Back from the Dead

Dear followers, it's been too long. But I'm not dead, and am now resurfacing from a very nasty stretch of personal turmoil... here's proof that I am still among the living:

After the annual Stratford Swan Parade on April 12, 2015.

Thanks for reading this. I wouldn't blame you for totally giving up on me-- I nearly did myself. I am horrified to see that my last blog post was back in July!!! I don't really want to go over every detail and revisit all of my interim anguish at this point in time, but in a nutshell? My 2014 sucked the hind teat of a particularly sadistic hellhound bitch.

The Reader's Digest  condensed version of events: I was finding my footing in a full-time job after working at home for years. I found myself at the end of a long-term relationship. My elderly parents were both struggling with dementia and other ailments, and my family was in agonies over how best to help them. My own health was up and down. And just as my three brothers and I had our hands forced by circumstances that saw our dear Mom put into long term care, my eldest brother Chris was diagnosed with leukaemia-- and was suddenly in a coma at death's door.

I think that's where I left you hanging. I am sorry.

This has been a shitty time, and I needed to retreat and deal with the succession of blows. My writing all but stopped. Somehow I was hanging in at work, and trying to do what I could for the family from a helpless distance. My days consisted of rising from a fitful sleep, putting in a full day at the Stratford Festival offices, rushing home to make and field phone calls and emails with relatives, the Alzheimer's Society and health care workers, then fixing and eating a solitary dinner before falling into bed as a ragged shadow of myself at the end of the night. Repeat. And repeat. And repeat. Relentlessly.

Chris

Chris showing evident pride and affection for his cadets.

Chris rallied briefly, surprising us all by emerging from the coma with the disease at bay and his mind sharp and strong. He always was a determined fighter, but his body was weakened by this tough battle. Shortly after we'd moved Dad into the same care facility as Mom, Chris died in early December. He was the golden child of the family, and had lived the best of lives-- and we celebrated that as we said goodbye: remembering his love of his wife and his dogs; his adoration of books, music, history and golf; his career with the RCMP; his law studies; his obsession with flight (he could fly a plane before he could drive a car!) and his recent dedication to leadership with the Air Cadets. A remarkable group of young cadets stood as his Honour Guards, and faultlessly folded and presented the flag to his widow, Louise. It was a difficult farewell, but a noble one-- as befit the man.

As we were all still stumbling around in shock, the next blow came when my father died ten days later. Ours was a difficult relationship, but the loss of a parent is an event of mythological proportion in anyone's life. It is the end of an era. I can at least be glad that I had managed to set aside a lifetime of anger and hurt, and tried my best to just help him toward the end of his life. I feel I succeeded in reaching a kind of reparation.

Dad displaying his own father's WWI service medals and badges.

And at the very end of the year from Hell, I finished with my full-time job-- the position having been eliminated due to internal shuffling and reordering. It wasn't that I'd done anything wrong, they assured me. That's just the way my luck went in the bloody awful year of 2014.

Understandably, I was in a damned dark mood these past few months. But I am back.

I have been writing. Submitting short stories to anthology calls and competitions. Zeroing in on the end of the long-awaited first draft of book one of my Dead Drunk series, In The Bag, and being slammed with ideas for other new writing... including another novel that seemed to drop all at once into my lap from out of the ether. I am part of a new and vibrant women's writing group here in Stratford. I'm even doing some acting again after 15 years... a tiny part in a staged reading of a dramatic adaptation of Deborah Ellis's pivotal novel, The Breadwinner. http://www.springworksfestival.ca/#!the-breadwinner/c1vv3. Today, I went to a splendid writing workshop with Canadian horror master, Andew Pyper, and a reading from his new book, The Damned. I have a lot of inspiration and spark to get back at it.

I feel ready to take life on again. I've had quite enough of death.

What Dreams May Come

Fuseli's 'The Nightmare'

I have extremely vivid, detailed dreams. Sometimes they can be terrifying, sometimes hilarious... or so teasingly authentic in the moment that I wake up feeling ripped off because my finances were FINALLY in good and abundant order! Meh!

Last night involved one of the more quirkily detailed meanderings of my bizarre subconsciousness. I was visiting a friend's new flat. They'd just moved into a place overtop a defunct restaurant on the high street of some touristy English town. The building dated back a few centuries, but it couldn't have been heritage listed considering what the landlords had done to it...

The Tudor facade was barely discernable beneath a horrible layer of 'decorative' corrugated metal sheeting covering the jutting top floor. The bottom half had been thickly coated with gobs of plaster resembling toothpaste and then glossily whitewashed to death, and the boarded up windows had tacky wooden shutters that I supposed were meant to simulate a sort of cheesy Swiss Alps effect. Flanking the former restaurant's doorway were a pair of matching built-in 'planters'. They appeared to be made from old metal feeding troughs, now badly rusted and full of random bits of rubbish. As my friend seemed unmoved by the appalling state of the place, I politely asked if the landlord was planning on restoring it to its original state. 'No,' they assured me. 'The restaurant itself was such a well-known destination in the '70s that they've decided to preserve it just as it is.'

At this point, they reverently waved their hand at the fading faux-Gothic lettered sign over the restaurant door, which read: 'Ye Olde Lithuanian Pilaf Markt'.

Huh? Talk about taking the concept of fusion cuisine to a whole new level! Why does my brain DO this to me?? I think I woke myself up giggling.

Mostly, I am grateful that I possess such a fertile imagination. The only time it can be a worry is when I experience a minutely detailed nightmare... dreams that are more like a 'night terror'. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Night_terror The palpable sense of horror and fear is overwhelming, and my mind has conjured up imagery and situations that would make even the most ardent guts-and-gore horror movie fan throw up in their popcorn. I am grateful that such dreams are rare.

Sometimes, this can be handy. I have used dreams as a leaping off point for a short story, or as a section in my longer fiction. In 'Base Spirits', there's a segment which is more or less a blow-by-blow retelling of nightmare I had about my characters while I was writing an early draft. Having been haunted by increasingly horrific visions of Calverley Old Hall's tragic past during her stay, Clara finds she is unable to shut off her mind from the echoes of the terror left behind by the murderous former lord of the manor:


A new visitation--
Clara walks across the grounds toward Calverley Old Hall. Opening the door, she steps into the coolness of the front foyer as the door clicks shut behind her. She blinks to adjust her vision to the dim light. Two small figures slowly approach from the gloom at the base of the stairs.
  Children. The older child must be one she’d heard-- and felt-- die. He gazes up at her, his face pale, his dark eyes mutely pleading. At his side is a smaller child wearing an identical white sleeping gown. The children stand before her, holding hands and watching her expectantly. She cannot move. The boys drift forward as one, and each boy reaches out his free hand to clutch at Clara. She wants to back away, but pity for them holds her in place. Clara glances down and watches their fingers sink into the indigo silk of her gown’s voluminous skirts.
       “Mama-- ”
  A loud thud on the floorboards upstairs cause all three of them to jump. The boys’ sad eyes stare up at the ceiling.
        “It’s Papa-- ”
         The familiar voice of the eldest child echoes in the back of her skull, just as the Woman’s had in the clarity of her last dream. The children’s fingers tighten on the folds of her dress.
“Stay with us. Bear witness.”
         Heavy footsteps pound toward the top of the stairs. A voice booms out:
  “Are you there with thy bastards, whore?”
         Clara yanks her skirts free of the boys’ grasp and dives for the door. The abandoned children follow, their mouths open in silent wails. She feels sorry for them, but she does not wish to stay and face the man they call Papa. Wildly, she tugs at the door-handle, feeling the cold little hands reach for her, as the heavy boots stomp down the stone steps. The door holds fast. The children begin to scream. The man’s voice is right behind her, shouting:
           “Whore! Whore! Whore-- ”

            “Wrroof! Woof-woof-- ”
            A dog barking outside summons Clara back.

~ From 'Base Spirits'- Chapter Six
Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Base-Spirits-ebook/dp/B005L38G8E
Kobo: http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Base-Spirits/book-bVfWrCigB0qRm6jfFq_MhQ/page1.html
Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/Base-Spirits-Ruth-Barrett/dp/1453643001

Today, after my weird mental wanderings, I'm find my waking imagination is unusually fired up. I'm currently working on 'In the Bag'-- book one of The Dead Drunks mystery series-- and this morning I could barely keep up with all of the ideas and plot twists and character revelations pouring down into my skull from wherever my Muse lives. I feverishly made notes and sketches for multiple scenes... finding new answers to resolve nagging plot puzzles and story gaps at every turn.

No, I am not going to set a scene at 'Ye Olde Lithuanian Pilaf Markt.'. Maybe I should!

What about you? Have you ever felt so inspired by dream imagery that you incorporated it into your fiction? Tell us about it!

Silly Season

My tree!

Ho ho HOLY CRAP! I have been dreadful at posting lately!! A thousand apologies.

Life does get in the way. I have a lot of illness and worry in my family these days, and my energy is better spent elsewhere.

Writing DOES continue apace. I have a new, true ghost story just out in Jeff Bennington's CREEPY 3 anthology. Christmas is the traditional time for ghost stories, and there are some nice spine-tinglers in this collection. Check out mine: 'The Watcher in the Woods' about an apparition I saw just after my own near-death experience. http://www.amazon.com/Creepy-Collection-Stories-Series-ebook/dp/B00AKYD120

Another ghostly short story turned into a fourteen thousand word novelette! 'In Sarah's Room' is a period piece... a creepy slow-burn of a ghost story in the tradition of M.R. James. This anthology (tentatively entitled TREADING CLOSE BEHIND) was also aiming for a Christmas release, but the consensus of the authors means that we'll likely be releasing it through a small UK publisher instead, hopefully not too far into 2013. Look for great dark stuff from B.L. Lloyd, Shalini Boland, V.R. Christensen and myself, to name a few...

Meantime, if you're doing your holiday shopping, books are always a good choice!

BASE SPIRITS is perfect to read whilst shivering by the fireplace...
In paperback- US: http://www.amazon.com/Base-Spirits-Ruth-Barrett/dp/1453643001 Also in the UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Base-Spirits-Ruth-Barrett/dp/1453643001
In e-book format- Kindle US (but also everywhere else where Kindle is marketed!) http://www.amazon.com/Base-Spirits-ebook/dp/B005L38G8E
All other e-book formats at Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/84640

I have received Scrivener ( http://www.literatureandlatte.com/scrivener.php) as an early Christmas gift, so I'm hoping it will help streamline my fiction writing process. I aim to have the first book of THE DEAD DRUNK mystery series IN THE BAG done over the winter. There's not much else to do in Stratford over the snowy months!

I wish one and all the very best of the season and a brilliant 2013. May you be surrounded by love, abundance, and good health. Enjoy every minute with your family and friends. Make merry. The rest is just so much noise.

Of Description and Stratford

I am still among the living!

Work has been getting more interesting lately-- for those of you who don't know what my 'day job' is, I actually *write* for money. Most folks know about closed captions for the deaf and hard of hearing (something else I used to write), but another film and television accessibility service for the blind and visually impaired is described video or audio description. That's me. Well not *just* me. I have a theatre background and tons of experience in voice over and narration, so I have recorded a few shows and films. I also live-described the Royal Wedding in 2011 as part of a two-person describer team for the CBC.

In a pouffy big CBC sweater after the ultimate royal all-nighter!

But most of the time... I write scripts.

I don't write in the normal script format, as they are rather technical: I include time codes and cues leading in and out of whatever narration I have added into the story. By way of simple explanation, I end up with something that sounds a bit like a radio play. I am meant to avoid stepping on existing dialogue or soundtrack as much as possible: I describe visuals as they unfold so that the blind can enjoy the same storytelling experience as the sighted audience. I paint pictures with words.

TV and film work is volatile. I know that from my acting days. It's feast or famine... and when it's time to feast, everything else has to go by the wayside. Work isn't as busy as I'd like it to be, but there's enough going on for me to have to set aside the WIP ('In The Bag') for a break... let things simmer on the back-burner while I earn my living.

The magical Stratford Shakespeare Festival Theatre

A fun addition to my work schedule this year is helping to launch a live theatre description service at the Stratford Shakespeare Festival in Ontario. http://www.stratfordfestival.ca/ I live an easy stroll along the Avon from the main stage, and this season I am describing a couple of performances of  '42nd Street' and 'Much Ado About Nothing'. This entails my sitting in the director's booth on headset and microphone and describing the show as it runs to the sight-impaired audience members on their personal headsets. It is a very cool little gig. Not many other jobs start with a trumpet fanfare... ! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FJ7O7KwbZZs I am chuffed to little mint-balls to be involved with a theatre company I have loved and admired for over 30 years, and to be providing this service.

The iconic main stage

So this explains my lack of posts... but it does not excuse it. I am sorry. I really am a bad blogger sometimes. I *do* have a guest post coming up in the next week or so (I promise!) so I hope you'll check that out... and some of the past posts are worth a peek-- have a boo at the archives in the right hand column and see what grabs you.

Mea Culpa!

So I wrote a post exactly one month ago today, promising to be more diligent and post more often.

Oops.

The past few weeks has been a struggle about finding work/life balance in my day. My 'day job' is writing descriptive video TV/Film scripts for the blind and visually impaired. This is contract work that I can do from home (huzzah!) but it is also feast or famine (boo!) I try to tell myself that the relative freedom I have (cool perks like making my own hours, a commute that is a mere stumble from bed to coffee maker to desk, no dress code, and no snarky co-workers or supervisors hanging over my shoulder) is worth the sacrifice of no employment insurance, dental benefits or predictable workflow.

Reality is harsh. I had virtually no income from mid-April until three weeks ago.

In theory, this gave me plenty of time to work on my new novel In The Bag- Book One of The Dead Drunks Mystery series. I did spend a respectable amount of time with my 'boys' Winston and Teddy,  and their ever-flatulent and compellingly ugly bulldog sidekick, Hotspur. But when there is no income, the walls tend to close in. That sort of fear and depression can make one's creativity dry up.

So-- hooray-- there is paid writing work coming in again. But I need to make hay while the sun shines, so I end up putting in 12 hour days. The last thing I feel like doing after sitting at the computer writing all day is to stay put and write well into the evening. I keep reading studies about how sitting more than a few hours a day shortens your life span. Awesome. Did I mention my back hurts? I also stayed inside for 4 days running last week and went a bit stir-crazy. Whee!

As the contract work steadies out into a more predictable flow, I'll find ways to regularly get back to my fictional Stratford sleuths. I enjoy my time with them, so I'm sure you'll all like getting to know them just as much... eventually. I've also been getting outside more this week. I'm feeling a little more human again.

Meantime, I promise to be more faithful to my word! I have some guests on the blog coming up soon. Watch this space...