts and call the psych ward to come take us away.”

“We could always tell them there’s a rabid bear out here and then tell them the difference once they’re already here.” Darren considered his suggestion for a moment and knew that it wasn’t likely to drum up support either. People in these parts hunted and were comfortable taking down large game, but he doubted many wanted to wade through wet snow and ice to chase something with rabies around. “Might get a couple of the more adventurous residents out here, I suppose.”

“Nah. Anyone coming in has to know what they’re potentially getting into. Just wouldn’t feel right putting unwitting people at risk for who knows what. I don’t think it has showed up to welcome me to the neighbourhood, so can only assume it wants to kill us. Or eat us, which is even worse.” Sean shuddered with revulsion as images of the creature chowing down on his torn-off limbs popped into his brain. “As for what it is, who knows. Someone must, I guess.”

Darren stopped pacing and pulled out his cellphone. He began searching for creatures matching the description on his browser. “So many creatures, so little time. Some of these sound absolutely ridiculous, by the way. Like, who’s going to be afraid of a thing that’s half horse, half man? It couldn’t even get in the house.”

A clash of something slamming into the back door shook the windows, and they yelped in surprise.

“Sean, get over here and bring your weapon!” Randy yelled. Sean ran through the house and found both Randy and Earl leaning against the back door, which rattled on its hinges. “Grab that chainsaw!” The door rocked on its hinges, the sound of wood cracking as the door started to fail echoed through the house.

Sean grabbed the abandoned chainsaw off the kitchen counter and handed it to Earl. The three men pushed against the door with all their might, but he suspected it wouldn’t hold out much longer. All three were tossed forward and fell to their knees at the next barrage of the door, which popped open and slammed into their feet from behind. The creature shoved its emaciated arm through the gap, reached its gnarled skeletal fingers around the door, and managed to grip Earl’s pant leg.

“Get it off me!” Earl kicked at the withered arm and screamed.

Randy leapt to his feet and aimed his rifle, but couldn’t get a clean shot without shooting his cousin’s leg off in the process.

Sean rose to his feet and pulled the cord on the chainsaw, which sputtered but failed to start. Several more quick yanks on the cord later, the chainsaw belched out a cloud of dark exhaust and roared to life.

 Buy the book HERE.

 

Thanks for being our guest this week, Sheryl. Your novel sounds like a winner.

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 Grant Miller of Nova Scotia, Canada.

 

Let’s welcome a new author to the Scribbler!

I had the good fortune to meet Grant at one of our book events. He’s an affable gentleman with a positive view on life. I know you’ll enjoy learning more about him and his stories.

Read on, my friends.

 

 

Hello, and my name is Grant Edward Miller. I am originally from Toronto, Ontario, but have lived in many provinces, including Ontario, Alberta, Quebec, and British Columbia. I now call Nova Scotia home. I live in the small community of Fox Point, in “Otter Cottage” — named for my spirit animal. I was a French immersion teacher for 10 years here in Nova Scotia, and I taught elementary in British Columbia and Quebec. I am now retired and enjoy writing, gardening, cooking, traveling, watching sci-fi, and spending time with my canine friend, Finn the Border Collie.

 

Title: Life-Line: Origins

Synopsis:

Over a million years in the future, a desperate stowaway lies concealed in a space freighter’s cargo hold. Tam Amergan is bound for the prison world Corustloth, where his partner Brogan has been abducted. Ever since the Senate took over the planetary system decades earlier, gay men like Tam and Brogan—degens, as they are labeled under Senate rule—have been forced to live in secrecy. But Brogan is Tam’s life-line, bound to his soul in a ritual performed by a secret sisterhood of women with ancient, unknown designs. Tam has no choice but to follow Brogan wherever he goes. What Brogan sees, Tam sees; what Tam feels, Brogan feels. Neither can live without the other.

Thousands of lightyears away, an ancient brotherhood of mentalists works at uncovering the mystery of humanity’s long-forgotten origins. Their leader, Father, enlists the help of Bennett, who is able to connect with the mind of a space freighter stowaway on the other side of the galaxy. Is Bennett the key to humanity’s origins? Could Tam’s quest to find Brogan have a wider purpose?

The Story Behind the Story:

Writing has always been a part of my life. Since childhood, I’ve written many stories, plays, and video manuscripts, but never considered publishing any of them. Early in my life, I felt that I was different from those around me. I knew from the age of five that I was gay. As a result, I wrote many stories and immersed myself in books – most of them science fiction, as well as science fiction on television. I’ve come to realize that it was a survival mechanism because I lived in a very heterosexist world that often denigrated those who were of a different sexual orientation. I experienced a lot of alienation, hate, and bullying, so I immersed myself in something I loved: science fiction. I could dream of any possible world in those fantasy stories or shows. It gave me hope and the will to continue.

Later in life, I became aware of the lack of representation for gay men in science fiction, and on a whim, I wrote a short story in 2009 about a gay man hiding on a spaceship. It was a claustrophobic story of not having hope in a world that did not accept gays. The main character stowed away and, without any hope or plans, would try to rescue his partner, who was arrested for being gay.

Clearly, it ran parallel to my past life experiences, in which I felt like a stowaway in a world that did not accept me. This short story sat untouched until 2017, when I pulled it out of hiding on my hard drive and began working on it. It blossomed into a story that grew from ten pages to over 300 pages and 62 chapters. I entitled it Life-Line: Origins. I hoped that the book would reach LGBTQ+ readers keen to see themselves reflected in the literary world of science fiction. I’m currently working on the final edit of the second novel of the series, entitled Life-Line: Diversions. The third and final will appear in the next couple of years.

 

Website: Please go HERE.

Scribbler: A question for you Grant before you go: 

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

Grant: I had so many, but J. R. R. Tolkien, Isaac Asimov, and Arthur C. Clark were three that I loved.

An Excerpt from Life-Line: Origins:

 

*** In this chapter, Tam, the main character is in a café known for helping people find a sexual partner. It is a straight establishment in a world that frowns on gay men. He hopes to meet a man to have sex with – even though it could get him arrested. A final note: Tam is a mentalist and can read minds and communicate with others mentally, which could also get him arrested.

 

Chapter 4: Passages 

The light of the moons continued to travel across the sky, casting glimmering shadows on the table in front of him. His empty glass and nearly-finished meal made him wonder if he would be able to remain much longer without raising doubts about his reason for being there. The last thing he wanted to do was make an accidental connection with a woman.

He stared out the window as he toyed with his food, pushing it around with his fork, dreaming of an ideal encounter. What kind of man would I like? Let’s see... a man that has blue eyes and is very muscular. Someone who is sure of himself and clear about what he wants. Maybe short hair? He imagined the instant connection they would feel. Maybe this time it would be more than just casual sex. Most of his past hookups had been in some back alley or behind a market stall. Mental communication had helped him find sodbent, but nothing more. What would it feel like to be in love?

Tam opened his eyes and returned to reality. Surely nothing like that would come to pass! After all, he did not have the luck of an Alorion sapphire ring, though he could have bought the superstitious trinket at the market. He stared out the open window at the cobbled streets and sighed.

Suddenly sensing something very different in his mind, he looked away from the window and back to the room. Oh, Goddesses! There, to his rising excitement, was an enchanting man at the table across from him. He was dressed in a light blue tunic and a dark blue sash, with a multicolored scarf tied loosely around his neck. His light skin was very different from Tam’s darker brown skin. His tawny hair was cut short and swept to the side, with a short tail of hair on the back of his neck. Tam was taken aback by his bright blue eyes, which he had somehow predicted only a few minutes earlier. Blue eyes were rare on Zemitis, as brown eyes were most desired by parents, and other colors were being slowly weeded out of the gene pool—including green ones, like his. The man’s blue eyes glowed like the turquoise-speckled light from the shadow-laden moons outside. The stranger was fending off women nonchalantly, declining all invitations to join them at their tables.

He felt a thrill as he realized his fantasy was perhaps becoming real. His head was coursing with energy as he felt the possibility. But was this man interested?

Tam closed his eyes, sought the stranger out, and found him almost immediately, seeing his face in his mind. He was smiling! The stranger was indeed interested in him, and he was able to mentally link with an ease Tam had never felt before. He peeked through his half-open eyelids at the man and could see his blue eyes doing the same.

[Meet me under the wooden bridge, near the shore of the warm sea that laps at its boards.]

        Seeing the image of the place, Tam reasoned he could leave, so he called up the holobill. He paid for his meal, slapping his holocard against the silently rotating holobill. He only had a hundred hard-earned credits left. That was not much good for finding a decent place for the night. But he had more important things to do than worry about sleep!

He stood up, quickly closed his eyes, and pictured the stranger’s face. The signal was still there—and an unmistakable message.

        [We’ll meet soon. Make Goddesses’ speed to the wooden bridge on the sandy beach.]

He left the Tigress Eye Café without turning his eyes towards the stranger. Tam knew, however, that he was nearby, making his way to the bridge as well. He pulled out his holopad and proceeded to find the best route.

        Tam wandered the streets, weaving in and out of booths bathed in the inky light of the city. The pungent smells and brash sounds of the night market wafted around him. He was so excited about what might happen that he failed to notice the smell of salts, exotic spices, and vegetables side by side with illicit drugs in many stalls. The sounds of marketers hawking their wares rang through the night air, enveloping Tam as he tried to vanish into the crowd.

        “Hey, stranger, do you want some gear spice to make you feel good?”

        Tam shook his head, looking down at the cobbles, and hurried away from the shady-looking man. He switched from one side of the street to the other to prevent others noticing him heading to the beach beneath the bridge. Why must I feel guilty for what I am about to do?

His sandaled feet made a loud, worrisome slapping sound on the smooth brown cobblestones. It seemed to draw unnecessary attention. If the streets were cleaner, he would have considered going barefoot, but that was out of the question. The dirt of the parade of marketgoers would stick to his feet and follow him for the next two months, betraying his foray into the darker and more dangerous sections of Ali-Alorion. Why risk drawing yet more attention to himself by showing he had been wandering around these parts?

Down the street and through more stalls, he continued. He would sometimes catch a glimpse of the stranger through the thick smoke of fires as he passed along another row. Despite the danger of what he was doing, his mind was full of anticipation. He felt a rush in his groin and pushed onward to his goal, his heart pounding. He was nervous and excited at once.

         He turned a corner suddenly and came face-to-face with patrolling police dressed in tunics of red, with yellow sashes across their waists. They stood out against the dark clothes of the people around them, who were trying to fade into the background. The policemen were roughing up some poor soul. Tam held his breath and carried on his way, sweat running down his brow and across his broad nose as he prayed to the Goddesses that he not be discovered committing a crime against the Senate.

He convinced himself to relax. They were not Life-Line police searching for mind-reading sexual deviants, but ordinary officers reacting to something involving the man they were now beating. The poor unfortunate’s pleading voice made Tam shiver and falter in his quest. Was he risking too much? Would they also notice him and beat him, too? One eyed him as the other continued clobbering the poor sap, now lying on the cobblestones. The victim’s begging became shriller, distracting the policeman from Tam. He didn’t wait for the opportunity to be noticed again. He left the scene with his heart pounding, his emotions stirring inside him.

More switching of side streets allowed him to calm down and return to his plan of finding the beach near the bridge. Tam continued to weave his way slowly to his destination on the sandy beach below. Soon, there were fewer and fewer stands with people calling for him to come and see their wares. He kept going until there was just the empty and silent cobblestone street winding down the hill toward the wooden bridge.

The three blue moons were lower in the sky now, and the light was more diffuse and mysterious. As he reached the bridge, Tam cautiously glanced around to see if there were any people present. There were none. He closed his eyes and sensed the stranger nearby. His heart leaped and he swallowed, feeling both the panic and the rush of the sexual hunt.

        Tam stepped off the street, over the barriers of the walkway and allowed his sandaled feet to dip into the soft, cool sand that glowed in the moons’ light. The sound of nearby waves gently breaking on the shore wafted up the beach along with their salty smell.

He slipped silently under the bridge and sat down, waiting breathlessly. As he closed his eyes in anticipation, Tam sensed the stranger’s presence. Then, there was the unmistakable, glorious smell of a man’s musky scent beside him. He opened his eyes to find the stranger with blue eyes sitting with his face close to his. Tam swallowed nervously and smiled.

 

 Buy the book HERE.

 

 

Thank you for being our guest this week, Grant, and for sharing an excerpt. We wish you continued success with your writing. 

And a HUGE Thank You to all our visitors and readers.

Feel free to leave a comment below.

We’d love to hear from you.