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.

The Story Behind the Story with Gianetta Murray of Great Britain.

 

We are most pleased to have Gianetta back with us today.

Her latest novel is now available and she’s going to share the good news with you.

She’s been a guest before and if you missed her previous visit, please go HERE.

Read on, my friends.

  

Gianetta has spent most of her life, like her protagonist Vivien, as a technical writer and librarian. She grew up in the heady tech boom of Silicon Valley, but for the last twenty years has lived a more peaceful existence in South Yorkshire, England with her British husband and two or more cats. She plays various musical instruments and enjoys watching Hollywood musicals as well as doing an annual rewatch of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and she hopes one day to be able to afford a seat close enough to the stage to be spit on by Jonathan Groff.

 

Title: Dug to Death: A Vivien Brandt Mystery

 

 

Synopsis:

“Wicked stepmother” wasn’t something Vivien wanted on her resume (or her CV).

But six months after moving from California to join her British husband in a quiet Yorkshire village, Vivien and her cat Sydney are confronted with a volatile 24-year-old stepdaughter and the sparks start to fly.

It certainly doesn’t help when they join a local protest and a dead body turns up.

Once again Vivien must work with her enterprising neighbors to solve a murder and clear her family’s name, which isn’t easy when you’re surrounded by those who “’ear all, see all, and say nought”!

 

The Story Behind the Story:

This sequel to Moved to Murder was already outlined before I finished the first Vivien Brandt mystery, Moved to Murder, and was inspired by various events in the local press (although not the murder or the corruption parts). While the first book is about Vivien’s culture shock directly after moving to Yorkshire, this one is more about adjusting to her new family situation and her burgeoning career.

Because I was fictionalizing actual events, it was also an adventure in what could and couldn’t be said without alienating my local audience, so we’ll see how that goes!

The writing itself flowed better this second time around, but it also required more research into the functioning of local British politics, the archeology of South Yorkshire, and issues related to step-families; research which I enjoyed immensely. You can take the librarian out of the library, but…

I hope everyone enjoys the result.

Website: Please go HERE.

A question before you go, Gianetta:

Scribbler: What has been the most enjoyable about your writing journey? The least enjoyable?

Gianetta: I love love love the plot creation and the writing, working out the puzzle of how the murder happens, how it is solved, and where there are red herrings (and how the story will involve the cat, of course!). This is why I decided to spent my retirement not really retiring, because I enjoy what I’m doing so much.

But as with most of us introverted author types, the marketing isn’t something I look forward to (except when people like Allan make it so easy and I don’t have to put makeup on or comb my hair). Going to book fairs and working out ads and effective keywords, etc., are just not what floats my particular boat. It would be ever so lovely if people the world over would simply recognize my genius and wait with bated breath to purchase my next work of art. 😉





An Excerpt from : Dug to Death: A Vivien Brandt Mystery

 

“Wait until you hear what I learned today from the archeologists,” Sara said.

“Ah, yes,” said Geoffrey. “You had lunch with the young man leading the dig, eh?”

“Keith,” she confirmed.

“And he was helpful?”

“Not so much, to tell the truth. But I also got to talk to two of the women working with him, Lucy and Phoebe, when we went back to the dig after lunch, and they were more forthcoming, especially after Keith left to run an errand.”

Vivien quirked an eyebrow at her stepdaughter. “What was wrong with Keith?” she wanted to know.

“Frankly, I think Keith is hiding something. When it came down to it, he didn’t really want to talk about the dig at all. He avoided my questions, claiming he wanted to know more about me instead.”

“Maybe he was just being polite? Trying to put you at ease?”

“No, it was definitely avoidance. I don’t think it was about getting into my knickers. At least, not entirely.”

“Sara!” her father protested, but his daughter just grinned.

“So, what did the other two tell you?” Vivien wanted to know.

“They confirmed my doubts about Keith, as a matter of fact. They said he’s been very secretive about his findings in that one trench, he won’t allow anyone else to work it, and that he’s always still there when they leave. He’s logged some minor pot shards in the official record, but nothing major, nothing to justify his suspicious behavior.”

“Maybe he’s on the developer’s payroll and wants to hide some important find so the project isn’t delayed, or cancelled, even,” Vivien hypothesized.

Sara nodded. “It could be that. But he doesn’t seem worried about the rest of them finding anything, which you’d think he would be if that’s his concern.”

“Hmm, true,” Geoffrey added. “So maybe it’s something he’s already found and wants to keep to himself?”

“Also possible. Although any ambitious archeologist would be happy to be associated with a major find. But one thing’s for sure, if he’s found something that would stop the dig, he doesn’t seem inclined to give it up.”

“Well then,” said Vivien, “we may have to have another talk with Mr. Myers tomorrow to try and find out what’s going on.”

“Leave it to me,” Sara responded. “I think I know how to make him talk.”

“Nothing involving torture, Sara. Or the sacrifice of your good name,” her father cautioned.

She looked at him with wide eyes and fluttered her lashes for emphasis. “Why, Daddy, how could you think I’d stoop to such levels?” she teased.

“Hmph,” Geoffrey responded. “Just be careful, please.”

Sara rose and started to clear the dishes from the table. “I’ll clean up, and then I’m going to the coven meeting with Tabitha. I told her I was interested in the rituals from an anthropological point of view, and she said she’d let me observe.”

“Are you thinking of becoming a Wiccan practitioner?” asked Vivien.

Sara shrugged. “It’s more about being a good anthropologist than a blessed-wanna-be.”

Vivien laughed as they all cleared the table together before Sara waved goodbye and left her father and stepmother to an evening of rewatching The X-Files. Geoffrey had a thing for Scully, and Vivien occasionally indulged him without admitting she found a young Fox Mulder equally easy on the eyes. After three episodes they found themselves exhausted from trusting no one and retired.

When the phone rang just after midnight and Sara told them she was being held at the police station under suspicion of murder, Vivien was glad her stepdaughter couldn’t see the “I told her so!” look on Geoffrey’s face.

 

 

This novel sounds like a winner, Gianetta. Thanks for being our guest this week. We wish you continued success with your stories. 

 

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 Chantal MacDonald of Moncton, NB, Canada.

 

We are more than happy to have Chantal back as our guest this week.

She has a new book out and it is generating a lot of interest. The Scribbler is most fortunate to have her share the good news with you.

She’s been with us before and if you missed her visit please go HERE.

Read on, my friends.

  

A teacher by trade, Chantal MacDonald began pursuing a writing career with the first book in the Sadie Jones Series. She has a Master of Arts in English Literature from the University of Ottawa and has spent over fifteen years teaching students in both virtual and brick and mortar classrooms. Passionate about loving people, Chantal volunteers on her church frontline team and mom’s group. In addition to the Sadie Jones Series, she has released two picture books. One about a clever lobster from Prince Edward Island—Lester the Lobster and the Great Escape—and the other about an ordinary lobster who paints her shell blue to feel special—Lorraine the Lobster Feels Blue. Chantal is a married mom to three young children, an amateur baker, and a resident of Moncton, New Brunswick, where she enjoys copious amounts of seafood.

 

Title: A Promise on the Windy Shores

 

Synopsis:

Sometimes the journey home is the hardest one of all.

After ten months in Mwanza, Tanzania, Sadie Jones returns to her hometown of Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, carrying more than just souvenirs. She brings home questions, heartache, and the weight of uncertainty of where she truly belongs. When devastating news from Africa arrives shortly after her return, Sadie’s emotions unravel, and she’s forced to confront the ache of loss and the struggle to move forward.

Navigating decisions about school, starting a new job, and her growing romance with Tom Carter, Sadie finds herself caught between who she was, who she is, and who she longs to become. While grief once again threatens to overwhelm Sadie’s hope, gentle whispers remind her of something deeper: God’s promises still hold.

As her heart wrestles and heals, Sadie must decide what it means to move forward—into love, into purpose, and into the fullness of who she was created to be.

A heartfelt story of grief, love, and becoming, A Promise on the Windy Shores is for anyone learning to trust again—even when the winds of life blow you into an all too familiar storm.

 

The Story Behind the Story:

This book has been the culmination of almost six years of work. When I first had the dream to write a novel, I knew where I wanted my main character—Sadie Jones—to start, and I knew where I wanted her to end. What I did not know was everything in between. I originally thought that I would be able to conclude this series in three books, but it has turned into four.

As a “pantser” (a writer who tends to let the story lead over story mapping), I have been surprised at some of the places that my characters led me. It has been both a struggle and a joy to let the writing be a process of discovery.

With this book, in particular, it has required an enormous amount of research. The first third of the novel is set in Africa. It was important to me to be as accurate as possible to the culture and the locale. Since I had never visited the city that is used in my novel, I relied heavily on the information and anecdotes provided for me from a dear friend who lives in Mwanza.

I have been stretched by the process of writing this book—and the entire series for that matter. The writer who has emerged at the end of A Promise on the Windy Shores is a far cry from the woman who picked up a computer in 2020 with glossy-eyed aspirations to write a book. I cannot wait to see what I learn and how I grow from my next project.

 

Chantal’s Website: please go HERE.

A question for you Chantal:

Scribbler: What has been the most enjoyable about your writing journey? The least enjoyable?

Chantal: The most enjoyable part of the writing journey has easily been sharing these stories with others. When you spend so much time in these fabricated worlds, the characters and their problems become a part of you. Watching others become invested in these characters and love them the way that I do has brought me so much joy.

The least enjoyable part has been the struggle to maintain accuracy and consistency throughout my books (and series). Over time the details get fuzzy. It’s hard to remember what colour eyes someone had, or what their middle name was, or even the layout of a specific home. But these are the details that readers (especially those who reread) will catch. I did not want any inconsistencies to pull my readers out of the story so it required keeping notes or rereading my previous works to ensure that I kept the storyline true to what had been previously written.

An Excerpt from A Promise on the Windy Shores:

Sadie Jones had just finished showering when the power flickered, buzzed, and dimmed before the room went dark. Silence replaced the familiar hum of electricity inside the modest African home—a common occurrence, yet one that Sadie still found frustrating. She stood with a towel wrapped around her small frame, water dripping from her body onto the concrete floor, and peered through the dusty windowpane over the bathroom sink. Sadie felt grateful the morning sun was beginning to crest over Mwanza—a major port city in the southeast African country of Tanzania. At least in the daylight she would be able to see her way around.

Third time this week, she thought. Glad I was able to finish my shower. Looks like it will be fruit for breakfast.

Checking the clock on the wall, Sadie knew that if she did not leave in the next fifteen minutes, she would be late to meet up with her team for their forty-five minute trip to the village health centre. She threw on a t-shirt and a billowy skirt that hung to her ankles without much care as to whether or not the outfit matched. Her life was now about function over fashion. Looking in the mirror, she ran her fingers through her damp auburn curls. She would have to let it air dry today. Flipping her head upside down, Sadie wrapped a silk bandanna tightly around her head to hold the curls in place. Her roommate, Sasha, had taught her the trick and the bandanna had been a gift from a local woman working with the organization.

The apartment was tiny, yet cozy. Sasha was still sleeping in a room behind the closed door off the kitchen. She was about ten years older than Sadie, native to Mwanza, and worked nights as a medical aid. Sasha had graciously agreed to host Sadie on a temporary basis partly because Sasha believed in the mission of the organization and partly because she needed the extra money.

Sadie threw a few necessities in a canvas bag and tossed it over her shoulder before stepping outside onto the concrete step in front of her temporary home. The morning dew clung to the leaves of the mango tree, which was casting a shadow across the front walk. A soft breeze fluttered her skirt, bringing some relief from the heat and humidity that was already causing her to perspire, even at this early hour. Thankfully, the region was in a rainy season, which meant some form of precipitation was inevitable.

Scanning the road, Sadie saw no sign of her ride. She checked her watch to make sure she had not misread the clock.

African time, she thought with a sigh. It was a common occurrence, yet one that she still struggled to internalize. The relaxed approach to arrivals, start times, and departures was something that had been an adjustment for Sadie. Being a type A recovering perfectionist, Sadie spent the first couple months of her time in Mwanza trying to make everything move faster—meetings, projects, social gatherings. But, as had been pointed out to her on multiple occasions by the locals, things happened when they happened. She could no more change an entire culture than she could stop the sun.

 

Buy the book HERE.

 

You might enjoy these also:

 

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

 

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 Sean Paul Bedell of Halifax, NS, Canada.

 Let’s welcome Sean back! 

A true gentleman and a talented author, we are most keen to have him return to tell us about his new novel.

He’s been with us before and if you missed his visit, please go HERE.

Read on. My friends.

 

 

Author of the novel Somewhere There’s Music, Sean Paul Bedell has been writing and publishing for more than 30 years. A longtime paramedic and captain with the fire service, he lives with his wife Lisa and their golden retriever, Maggie (Margaret Atwood), in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia.

 

Title: Shoebox

 

Synopsis:

In this gritty and emotional exploration of the human condition, a dedicated paramedic, Steve Lewis, faces the devastating aftermath of a fatal collision that casts a dark shadow over his once-passionate commitment to saving lives. Plagued by guilt and grief, he finds his career, family, and very existence hanging in the balance as he navigates the complexities of trauma both personal and professional. As Steve grapples with the high stakes of his job amidst the scrutiny of a community that admires yet questions him, each life he saves rekindles his passion for his work, reminding him of the profound connections he can forge through compassion and care. A compelling and visceral journey of personal redemption and triumph over adversity, Shoebox explores the human spirit's capacity for healing.

 

The Story Behind the Story:

Two things drove me to write Shoebox. First, readers of my first novel, Somewhere There’s Music, frequently told me they liked the paramedic-ambulance-first responder angles in that story. Also I had a bunch of paramedic stories – sad, funny, poignant – from my own career as a paramedic. I worked ambulance for many years in the Halifax-Dartmouth area and along Nova Scotia’s Eastern Shore. As I wrote Shoebox, experiences that my fellow crew-mates and I had shaped some of the anecdotes in the book. Overall though, Shoebox is a story of redemption after tragedy, and the healing that hope offers.

 

Website: please go HERE.

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

Sean: Growing up, I read everything I could. When I was twelve, my mother gave me a boxed set of classics. I immersed myself in those books. Exciting, exotic worlds enchanted me. My favourites were Treasure Island and Robinson Crusoe.

An Excerpt from: Shoebox

Chapter One 

My ambulance was based at University Station, the oldest f ire station in Halifax. In the year I worked there, I’d seen the sandstone building’s interior walls transform from frost-caked blocks in the winter to oven-like bricks in the summer. A brass pole that connected the firefighters’ sleeping quarters to the bays downstairs was cordoned off now, out of service. Two of the old-timers at the station still polished it every week so it gleamed when the sun hit it through the arched windows. If I ever did use it, to speed up my time getting to my ambulance, I’d look like that serpent, curled fetus-like around the pole. I’d pop out at the other end into the truck bays, freshly born to dispense miracles everywhere, sent out into the chaotic world to save lives. I would be one with the image emblazoned in the blue, six-pointed star of life crest on my ambulance, the same image embroidered on the shoulder flashes of my uniform shirt. Instead, to get to my ambulance, I’d bound down the narrow staircase that had three twists, each with a tiny landing. Legend said the staircase was designed during the days of horse drawn fire apparatus. The tight turns prevented the horses from climbing up the stairs. I didn’t care about blocking horses but wanted to get to my ambulance without breaking my neck or knocking myself out.

 

University Station was smack in the centre of downtown, a hotbed of the wildest calls a crew of medics could get dis patched to. It was at the crossroads of the wealth of Halifax’s South End and the grit and despair of its downtown. Calls were either dramatic or mundane. They ranged from stints fighting with newly liberated drunken university students out of sight of their parents for the first time; to the breathing or heart problems of the old, rich elites; to the homeless and addicted who had skidded here from across the province and toted their demons with them. I worked with Fletch—Gideon Fletcher. He was a tall medic with a tidy grey beard. His deliberate, erudite manner of speaking, along with his appearance, made him seem like a mis placed professor from one of the city’s universities.

 

Fletch stocked a bird feeder so he could watch chickadees and jays from the window upstairs in our quarters. Once, when we were coding to a call from Graham’s Grove to downtown Dartmouth, Fletch jammed up the brakes by Sullivan’s Pond to let a mother duck and her ducklings cross the road. A lot of medics would have roared through with a trail of feathers behind them; they would have plowed through anything to get to the call to save the day. That call past the duck pond turned out to be anything but an emergency. Fletch was down to earth, wise, kind, and didn’t take any bullshit.

 

Buy the book HERE.

This one too, maybe?

 

I’m looking forward to reading your new book, Sean. Thanks for being our guest this week.

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.