Here is some local TV coverage we got to publicize our book and our launch tomorrow!
It was produced by a lovely friend and colleague, Marina Michaelides, from City TV here in Edmonton.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
Seven Deadly Sins
It's not just a digital image. I've been published!
If you're a regular reader of my blog, then you were there at the beginning. It started out as an innocent challenge between writers / readers of speculative fiction and it grew into a bonafide publication. Billie, Eileen, and Tina are long-time fellow writers and members of my writing critique group. The challenge was issued to us by one of our colleagues and publisher, Brian Hades, of EDGE Science Fiction and Absolute XPress.
The result? A flash fiction anthology.
It has been a real collaborative project and my friend, Herman, did the cover work.
(I've provided links to all of their webpages, but they've been on my blog-roll for a long time now!)
Our book launch is this upcoming weekend. I'll be sure to post pictures.
And, I'd love it if you would purchase your own electronic or hard copy.
If you think you'd like to participate in a challenge like this yourself, enter the next flash fiction challenge on the topic of creatures of the night. The deadline isn't until August 1, 2009. AND it's a great way to exercise creativity!
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Ringside
The two things I hadn't expected to see that night were chandeliers and worried mothers. But I suppose those things can be at boxing matches too.
A friend and I decided to go and check out the Junior Canadian Boxing Championships being held in my city. The venue? A ballroom in one of the hotels. (Hence, the chandelier).
Our seats were pretty close to the ring. And the rules are different for amateur boxing. Points are recieved for clean shots -- points of contact -- not for power.
But if power was a criteria for winning, there certainly was lots to be had. I was impresssed by these young women boxers. The bell would ring and BOOM - out of the corner they strode, no hesitation. Just determination to get that first punch. One two, one two. My awe was not just at how they reached with such strength, but at how they evaded the blows with such speed.
The Man in White (referee? I don't know the proper term) had a sign language of his own. Everyone else knew what directions he was giving even though I didn't. And he needed the sign language. The shouts around us were deafening.
"Keep it tight!"
"Breathe"
"The jab, the jab!"
"Straight punches"
"In and out!"
"Hands up!"
The audience was as equally fascinating as the boxing match itself. As I looked around the room, I tried to identify the different roles that women played here. Former boxer? Coach? Girlfriend? (though these were the easiest to identify from the bored expressions on their faces).
And then I spotted a woman in the front row, her hand nested in the crook of her husband's arm, a distressed expression in her eyes. Later on, my suspicions proved corrrect. One of the finalists showed up at her side, her head gear and mouthpiece gone, boxing gloves removed, but still in her boxing attire. The girl had done well in the match, but she had lost. It was close. She had her head on her mom's shoulder, while her mom stroked her hair and whispered in her ear. I guess boxers need an encouraging word every once in a while too.
We watched some good matches. Some were close. Others, not so much so. In one instance, the coaches threw in the towel (literally, I saw it fly into the middle of the ring). In another, the man with the flashlight looked into the eyes of the competitor and, clearly against the young man's wishes, declared the match over. And others were just what I hoped to see -- a good bout of boxing.
A friend and I decided to go and check out the Junior Canadian Boxing Championships being held in my city. The venue? A ballroom in one of the hotels. (Hence, the chandelier).
Our seats were pretty close to the ring. And the rules are different for amateur boxing. Points are recieved for clean shots -- points of contact -- not for power.
But if power was a criteria for winning, there certainly was lots to be had. I was impresssed by these young women boxers. The bell would ring and BOOM - out of the corner they strode, no hesitation. Just determination to get that first punch. One two, one two. My awe was not just at how they reached with such strength, but at how they evaded the blows with such speed.
The Man in White (referee? I don't know the proper term) had a sign language of his own. Everyone else knew what directions he was giving even though I didn't. And he needed the sign language. The shouts around us were deafening.
"Keep it tight!"
"Breathe"
"The jab, the jab!"
"Straight punches"
"In and out!"
"Hands up!"
The audience was as equally fascinating as the boxing match itself. As I looked around the room, I tried to identify the different roles that women played here. Former boxer? Coach? Girlfriend? (though these were the easiest to identify from the bored expressions on their faces).
And then I spotted a woman in the front row, her hand nested in the crook of her husband's arm, a distressed expression in her eyes. Later on, my suspicions proved corrrect. One of the finalists showed up at her side, her head gear and mouthpiece gone, boxing gloves removed, but still in her boxing attire. The girl had done well in the match, but she had lost. It was close. She had her head on her mom's shoulder, while her mom stroked her hair and whispered in her ear. I guess boxers need an encouraging word every once in a while too.
We watched some good matches. Some were close. Others, not so much so. In one instance, the coaches threw in the towel (literally, I saw it fly into the middle of the ring). In another, the man with the flashlight looked into the eyes of the competitor and, clearly against the young man's wishes, declared the match over. And others were just what I hoped to see -- a good bout of boxing.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Metaphor
Form
Tense
Movement
Through space
Until what seems
random, actually serves
a purpose, a point -- with force and power
and with action, always, ever, there is a
reaction; with your heart
with your head, without
thought. Until you're
left with only
stillness
balance
again
they are the same to me
martial arts and poetry
Tense
Movement
Through space
Until what seems
random, actually serves
a purpose, a point -- with force and power
and with action, always, ever, there is a
reaction; with your heart
with your head, without
thought. Until you're
left with only
stillness
balance
again
they are the same to me
martial arts and poetry
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Sweeter than Love
- sin #6 -- take a guess ! -
“I was thinking that maybe we could have a talk.”
Those words planted fear in the hearts of most men, but not Tony. Tony loved to talk, loved to mull things over and analyze them. That’s why he graduated with a psyche major and what made him a damn good crisis counsellor.
“What do you want to talk about?” Tony responded. He looked up from the crossword puzzle he was working on. Lisa was great that way. She would come over and they could just hang out.
“Us,” she said.
Tony paused. He wondered what could be up. He had been a more-than-ideal boyfriend.
“You’re so wonderful,” Lisa went on, her brown eyes earnest, trusting. “We have great conversations, you listen to what I have to say and you’re always so thoughtful, bringing me flowers or helping me with my work.” She took in a deep breath. “You’ve even told me you love me.”
Tony waited for the but.
“But you rarely kiss me,” she said. “I mean, really kiss me.”
Lisa’s expression was expectant of a response.
He cleared his throat before he spoke. “I guess I just am still holding back because of Priscilla.”
Priscilla. His ex-fiancee. He had spent seven years waiting for her. Always a delay in their marriage. She was everything Lisa was not – demanding, acerbic, angry. Then, she returned one week from a business trip announcing that she was building a house with some guy in Vancouver.
“I d-don’t understand,” Lisa stammered.
Either did Tony. The first time he kissed Lisa, he thought of Priscilla. He let go of Lisa immediately. If Lisa knew, it would kill her. And yet, the thought of Priscilla knowing that he kissed Lisa aroused him.
How could he explain that? “It’s difficult to be with you that way when I’m still recovering from the hurt from Priscilla,” he said. He knew himself well. He loved Lisa. He didn’t want to hurt her. But he also hated Priscilla.
After the first time he had kissed Lisa, he had met that tall, willowy wisp of a girl in the bar. She was exactly the kind of girl that Priscilla detested. So, he brought her home and made certain each kiss, each touch was special. Thrilling. It was such sweet revenge.
Lisa grasped Tony’s hand in hers. “Well, what can we do to get over this? We need to work through this or we can’t move on Tony.” Her voice was patient, though her words were pleading.
He knew what he needed to do. He needed to stop sleeping with those other women. Priscilla would have hated that too. His delight was even richer when he started seeing multiple women at the same time. Some for a few weeks. Some for a few hours.
“What can I do to help, Tony?” Lisa’s eyes bored into his.
He had thought about taking Lisa to bed. But, it wasn’t the same. He cared about Lisa. He cared what happened to her. With the others, he could bury his humiliation under sweet surrender – focus on each breath, on each sweet stroke of pleasure – his pleasure, knowing his bliss would bring Priscilla pain.
By now, he had sent enough pictures and videos for Priscilla to know what was going on. He wouldn’t give Priscilla the satisfaction of moving on with his life. He didn’t want to.
Tony pulled his hand from Lisa’s grasp.
“There’s nothing you can do, Lisa. Nothing you can do at all.”
“I was thinking that maybe we could have a talk.”
Those words planted fear in the hearts of most men, but not Tony. Tony loved to talk, loved to mull things over and analyze them. That’s why he graduated with a psyche major and what made him a damn good crisis counsellor.
“What do you want to talk about?” Tony responded. He looked up from the crossword puzzle he was working on. Lisa was great that way. She would come over and they could just hang out.
“Us,” she said.
Tony paused. He wondered what could be up. He had been a more-than-ideal boyfriend.
“You’re so wonderful,” Lisa went on, her brown eyes earnest, trusting. “We have great conversations, you listen to what I have to say and you’re always so thoughtful, bringing me flowers or helping me with my work.” She took in a deep breath. “You’ve even told me you love me.”
Tony waited for the but.
“But you rarely kiss me,” she said. “I mean, really kiss me.”
Lisa’s expression was expectant of a response.
He cleared his throat before he spoke. “I guess I just am still holding back because of Priscilla.”
Priscilla. His ex-fiancee. He had spent seven years waiting for her. Always a delay in their marriage. She was everything Lisa was not – demanding, acerbic, angry. Then, she returned one week from a business trip announcing that she was building a house with some guy in Vancouver.
“I d-don’t understand,” Lisa stammered.
Either did Tony. The first time he kissed Lisa, he thought of Priscilla. He let go of Lisa immediately. If Lisa knew, it would kill her. And yet, the thought of Priscilla knowing that he kissed Lisa aroused him.
How could he explain that? “It’s difficult to be with you that way when I’m still recovering from the hurt from Priscilla,” he said. He knew himself well. He loved Lisa. He didn’t want to hurt her. But he also hated Priscilla.
After the first time he had kissed Lisa, he had met that tall, willowy wisp of a girl in the bar. She was exactly the kind of girl that Priscilla detested. So, he brought her home and made certain each kiss, each touch was special. Thrilling. It was such sweet revenge.
Lisa grasped Tony’s hand in hers. “Well, what can we do to get over this? We need to work through this or we can’t move on Tony.” Her voice was patient, though her words were pleading.
He knew what he needed to do. He needed to stop sleeping with those other women. Priscilla would have hated that too. His delight was even richer when he started seeing multiple women at the same time. Some for a few weeks. Some for a few hours.
“What can I do to help, Tony?” Lisa’s eyes bored into his.
He had thought about taking Lisa to bed. But, it wasn’t the same. He cared about Lisa. He cared what happened to her. With the others, he could bury his humiliation under sweet surrender – focus on each breath, on each sweet stroke of pleasure – his pleasure, knowing his bliss would bring Priscilla pain.
By now, he had sent enough pictures and videos for Priscilla to know what was going on. He wouldn’t give Priscilla the satisfaction of moving on with his life. He didn’t want to.
Tony pulled his hand from Lisa’s grasp.
“There’s nothing you can do, Lisa. Nothing you can do at all.”
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Power in Numbers
I have a huge family. My mother has nine brothers and sisters and my dad has eight. So, you can imagine how many first cousins I have. And we're close. All of us.
Growing up, this could sometimes be difficult. I'd see my family at least once - if not five - times a month for some family occasion. As a teenager, I wondered when I would ever get a weekend to myself! But, as the years have gone on, I'm grateful for the support my family members provide ... and what better place to use support than for resolutions!
Of course, my family members don't provide support the regular way. We are a creative bunch. So, we decided to model our own reality TV show. A supportive (not cut throat) - reality TV show.
The goal: being healthy (aka weight loss).
The incentive: money and maybe family pride?
I know more than most people about healthy living. I've worked in chronic disease prevention for years. When I first started working in the field, I probably lost 30 pounds just from learning to adopt simple healthy behaviors. But, then a previous stressful job had me skipping lunches and eating dinner at 9pm at night. I quit the job, but still haven't gotten back to my former healthy self.
I try to remind myself of future heart disease, high blood pressure etc. etc. ... but it wasn't enough motivation for me.
And then I realized, money would be.
So, here's the deal:
9 of my family members (cousins and siblings) throw money into a pot, either 100 or 200 dollars.
We each also give 10 dollars to a "bonus prize".
We weigh ourselves on March 1.
And we each have our individual weight loss goals between 10-20 pounds.
IF you meet your goal in six months, you get your money back!
If you don't, your other family members get the money.
Plus, the person who loses the most body percentage of their weight gets the bonus prize.
When I first thought of the contest, it was the money that I thought would be the motivation.
When you know a second helping might cost you 200 dollars - the cost of a weekend trip ... a writing workshop ... a pair of strappy summer sandals and a pedicure (hey, we all have our vices, ok?) I knew I would think twice about that second helping.
But, I find what I'm looking forward to is knowing that I have eight other family members trying to achieve the same goal.
In my field of health promotion, we are always learning about the incredible power of "social support" ... but wow-ee. I can feel its power now.
Tomorrow is Day One of my Six Month Challenge. It will be fun :)
(however, I am still going to have my piece of apple pie tonight. Maybe two!)
Growing up, this could sometimes be difficult. I'd see my family at least once - if not five - times a month for some family occasion. As a teenager, I wondered when I would ever get a weekend to myself! But, as the years have gone on, I'm grateful for the support my family members provide ... and what better place to use support than for resolutions!
Of course, my family members don't provide support the regular way. We are a creative bunch. So, we decided to model our own reality TV show. A supportive (not cut throat) - reality TV show.
The goal: being healthy (aka weight loss).
The incentive: money and maybe family pride?
I know more than most people about healthy living. I've worked in chronic disease prevention for years. When I first started working in the field, I probably lost 30 pounds just from learning to adopt simple healthy behaviors. But, then a previous stressful job had me skipping lunches and eating dinner at 9pm at night. I quit the job, but still haven't gotten back to my former healthy self.
I try to remind myself of future heart disease, high blood pressure etc. etc. ... but it wasn't enough motivation for me.
And then I realized, money would be.
So, here's the deal:
9 of my family members (cousins and siblings) throw money into a pot, either 100 or 200 dollars.
We each also give 10 dollars to a "bonus prize".
We weigh ourselves on March 1.
And we each have our individual weight loss goals between 10-20 pounds.
IF you meet your goal in six months, you get your money back!
If you don't, your other family members get the money.
Plus, the person who loses the most body percentage of their weight gets the bonus prize.
When I first thought of the contest, it was the money that I thought would be the motivation.
When you know a second helping might cost you 200 dollars - the cost of a weekend trip ... a writing workshop ... a pair of strappy summer sandals and a pedicure (hey, we all have our vices, ok?) I knew I would think twice about that second helping.
But, I find what I'm looking forward to is knowing that I have eight other family members trying to achieve the same goal.
In my field of health promotion, we are always learning about the incredible power of "social support" ... but wow-ee. I can feel its power now.
Tomorrow is Day One of my Six Month Challenge. It will be fun :)
(however, I am still going to have my piece of apple pie tonight. Maybe two!)
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Put it out there ...
In my year and a half of blogging, I've only posted my horoscope once.
Now make that twice.
Rob Brezsny's free will astrology sometimes hits it so right on the mark, I feel compelled to put it out there to remind myself about the power of thought.
And - since one of my resolutions is to listen to my instinct this year -- without analysis, without doubt -- I'm going to follow this strange urge of mine to declare the message within this message - waiting for me, and maybe waiting for you?
Who knows. I just know the words need to be repeated.
**
I've been asked by the leaders of the Piscean Support Group to pat you on the back -- and add a tender, friendly kick in the butt while I'm at it -- in celebration of your recent promise to leave your safety zone. They're a bit worried that you'll be so enamored of the new reserve of courage you've discovered lurking in your depths that you won't muster the incentive to actually use that courage to its hilt. Please prove them wrong. Show us all what it's like for a sensitive soul with a lyrical heart to seek raw adventure in virgin territory.
**
Sensitive soul with a lyrical heart. Hmm -- I like that one.
Now make that twice.
Rob Brezsny's free will astrology sometimes hits it so right on the mark, I feel compelled to put it out there to remind myself about the power of thought.
And - since one of my resolutions is to listen to my instinct this year -- without analysis, without doubt -- I'm going to follow this strange urge of mine to declare the message within this message - waiting for me, and maybe waiting for you?
Who knows. I just know the words need to be repeated.
**
I've been asked by the leaders of the Piscean Support Group to pat you on the back -- and add a tender, friendly kick in the butt while I'm at it -- in celebration of your recent promise to leave your safety zone. They're a bit worried that you'll be so enamored of the new reserve of courage you've discovered lurking in your depths that you won't muster the incentive to actually use that courage to its hilt. Please prove them wrong. Show us all what it's like for a sensitive soul with a lyrical heart to seek raw adventure in virgin territory.
**
Sensitive soul with a lyrical heart. Hmm -- I like that one.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
It'll Kill You
- short fiction on sin # 5 -
The court reporter usually found it hard to stay awake in sentencing hearings, but the next witness looked like he had something interesting to say.
The witness was a thin Chinese man who would have looked twenty-two if not for the grey hair at his temples and the slight folds at the edges of his mouth. To the untrained eye, you might have thought there was a resemblance between him and the young man being sentenced. The young man was dressed in drab grey overalls and stared straight ahead, his mouth slightly hanging open. But the court reporter had spent two years in mainland China and while the two men might have been from the same region, she knew they were not related.
“State your name, sir.” The defense lawyer started right in, sweeping her blond hair behind her ears in a business-like manner.
“Pin Chang.”
“And your profession?”
“I am a – ” he paused, “ – what you would call a doctor.”
“A medical doctor?” the lawyer asked.
“A medical doctor, yes.” Chang nodded. “In Chinese medicine.”
“Have you met Mr. Tsen before?” She pointed at the young man.
“Yes,” Chang agreed. “His parents brought him for a consultation. He was pale, suffering from dizziness, pain in his abdomen. Red eyes. All typical symptoms.”
“Typical of what?”
“Stagnation of chi. He needed to restore the flow of his energy. He needed to tonify. Especially –"
The lawyer from the prosecutor’s office stood up. “Your Honor, I object. What relevance does this have to Mr. Tsen’s sentencing?”
The court reporting was wondering how long it would take for him to interrupt.
The defense lawyer turned on her heel to look at the prosecuting lawyer, though she addressed the judge. “Your Honor, this witness’s testimony will show that Mr.Tsen’s life is threatened by an illness and should be accounted for in his sentencing for this homicide.”
The murmuring in the crowd grew quickly into loud discussion. The judge had to bang her gavel at least three times before she succeeded in bringing order to the courtroom.
“Continue, please, Mr. Chang,” the judge pronounced.
Chang took a deep breath before he leaned forward into the microphone. “I was concerned by the amount of stagnation I saw. Any kind of treatment, if started, needed to be followed through with properly. Or if it isn’t completed, it might cause even more harm.”
“Again!” the prosecutor interrupted. “What relevance is this?”
Chang looked up at the judge. “You see, the dysfunction of every organ is associated with a mental or emotional state of well-being. The spleen is associated with anxiety, the kidney with depression. In our medicine, the mind and body are whole. They are one.”
Chang paused before looking back at the people gathered in the courtroom. “This young man grew up in rural China. His father was a journalist. It is likely he suffered many human rights abuses.”
“And did your examination find that he suffered from this kind of trauma? Did you find some evidence of post-traumatic disorder?” the defense lawyer asked.
“Not exactly.”
There was a silence in the courtroom. Even the Court Reporter stopped so she could look at Chang’s face to see what the next words would be.
The Court Reporter grew irritated. The prosecutor was going to speak again. “Chinese medicine is not a real science, your Honor. How can we take Mr. Chang’s testimony as valid?”
Chang spoke. “Chinese medicine has been around for thousands of years, sir. Just because the Western world has not used it as evidence in your legal systems does not diminish its validity.”
The prosecutor turned red and sat down.
“Your Honor,” Chang said, “the evidence was actually Western. And Eastern. My assessment showed problems with his liver.
Everyone leaned in to hear Chang’s words, even the prosecutor.
“Which is associated with what?” pressed the defense lawyer.
“Anger. Wrath. He was holding it in. Not letting it through his system. His body was not processing it either. Which accounts for the remarkable results of his physical tests, but results not unheard of. At least in my country.”
“And these results were?” she asked.
“His liver cells are degrading,” Chang replied. “Toxicity levels are high.”
“So, what you’re saying is that he’s dying,” the lawyer stated.
“Oh yes,” Chang replied, looking with sad eyes at the young man. “It is a shame. If we had gotten him treatment earlier, we may have been able to save him. Save that poor other young man too.” Chang looked up at the judge. “But now it is too late. He is literally being eaten by his anger.”
The court reporter usually found it hard to stay awake in sentencing hearings, but the next witness looked like he had something interesting to say.
The witness was a thin Chinese man who would have looked twenty-two if not for the grey hair at his temples and the slight folds at the edges of his mouth. To the untrained eye, you might have thought there was a resemblance between him and the young man being sentenced. The young man was dressed in drab grey overalls and stared straight ahead, his mouth slightly hanging open. But the court reporter had spent two years in mainland China and while the two men might have been from the same region, she knew they were not related.
“State your name, sir.” The defense lawyer started right in, sweeping her blond hair behind her ears in a business-like manner.
“Pin Chang.”
“And your profession?”
“I am a – ” he paused, “ – what you would call a doctor.”
“A medical doctor?” the lawyer asked.
“A medical doctor, yes.” Chang nodded. “In Chinese medicine.”
“Have you met Mr. Tsen before?” She pointed at the young man.
“Yes,” Chang agreed. “His parents brought him for a consultation. He was pale, suffering from dizziness, pain in his abdomen. Red eyes. All typical symptoms.”
“Typical of what?”
“Stagnation of chi. He needed to restore the flow of his energy. He needed to tonify. Especially –"
The lawyer from the prosecutor’s office stood up. “Your Honor, I object. What relevance does this have to Mr. Tsen’s sentencing?”
The court reporting was wondering how long it would take for him to interrupt.
The defense lawyer turned on her heel to look at the prosecuting lawyer, though she addressed the judge. “Your Honor, this witness’s testimony will show that Mr.Tsen’s life is threatened by an illness and should be accounted for in his sentencing for this homicide.”
The murmuring in the crowd grew quickly into loud discussion. The judge had to bang her gavel at least three times before she succeeded in bringing order to the courtroom.
“Continue, please, Mr. Chang,” the judge pronounced.
Chang took a deep breath before he leaned forward into the microphone. “I was concerned by the amount of stagnation I saw. Any kind of treatment, if started, needed to be followed through with properly. Or if it isn’t completed, it might cause even more harm.”
“Again!” the prosecutor interrupted. “What relevance is this?”
Chang looked up at the judge. “You see, the dysfunction of every organ is associated with a mental or emotional state of well-being. The spleen is associated with anxiety, the kidney with depression. In our medicine, the mind and body are whole. They are one.”
Chang paused before looking back at the people gathered in the courtroom. “This young man grew up in rural China. His father was a journalist. It is likely he suffered many human rights abuses.”
“And did your examination find that he suffered from this kind of trauma? Did you find some evidence of post-traumatic disorder?” the defense lawyer asked.
“Not exactly.”
There was a silence in the courtroom. Even the Court Reporter stopped so she could look at Chang’s face to see what the next words would be.
The Court Reporter grew irritated. The prosecutor was going to speak again. “Chinese medicine is not a real science, your Honor. How can we take Mr. Chang’s testimony as valid?”
Chang spoke. “Chinese medicine has been around for thousands of years, sir. Just because the Western world has not used it as evidence in your legal systems does not diminish its validity.”
The prosecutor turned red and sat down.
“Your Honor,” Chang said, “the evidence was actually Western. And Eastern. My assessment showed problems with his liver.
Everyone leaned in to hear Chang’s words, even the prosecutor.
“Which is associated with what?” pressed the defense lawyer.
“Anger. Wrath. He was holding it in. Not letting it through his system. His body was not processing it either. Which accounts for the remarkable results of his physical tests, but results not unheard of. At least in my country.”
“And these results were?” she asked.
“His liver cells are degrading,” Chang replied. “Toxicity levels are high.”
“So, what you’re saying is that he’s dying,” the lawyer stated.
“Oh yes,” Chang replied, looking with sad eyes at the young man. “It is a shame. If we had gotten him treatment earlier, we may have been able to save him. Save that poor other young man too.” Chang looked up at the judge. “But now it is too late. He is literally being eaten by his anger.”
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