Writers create their best work using personal experiences. I use my life to write stories, but this is always an exercise in culling. Experiences can be interesting; however, interesting experiences don’t necessarily make good fiction.
Thanks to the fine people at The RavensPerch for picking up Flash Point. You can find the story here. I wrote Flash Point in response to an incident on Whyte Avenue while walking one evening with my daughter. The story is fiction, but most everything in the story actually happened—unusual, for me.
Finally, I usually don’t write as a means of making a point about an issue. Having said that, here’s a comment from the editors at The RavensPerch:
“Above all, thanks for reminding readers about the evils of bullying. We believe your piece can help make a difference.”
Enjoy the story, and make sure to check out the fine fiction and nonfiction at The RavensPerch.
Like many Edmontonions, I have a complex, confusing, and often resentful attitude toward the place I live. However, I’m less concerned with resolving these feelings than using them to write fiction.
My friend Tom Wharton posted a piece on his website about setting stories in Edmonton. You can read it here. He always encourages his creative writing students to write about this place in all its bifurcated glory. If you don’t know the city, it’s divided by the North Saskatchewan River, which makes it more two cities than one.
Here’s my latest story about Edmonton that features the High Level Bridge. Bridges appeared this month in Literary Orphans. Thanks to Scott Waldon and the people at the magazine for picking up the story.
If you live in Edmonton, you will understand Bridges in a particular way. If you don’t, I hope you can still appreciate the story.
A big thank you to Michael Bryson and The Danforth Review for publishing “Leaf and Branch.” It’s nice to have a piece appear in a Canadian magazine. These people have been doing what they do since 1999. In the magazine world, that’s longevity. Make sure and check out the other fine pieces in this month’s issue.
My brother, who is always a source for bits of news, told me the other night about a visually impaired man who fell onto the tracks of the SkyTrain in Vancouver. Fortunately, some quick-acting students were there to help the gentleman out of the tracks—just as the train was pulling in. You can read more of the story here.
For blind and visually impaired people, navigating public transit can be tricky—and sometimes just bloody dangerous. Buses are one thing: you wait, bus pulls into the stop, and you get on. Trains are different. For one, it’s a train. Trains don’t stop as quickly as buses, and you have to wait on a platform next to a four and a half foot drop into the tracks. If you can’t see, it’s hazardous.
In 2010, I was coming home by train on a snowy evening at the beginning of January. I got off the train at the South Campus station, which had opened the previous spring. I stepped off the train, turned left instead of right, and headed down the platform to get the bus.
My mistake was turning the wrong way after getting off the train. The platform was covered with almost an inch of snow. They hadn’t yet had a chance to clear it.
I was heading for what I thought was the steps to take me down and out of the station. Instead, I walked straight off the platform and fell onto the tracks.
My initial response, lying there on the tracks on my side, was having no idea what had just happened. It wasn’t until I reached out and grabbed one of the rails with a gloved hand that I understood. That’s when I started to hurt and knew I had to get off the tracks.
The track-bed isn’t especially deep—until you’re standing in it. Try scrambling up onto a platform, slippery with new-fallen snow and level with your chest, while you are in shock and can’t breathe because you’ve just had the wind knocked out of you.
Fortunately, someone spotted me. A man ran over, and soon two people were hauling me up onto the platform. Other people came, and I was helped to my feet and onboard the train while the driver called for an ambulance. A slightly scared and completely sincere eight-year-old boy tried to comfort me while we waited for the paramedics. He insisted his grandpa would help fix my cane, which had gotten bent in the fall. The paramedics arrived, announced me injured but more or less intact, and gave me the choice of going home or to the hospital. Given the choice, I went home. They drove me the seven minutes back to my house, and I was never so glad to reach my own front door.
I fractured two ribs in that fall, and it took me all of eight weeks to recover. It wasn’t until February that I started taking the train once again—more carefully, as you can imagine.
I’ve gotten myself into all sorts of situations over the years, but rarely have I felt so helpless and in need of assistance. Strangers helping strangers is a powerful thing, and I’ve always been grateful to those people who helped me out on that snowy evening in January, especially that little boy, who understood the importance of helping out, and did his best to give me the comfort and reassurance he could.
This entry marks the one hundredth post on my blog. It’s actually more than that, but I figured re-posting doesn’t count.
In the early summer of 2015, I had the idea for a blog on children’s literature. The teaching term was over, and I spent hours sitting at my kitchen table trying to figure out how to create a blog. Everything I read told me I needed to make it interesting, that I needed pictures, and that I had to find a niche.
I surfed the web for hours, looking at other blogs about kid’s books. Many of these were book review sites—interesting and informative, but not what I wanted to put my energy towards. I finally settled on a weird mix of commentary, personal reflection, and creative writing.
I was still faced with many questions:
1. How not to sound like a pompous ass,
2. How to write about things that interested me,
3. How to reach readers,
4. How to offer something original,
5. And how to make my blog both easy to read and appealing to the eye.
Of Other Worlds: A Children’s Literature Blog was born. My first entry was a personal account of discovering Tolkien at the age of eleven, after losing my sight in a car accident the summer before.
I quickly discovered that maintaining a blog was less easy than I thought. I tried writing something every week, but that was too hard. I tried writing about the books I loved, which worked better. I started writing and posting fractured fairy tales, which was fun, but again, hard to maintain. All of it was a learning experience—the writing, the site itself, and the hard-to-ignore, sometimes demoralizing conviction that nobody was even reading it.
Last summer, I created this author webpage, which meant that my blog was just now part of my site. Kid’s and young adult books are still a major part of my life and work, but the blog has expanded into something more. I’ve learned a great deal from creating and maintaining these sites, and I’ve gained a greater appreciation for anyone who reads what I write.
I’ll keep posting, and I hope people keep reading. You’ll still find stuff on kid’s and young adult books, but maybe you’ll occasionally find more to interest you. Either way, let me know.
A new story out today! A thank you to Les Weil and The Flash fiction Press for publishing The Dance of the Snow People. Check out the story and many others here.
Les was kind enough to direct me to his site after the story was declined by another magazine. Enjoy the story, and check out The Flash Fiction Press.