Bretton is backwith a new book!

 

He’s been a guestbefore and we are most pleased to have him return. If you missed the previousvisit, please go HERE.

This new storysounds intriguing and I’ll be in the lineup for a copy.

Read on, myfriends.

 

 

 

I am a novelist and non-fiction writer who in 2022 published thenovel, Joe Howe’s Ghost. I have published two previous books that werenominated for Whistler Independent Book Awards: in 2018 for my first novel, TheLast Hockey Player and in 2015 for a biography, Rebel With A Cause: The DocNikaido Story.

A journalist for more than 20 years in Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, Ialso worked in communications for the Government of Nova Scotia for 16 years. Ilive in Halifax with my wife, Karen Shewbridge. For more information, pleasesee go HERE. 

 

Title: UnsettlingTime

 

 

Synopsis:

In Unsettling Time, I tell the storyof Ryan Treiber, aSaint Mary’s University lecturer, who falls while walking in downtown Halifaxand is unexpectedly hurtled back in time to 1749 and the city’s first days.

Incapacitated by the side effects of time travel, he is found by AubryDe Courcy, a member of Governor Edward Cornwallis’s council. As Ryan strugglesto survive in an eighteenth-century settlement, he and Aubry learn of thebrutal murder of a servant.

The authorities refuse to investigate the crime because of theservant’s alleged homosexuality. That injustice launches Ryan and Aubry on thehunt to find the killer.

The intelligent and intriguing Mrs. Athena Dunfield, her Blackassistant, Joseph, and Ryan's new Acadian friend, Michel, join Ryan and Aubryon the quest to solve the murder. Ryan’s growing feelings for Athena make hisnew life increasingly more appealing.

Unsettling Time offers intimate insight into colonial Halifaxand the people who shaped it.

 

The Story Behind the Story:

In 2013 while I was reading Jon Tattrie’s great book, Cornwallis:The Violent Birth of Halifax one particular passage fired myimagination. It described how many of Halifax’s main downtown streets,including George Street, were the first clearings carved out of the dense woodsby the English colonists when they arrived in 1749. That passage was the seedfrom which the idea for this book grew.

I wanted to tell the story of Halifax’s founding from a broaderperspective to include poor English settlers, Acadians, people of Africandescent, and the German and Swiss Protestants who first settled in Kjipuktuk (Halifax),located in Mi’kma’ki, the ancestral and unceded territory of the Mi’kmaq.

I inserted an inadvertent time traveler from our era to providecontext that characters of that era would have no knowledge of to again givethe story broader perspective. I created the murder mystery to propel the storyalong and to introduce various historical characters of colonial Halifax.

 

Website: Please go HERE.

 

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

Bretton: The most enjoyable part of my writing journey is learning. I do a lot of research for my books and I really enjoy that aspect of the process. The other very enjoyable part is putting together all my various thoughts, bits of dialogue, scenes I want to capture and characters I’m developing into a hopefully cohesive and enjoyable story. When all that begins to come together it is a wonderful feeling.




An Excerpt from : Unsettling Time

Chapter 1

July 16

 

A man awoke with his head in a muddy puddle. A turd

floated near the corner of his eye. He lifted his head

in horror and snorted out water. The ground started to

spin. A deafening ring pierced him, and hot bilerushed up

his windpipe and spewed out. He fell with a thud,missing

the puddle, and landed on ground coated with leavesand

pine needles that imprinted on his wet cheeks.

 

He revived to the thwack of an axe and the screech of

a tree falling close by, its branches whipping theforest floor

a few metres from his face.

 

“Are you okay, master?”

 

A strangely dressed young man looked down on him,

concerned, face dripping with sweat. He wore a stained

tricorn hat, a loose-fitting shirt, breeches, andbuckled

shoes. A large axe balanced on one shoulder.

 

As the man carefully lifted his head, all he could see

were trees and rock and bush. Not a building, road, or

streetlight broke nature’s dominion. He noticed acrude,

narrow path making its way downhill toward a glint of

water.

 

The young man’s gaze left his as he heard another man

stride purposely toward them.

 

“Master De Courcy, I found this man lying on the

ground. Yet I swears he was not here a moment ago when

I passed by to look for the surveyor for meinstructions.”

 

Still on the ground, the man looked from the young

man to the newcomer, who wore a tricorn hat along witha

long coat, vest, and breeches. The newcomer was abouthis

own age with a pleasant face but sunken, tired eyes.He

struggled to get to his feet.

 

“Are you alright?” asked the newcomer. “You appear to

have fallen into the mire.”

 

“Don’t know what happened,” he said, before

collapsing onto his knees and falling face first, oncemore,

into that same pool of dirty water.

 

“Woodsman, this fellow is oddly dressed, do you not

think? Long breeches, a peculiar shirt, and no hat. Hedoes

not smell of drink. Probably done in by the sun. Helpme

take him to my quarters,” De Courcy said. He and the

woodsman grabbed under the man’s arms and, swerving to

and fro like drunken revellers, dragged him downhill.“And

for God’s sake, do not mention him to the soldiers. Wedo

not want him shot by a sentry. They are nervousNellies

and fear that a French spy or Mi’kmaw warrior lurks

behind every tree. When he awakens, I will sort outthe

rights of it.”

 

When he regained consciousness, hewas lying on a

simple wooden cot, looking up at the ceiling of a

tent. Once his head cleared a little he realized itwas a

large sheet of white canvas draped over a few polesmade

from thick branches, cut and stripped of bark. No oneelse

was inside.

 

Outside there was a riot of birdsong, conversations

among men with English accents, and the crack of axes

against trees. He peeked out the end of the shelter.It was

dusk. A redcoat soldier with tricorn hat walked past

cradling a musket in his arms. Campfires glowed in asmall

clearing crowded with tree stumps.

 

The flap on the other side of the canvas shelter

snapped back, and the man he heard called De Courcy

poked a head in and smiled.

 

“You have finally stirred. You were out for most ofthe

afternoon. Are you better?”

 

He did feel better, but where was he? The last thinghe

remembered before collapsing was walking up George

Street, in downtown Halifax, on the way to the Grand

Parade square to meet a local historian for lunch. The

noon cannon on Citadel Hill had gone off and was

echoing through the concrete canyons when he foldedlike

a paper bag and fell to the sidewalk.

 

He recalled waking up in the puddle. He had no idea

how he got from downtown Halifax to this forest, nordid

he understand why everyone was dressed like historicalreenactors

or movie extras from an eighteenth-century

period piece. Had he been abducted? Was he stillunconscious

and this was all a vivid dream? 

“I’m feeling better, but I’m confused. Where am I?”

 

 Buy the book HERE.

 

 

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

And a BIG thank you to all ourvisitors and readers.

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