Dale R. Long's Blog

[image error]

Click here to read THE AUTHOR’S VOICE blog posts.

[image error]

Cancer is like a black hole. It devours friends and family and leaves broken survivors in its wake. Survivors who bear the scars of surgery, Chemo burns, and the invisible scars that no one sees. Loved ones who carry the scars of watching their friends, family, spouses, children, suffer.

I watched my wife skirt the edges of that black hole. I see the indelible mark it has left on her. I feel the spectre of it in every ache and pain she has. A cold isn’t just a cold anymore. An ache seems to have nefarious hidden consequences. Nothing is as it seems.

I watched my dad stare in the abyss. I saw my grandfather and my mother-in-law square their shoulders and face it with more grace than I could ever muster were I in their position. Theirs wasn’t a skirting of the black hole, it was a direct route to the centre with no hope of return.

I have written about this before and it isn’t a “poor me” rant. In fact it should never be about us, it should always be about them.

Today I read an article from a writer friend of mine. We’ve sparred all cocky and punny on Facebook but have rarely meet in person. I regret that. She is funny and quirky and snarky in all the best ways. And in acknowledging it now, it feels too much like an afterthought. I should have made the time. But again, this isn’t about me. It’s about time. It’s about how much we have and how precious each second of it is.

Her name is Annette McLeod. This is her story. This is her narrowing loop around the black hole.

Torontostoreys.com 

http://www.cbc.ca/parents/learning/view/i-have-cancer-and-im-dying-and-i-know-how-ill-tell-my-son

[image error]

It has been an exciting year! SO many writing projects on the go. Let me start with the most obvious.

[image error]

As you may know, I am one-quarter of the creative force behind ID Press Publishing. Last year we published our first anthology, Purgatorium: The Element of Horror.

So what? You say? Everybody is pumping out anthologies? Well, yes, I guess that may be true to a certain extent but ours is different. Let us go back to the beginning…

ID Press came from a group of horror writers sitting together at a writer’s breakfast. Mark Leslie Lefebvre was the speaker that day. We were, as writers do when they get together, bemoaning our various stages of writing. Some that were actively pitching to agents/publishers, or as we call it, throwing their needle into the haystack, some in final edits stage, and some in the midst of the creative process.

Mark spoke about how he and some of his friends had stories that just didn’t fit the cookie mold. Good stories. So they decided to pool their stories and publish them as a collection.

Connie DiPietro had a light bulb moment. To her, how were we, at that table, the “loud table” in the back corner, any different than Mark and his friends? We were writers. We had stories. After a hushed conversation with Tobin Elliott, ID Press took its first baby steps.

To make a long story short, the logistics of organizing a group of writers and creating something that readers would actually want to read, was bigger than expected. That’s when Pat Flewwelling and myself entered the picture. We were part of the initial group and in editing and organizing and to streamline the process, ID Press was born. Less cooks equals better broth.

So, you say, how are you any different? Well, like Mark Leslie, our stories were different. We liked that idea. A lot. Genre was too restricting. Write for the story first. And that set us to thinking, what would a horror story written by an author that has never written horror look like? What would their take on it be?

Well we were shocked. What a wonderful surprise to read stories written by Romance writers that fully embraced the Gothic. Young Adult authors bouncing in the sinisterly creepy. Historical writers weaving ghost tales that chilled even our horror steeped bones.

[image error]

There was our hook. And to add a cherry to the top of that creeptastic sundae, the authors enjoyed the push out of their comfort-zone. It is our belief that a writer, worth their salt, is a writer that is constantly pushing themselves. Stepping outside the box to see what other tools they can find that might improve their style. And it gives a greater appreciation of the other genres. Because, let’s face it, even in writing, there are some lines drawn. We want to rub those lines out.

So Purgatorium was born. We made mistakes and owned them, learned from them and moved on. We were bruised both of spirit and of wallet, but the end result was well worth the pain.

But we didn’t stop there. We moved on to the next anthology. We wanted to build a Periodic Table of Writing Elements. The Particles of Fiction. Our next anthology is called Allucinor: The Element of Romance. Yes, you guessed it, a romance anthology. But wait! This isn’t your mother’s or your grandmother’s romance. This is a collection of stories with love as the central element. Stories written be writers that don’t normally write romance and some that do. These are stories that push the boundaries of the genre. Stories that play fast and loose with the perceived rules.

Ever wondered what a romance story written by a horror writer looked like? Or a Science Fiction writer? Or Fantasy writer? Boy did they deliver.

As the back cover says, Allucinor delivers stories of unique, if unconventional romance.

[image error]

Both books will be available November 25th at Bookapalooza, 1604 Champlain Ave., Whitby, Ontario.

An official launch will be announced soon.

And finally, we are already at work on our third anthology. Stay tuned.

As always, keep your pen on the paper and your head in the clouds.

Dale.

Photo by Ruth Simmons

Yes, I know I have been quiet for a while. But, in actuality, I haven’t been quiet at all. Behind the curtain, I have been doing my best headless chicken impersonation. Okay, maybe not that gruesome, but you get the picture.

I have been wearing many hats lately. Not only am I still writing, but my writing branches out to include a number of different genres, Dark Fantasy, Horror, Middle Grade and Christmas themed. I have also added one more hat to the rack, publisher/editor at ID Press. But more on that later.

Today is a bit of an emotional day for me. My first published book, The Good King, is now in Newfoundland at the Avalon Expo thanks to my friend and co-publisher at ID Press, Pat Flewwelling and her travelling bookstore, Myth Hawker.

[image error]

Why is this emotional? My roots on my mum’s side are from the east coast. It seemed like I spent my whole childhood travelling to Newfoundland with stops to visit relatives in New Brunswick. Great aunts and uncle in great old houses. There were always stories, and home cooking, and laughter, lots of loud, laughter and music.

It is this that flavours my writing. I may not write specifically about the east coast, but the essence of it finds its way into my writing.

My mum was suffering from COPD (Cardiopulmonary Disease), brought on by years of heavy smoking and working as a hairdresser in the 60’s, when I was writing The Good King. To that point she’d only read my early horror stuff, a story based on Mary Shelley’s life but fictionalized and brought into the 60’s.

“Are you on drugs?” She’d ask me regularly.

My mum was a voracious reader but COPD has a way of changing people. Kind of like high altitude. The oxygen getting to the brain is diminished and as such, the capacity for reason as well.

At this point she was well along the path that COPD drags its victims. She had lucid moments but they were becoming far less frequent. In one of those moments, she asked about the book. My Cousin Meg Simmons was just finishing up the illustrations. I wanted it to be a surprise and present her with the finished version.

She never saw the finished book. She never got to see me published, something she always told me I could do.

“You have the gift for telling stories, like your grandfather.”

So, today, The Good King is finally ‘home’ in Newfoundland. Her home.

[image error]

“She’s got seagulls in her eyes.”

Thank you, Pat.

Sun Tzu – The Art of War
Bamboo Book
University of California, Riverside

In light of the current political shenanigans, pipelines, shootings, women and gender inequality, and immigrant hate, I got to thinking. Why can’t we all just get along?

The old saying goes, “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”  And whether it was Sun Tzu, or Niccolò Machiavelli that the saying originated from, I wonder why do we have to have enemies?

Well, I think I found the answer.

A Letter from “The Enemy”

Dear society,

I am your villain, your enemy, the Boogie Man. I and Satan himself. I am the “devil” from another country here to take your jobs, I am the politician with the hair-do you hate. I am religion, or lack thereof, in its many varied forms.

I am woman. I am man.

I am “The Man” that Orwell alluded to.

I am your boss, your coworkers, lend me some sugar, I am your neighbour.

But do you know who else I am? Of course you do. I am your parents with their strict rules, your wife/ husband in all their failings, even your children in their petulance.

And you, over the course of your life, will inevitably be someone else’s version of me. But do you know who I will never be?

You.

See, because we are so close I feel I can impart this little secret. You need me. As much as you all call for peace, your individual versions of peace are not the same and in that difference I live. Scratch that, I thrive. Don’t get me wrong, there are those among you that could probably live without me, but most of you? Yeah, you need me.

And here is my second little secret. You need me because who else would you have to blame your own failings on? Yourself? HAHAHAHA! That’s rich. Nice try, though.

No, without me you’d have to own up to your mistakes; to your close minded actions. You concoct me out of thin air and use me to label those you don’t, or rather, refuse to understand because they aren’t you.

As long as there is difference of opinion, I’ll be there. As long as you let others dictate how you should think, I’ll be there. As long as you let common sense and decency take a back seat to monetary gain, I’ll be there.

To be honest, I don’t like me but you know something else? I like you even less.

You made me. And for that I can never forgive you.

Yours forever,

The Enemy.

Well, there you have it folks. Straight from the horse’s mouth, as it were.

As always, keep your pen on the page and your head in the clouds. We need those words, that whimsy, to carry us away from time to time. They open our minds and that openness is needed now, more than ever before.

Yours in peace and goodwill,

Dale.

Today marks the end of a sense of childhood. The passing of “parenting”. We are now merely guides. Our youngest hit the 17th year mark and is doing it with her own quiet style.

Our daughters are so much the same and yet so different. Bug is socially active while Red is reserved if not a little weird, in a good way.

She’s always been so headstrong and slave to routine but on the other hand her artistic ability knows no bounds. Red is someone that needs to be pushed but don’t tell her what or how to do it. Frustrating? You betcha.

She is sweet, respectful, loves kids, and has always had a wicked sense of humour. She perfected sarcasm at the age of three.

The world will bow to this one but only if she decides it should.

And next year she is off to college/university.

It’s funny how the transition from child to adult is like a launching pad for the child. The threshold of something new. uncharted territory. They become Dr. Livingston of the rest of their lives.

While the same moment, for the parents, feels like the edge of the platform for a bungee jump. No, scratch that, not bungee, maybe a slow, down escalator with endless elevator music.

We watch from the ground as our children streak, meteoric across the sky and we remember that ride. But we also remember not fully appreciating it because we were caught up in living it. To us, at that time, it was just another day and we raced for the next.

So with a sense of pride and a pinch of envy, we usher Red into the next stage. But part of me still sees that little imp with the fuzzy red hair that was never long enough to curl her chubby little fingers in. That part of me wants her to still be that imp.

Happy Birthday Red! You are going to set the world on fire.

Muskoka Novel Marathon 2016 Tapestry by Betty Bierema Laxson

It’s that time again. The Muskoka Novel Marathon. Writers raising money for literacy.

You’ve read me waxing on about it, and about its cause. You’ve seen my Facebook Author Page posts. It is a worthy cause. But the reality of the matter is that we are in a time when we are being bombarded with requests for donations to various causes, school trips etc.

They are all worthy of our money but we only have so much of it, don’t we?

Between you and me, I don’t like asking people for money. As such, you will rarely see me bombarding social media. I try to spread it out to lessen the impact.

It’s not that I don’t believe in the cause, trust me I do. I have seen the people who have benefited from the YMCA Muskoka/Simcoe literary programs. I have heard the gratitude in their voices, seen it glistening on their cheeks. To them, it is a life changing moment. The courage they had to muster, the pride they had to swallow, just to make that first step, walk through those doors, is not something to take lightly. And it’s people of all ages that fall through the cracks in our education programs. All walks of life.

So I get that the Cancer Society came knocking last week. I get that your children’s school needs you to fund the school trip to Vimy Ridge, or the Band Trip to New Orleans. I do. I have been there. The cancer one is close to my heart as my wife went through that program.

All I can ask is that you give what you can. The price of a cup of coffee, a word of mouth, it all holds value.

Which brings me to my friend Betty.

Betty Bierema Laxson is a quilter in the Huntsville area. She epitomizes the notion of charity and she is a high school friend of mine.

“I like to donate to worthy charities and while I may not have the funds available at the time, I often have something made to donate instead.But also because I like to read and because I like a quilting design challenge. The design work is like writing a book, it can take a while to get it to work together but when it’s done, it’s a work of art!”

She then relayed a story of a young girl she knows that wants to write even though literacy is a problem for her. That girl was so inspired by a chance meeting of one of her favourite authors while shopping at Chapters it prompted her to post some of her writing online.

To be able to help someone like that realize her dreams through a program like YMCA or even just as encouragement to continue knowing authors are supporting her and rooting for her, is reward in of itself.

The Muskoka Novel Marathon 2016 Commemorative Quilt has 40 book spines, one for each participating author to write their name on and maybe the title of the book they are working on. The writers ranged from seasoned published pros to those just starting out. It is a great commemorative piece and maybe a future collectors item.

The Novel Marathon runs from 8 p.m. Friday July 8, to Monday July 11. If you are in the Huntsville area, stop by to see 40 writers in the throes of creating and donate for a chance to win the Commemorative Quilt.

Thanks for reading, thanks for donating, and thanks for caring.

Remember, keep your pen on the page and your head in the clouds.

Dale R. Long.

Yep, you read it right. The Ontario Writer’s Conference closed up shop for the last time this past weekend.

For ten years it has been educating writers, connecting writers to agents and publishers, promoting writers and providing a venue to network with other writers and industry professionals.

As you can see the OWC was all about the writer.

Ya it’s pretty clear I ain’t no Hemmingway,

But I can write it, write it, Ya, I got lots to say.

‘Cause I got the words words that play up on the stage

And all the right junk on all the right pages. 

And while I didn’t go every year, it is still sad to see it go. For new writers, the OWC represented a… rite of passage, if you will. An event that made this particular (peculiar) writer, in 2010, feel like an actor walking onto the movie set for the first time. Meeting actors I watched on TV or in movies. Big time actors/actresses no less. In my case it was authors like Wayson Choy, Robert J. Sawyer, Neil Crone (an actor as well), Catherine Gildiner et al.

This year was different. This year I was co-presenting a Masterclass, Close Encounters: The Art of Writing Collaboratively, with Tobin Elliott. Somewhere along the way I went from writer wannabe to workshop presenter. People actually wanted to hear what Tobin and I had to say.

Imagine that.

A mere six years ago I struggled to call myself a writer. I felt like someone was going to see through my guise and find that I wasn’t qualified, that I was only faking it.

Somewhere along the way I found my voice. I found I could write more than 400 words at a time. Found that I could make people laugh, cry, and gasp in fear and that was a heady experience.

Like an addict I craved more reactions. I started in humour, moved to life moments and finally settled on horror/thriller.

And now here I am. Teaching collaborative writing based on experiences writing a Sci-fi Dystopian thriller with two writers in other countries (still in the works) and almost finished a dark Fantasy thriller with Tobin Elliott.

And, to put icing on the cake, winning the OWC’s Story Starters Contest for January.

What a way to ring out the last OWC Conference.

What’s that? You want to read my entry? Okay, if you insist. Bear in mind, of the two pieces I submitted, this, I felt, was the weaker of the two. It just goes to show, a writer is the worst critic of their own work.

The object of the contest was to write 100 words based on the picture. January’s was Moon Fruit by Annabelle Murray.

My paddle draws liquid kisses from the river as the distance rumble of the waterfall is nearly drowned by the cicadas call. The moon guides my way with glowing, cotton fingers and still waters reflect the firefly sparks.

But these are more than just fireflies. They fill the air, a kaleidoscope of colours that fill my head with the tinkling of minuscule bells.

The sound and colours overwhelm me with a sense of peace almost claustrophobic, encompassing all as the water dances along.

I close my eyes and give myself to them as my canoe slides over the edge.

And the one I liked better. Based on Sally Thurlow‘s The Fascinator.

Absinthe, or Abby to her friends, always wanted to be a model. It was all she dreamt of since before she could remember.

But, family genes had a way of mucking with dreams.

She was “big-boned”, as her mother said, and carried her weight poorly.

When the old woman, in the strange booth on chicken leg stilts, at the fall fair offered her the amulet with the promise of three wishes, she didn’t hesitate.

She knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted to be just like her idol.

“I want to be Twiggy.”

So there you have it.

More writing news coming. Stay tuned.

As always, keep your pen on the page and your head in the clouds.

Dale.

Words of the Season

March is a busy month for me normally.

Birthdays.

Yep, enough said, right? But this month it is particularly busy.

Wednesday night, March 9, 2016, I will be a co-host/MC with Tobin Elliott, for Writers Community of Durham Region’s Words of the Season at La Rosa Ristorante, 3050 Garden Street, Unit 102, Whitby ON.

Words of the Season Hosts

Don’t know what that is? A bunch of writers get together and read excerpts of their writing, be it poetry, prose, or song. It is free to the public (you will have to buy your own meals and drinks though) and a great way to discover some new writers or simply to hear some established ones. Definitely worth a visit. I mean, how many events can you go to, nowadays, that are free?

On top of that, Tobin Elliott and I are gearing up for the Ontario Writer’s Conference. There we will be teaching a course called Close Encounters: The Art of Writing Collaboratively. If you are a writer, or are trying to get into writing, this is the place to be. Not only will you get the opportunity to mingle amongst your kind, in various stages of progress, but you can catch sight of the elusive literary agent and even a publisher. Not to mention all the great workshops, including our own (shameless plug), where you can advance your skill.

And then to top off an already busy year, I will be participating in the Muskoka Novel Marathon again this year.

This year marks 15 years for this event. 15 years of writers supporting readers through funding of YMCA Muskoka/Simcoe. Last year was a banner year and we hope to break that record this year. So pop over to the page and help these writers support literacy.

And now onto news about my own writing.

Last year was a bumpy year for me personally and it had an effect on my creativity. While I did participate in last year’s Muskoka Novel Marathon, thank you to all of you that supported me, I wasn’t able to fall into the zone. Yes I wrote, but it was forced and clunky. Nothing I could salvage. I had a better plan of attack last year than I did the year before but just couldn’t follow through.

They say that writing is a solitary job, and it can be, but it doesn’t have to be. It is not a prerequisite. I am thankful that I have a group of writers that not only believe in my writing but push me to write. It is because of their examples that I always strive to be a better writer.

That group pushed me. They wouldn’t let me give up on writing. They made me write when I didn’t feel like it and it is because of them that I continued, in dribs and drabs mind you, but still continued.

Thank you.

And thank you to you readers who keep dropping in to read. I know I haven’t updated my blog in a while. I have been busier on my Facebook page and Twitter because it requires less scripting when my writing brain didn’t want to script. There I post little fun bits and pictures. Not enough for a blog, but enough to want to share. So stop by there.

And a final note. My wife’s treatment are done. We are now in that grey area that all surviving cancer victims go. It is by no stretch “back to normal”. The spectre of the cancer is always there. We have to keep on watch.

My wife showed remarkable strength, in my eyes. And strength is sometimes measured in tears. But through it all she remained positive and she, above all else, pushed me to keep writing. She inspires me.

Onwords and upwords right?

See what I did there?

Keep your pen on the page, keep reading and keep imagining.

Dale.

Photo by Suzanne Mclean Long.

I find I am too often apologizing to you dear readers for my absence, my silence. And forgive me for doing so again.

We chalk up lack of posting as Real Life. Or real life getting in the way. In reality, most times it is pure laziness. And while that is part of the case here, there are other things afoot.

Laziness, in my case, is often a lack of focus, a lack of motivation. But that lack of motivation has a dark and sinister finger on the button. Cancer.

I know I’ve touched on it before but I feel the need to talk. To get it out in the light, at arms length, to show it to others and in doing so, hopefully take away some of its power.

Cancer, according to my wife, ground zero in this whole mess, is not an illness. She feels fine. It is a dark spot malingering inside her. It is a cloud hover over her head. It is a weight on her shoulders trying to bend her, to break her. But she won’t let it. Its reach is not confined to her flesh, though. Ask any cancer spouse, child, parent. They will tell you, its reach extends to those around them.

I equate it to having to write ten thousand words in fifteen minutes. While I work well under a deadline (forgive the horrible pun), some are too close and as such, inhibit my ability to write. This is how cancer feels. Like I have so much to do and not enough time to do it. Like we are always waiting for the, to quote the cliche, “other shoe to drop”. It is a waiting game. That and I feel guilty writing about myself in the face of what she is going through.

While my wife’s prognosis is good and indications are the surgery and radiation will get it all, it still never feels 100%. There will always be that little grain of worry. That partially held breath.

The other part of cancer is the isolation. Being handled with “kid gloves” or people just not knowing what to say. Yes we have to choose our outings and social gatherings carefully. Always mindful of her state of being. The exhaustion that sneaks up and is all encompassing. The muscle pain and aches. So too often we sit at home. We watch too much TV.

Through all of this, my wife stands tall. She tries, and is succeeding, to keep life as normal as possible. But there always is that cloud and it is heavy. Heavier than you can imagine for all parties involved.

So, I beg your forgiveness for the silence. My creative juices run hot and cold. I have to fight to start stuff, always afraid that something will come up right in the middle. Instead of accepting that and forging on, I cave and stop before I begin. I always want to be ready for that other thing. Not to be distracted.

But, even in the face of all that, I have managed to do some writing, thanks mainly to my family, a large and supportive group of writing peers and by riding on the coattails of my wife’s courage.

What have I managed?

An anthology of twisted tales by some brave, genre-hopping, writers we hope to have out late this year.

Two series of dark, gritty stories co-written with Tobin Elliott, that we hope to see in graphic novel format.

My two novels, Appetites, a werewolf story and Echoes, an homage to Mary Shelley, have suffered during this silence and most likely will continue in that rut.

I have finished two more Christmas stories. The sequel to The Good King, Three Ships for Three Kings (in edit mode) and Archibald and The Gentlemen Three (edited and submitted).

And my final project is a dystopian Sci-fi co written with Pete Woolman and Aaron Mullins.

There, you are up to date. I can’t guarantee this silence won’t continue as we are not “out of the woods” yet. But please stop by my  Facebook page or follow me on Twitter. It is easier for my scattered brain to work in smaller portions.

So, from the brain of the damned,

Thank you all for your support and for reading.

Dale.