Almost October

My own birthday kept me busy in September, but on top of that I had to prepare for a Franciscan Retreat.
My husband, Frank, and I are both third order Franciscans, and as such we are obliged to follow our Rule of Life. Chapter (i.e,. the governing body of the Order) have been working on a fresh way of looking at our Rule. So, Frank and I decided that we should put on a Franciscan Retreat with the focus on reviewing and refreshing our Rule. I called it "Living a Rule of Life" and invited our congregation of St. Saviour's Anglican Church and the Fellowship that we used to belong to in Vancouver, as well as our Brothers and Sisters in neighbouring fellowships in the state of Washington. I guess, not counting the local congregation, I invited by name about thirty people. Guess what? No one showed up. :(
Nevertheless, Frank and I feel that we had a successful retreat.
First of all, we began on Wednesday, October 3rd at 5pm with a beautiful eucharist in Ellis Chapel, adjacent to the church. Father Nick Pang, our new priest, set it up. Candlelight. A little Lady Chapel in the corner. Full vestments. All in white. We sang and prayed. It was lovely. The congregation had been invited, but no one was there except the priest and my husband and me. We were so grateful to Nick for this. His selections of readings and the service itself was 99% from our own Franciscan Devotional Companion. The little bit that was not, came from For All the Saints, a companion book to usual prayer book used in Anglican churches in Canada, known as the BAS.
Thursday morning, Frank and I were admitted into the church for our Quiet Day, to which I'd invited everyone plus the thirty Franciscans. No one came. We weren't surprised. Several had responded saying that if we do the same thing next year, they'll try to come. So of course, I hope we can do that. But, on our own, and because Frank can't see to read and make notes, the two of us worked on revising our Rules. His and mine are based on the same template, of course, but in the past we had not known exactly what the other's Rule required. This time, we have our individuality but I typed his up in large print so he can use his magnifier to amplify it enough to be able to read it for himself. Even though he participated in discussing each aspect of the 9 parts of the Rule, he needs to discuss it with his own spiritual director before we approach our regional chaplain to have it sanctified.
Friday morning, Nick came again for the Eucharist that we'd asked for to conclude our Retreat. This time, we were joined by another couple, so it was not just us. We ended with Centering Prayer in the church with others who usually attend on Friday mornings.
We were not disappointed with the no-shows, in fact we really would have been surprised if anyone had come. After all, Wednesday and Thursday and Friday, the days just before Canadian Thanksgiving weekend, were not the best time for the Retreat. However, we didn't choose the date of St. Francis' Transitus and St. Francis Day. October 3rd is Transitus, and October 4th is St. Francis Day.

missed posting in September

I like to post at least once a month. I realized that to keep followers following, I should be more consistent. So, I apologize for not doing that.
So, what happened in September? For one thing, my birthday came up. My 80th, so that meant that we had to have a big celebration--Who knew I'd last so long? Not so old nowadays as it once was. But, because my dear husband is legally blind, partially deaf, and not too good with walking, etc., (although he claims that he is a good doorstop), I had to arrange my birthday bash. Just dinner in a very nice restaurant in Summerland. Zia's  Stonehouse Restaurant. I recommend it. And, because my children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren are asking questions about ancient history--i.e., my childhood and when I was young, I've been working on my autobiography. Instead of chapters, it's in decades. So, when everyone was gathered for the dinner, I was able to hand out five copies of Decade 1, the first ten years of my life. It came with the promise that Decade 2 would be ready soon. Of course, there will be a total of eight decades, so I'd better get busy.
That was most of what occupied me for September: putting together all the notes I'd been scribbling down on bits of paper all over the place. Rather than have it as a straight narrative, the really boring bits are interrupted with Vignettes--random memories that sort of fit in. I don't promise to have it strictly chronological, and I warned the family that there might be some overlaps. But I've tried to keep it as close to the truth as I remember it and believe it to be. It's not a tell-all, just as much as I care to divulge to my family. It isn't for publication.
My novel (novels?) must take a back seat for a while, because I do want to finish the eight decades while I can. If I don't get to publish a novel, it will certainly be one of my regrets, but I think family history being passed on to the next generation or two or three is more important than my satisfying an ambition.

never before!

I've never done this before. A couple of nights ago, I took the book I was reading aloud to my husband (he's legally blind) and walked over to the garbage can and tossed it in. I threw out a book in perfectly good physical condition. I can't believe I did that. But I just couldn't bring myself to read another word. The book is called The Bishop and the Three Kings, (Blackie Ryan #10) by Andrew M. Greeley. on goodreads it is rated 4 out of 5, so there's obviously something wrong with me. I just could not tolerate the writing. First, there are pages and pages of info-dump--stuff about the history of Cologne, and about the Three Magi (3 kings in the Nativity story in the Gospel of Matthew). That was bad enough, then there was that 1st person chapter told by Peter, Blackie's "nefoo"--more about that in a moment. That chapter, a young man/boy/whatever who has to finish writing his term paper, but is ogling a girl, wondering what she's like without her shirt on. Did we really need that? It's supposed to be a story about a Roman Catholic bishop visiting Germany to solve a mystery. It's written by Andrew M. Greeley, Father Andrew, a Roman Catholic priest.
Now about that "nefoo". Greeley goes on and on in his preface or foreword or whatever it is he felt the need to write before actually starting the story, about Appalachian English. I won't say it isn't a viable study for linguistics students (my B.A. is in linguistics, but I wouldn't waste my time on Appalachian English--for one thing, I didn't see much that was actually original. Many of the expressions are in common usage.) My complaint is the need to call decent people "no-count varmints"--no, it isn't funny, imho). But one of the characters is a "hill-billy" (is that PC?) and she talks like that most of the time.  Okay. If that's her way of speaking, but Greeley has the other characters--Blackie and Peter (the nefoo) dropping into it.  Everyone is a no-count varmint and all questions are answered "shonuff".  I absolutely could not read the book.
Into the garbage it went, and I picked up a much superior book to read, also rated 4 out of 5 on goodreads, Monday the Rabbi Took Off (The Rabbi Small Mysteries #4) by Harry Kemelman, swapping a bishop for a rabbi. (I'm Christian, by the way, but love Jewish culture.)

I'm so disappointed!

I just found out that the Surrey International Writers' Conference 2018 is sold out. All except the Sunday Only package. Well, I'm not going to travel all the way to the Coast for a solitary day. Especially since Greyhound is cancelling all but one Western Canadian routes. (The exception, unfortunately, is not the route I need.)
Serves me right, I guess. I should have known. This conference is probably the best in the world (so I've been told by some internationally famous authors who are presenters on a regular basis).  There are people like Anne Perry, Diana Gabaldon, Elizabeth George, and so on. (Men too, but these are the ones I always like to see when they're here.) These aren't here every time, but this is the calibre of speaker we are used to at the Surrey Conference. I've been to several, and volunteered at a few. Never a waste of time or money, even though it is rather expensive. Especially if you stay in the hotel, but there are several other hotels to choose from.
So, for 2019, I have to start watching for early registrations and get my name in quickly. No procrastinating.
No bus next year, of course. I'll have to fly. I hate airports but absolutely will not drive. I wish that a train was a possibility, but no such luck.
I'm just plain disappointed.

another grammar abomination

Just when I think I've seen it all, another one pops into view. Yesterday I was looking at Pinterest hints on packing. Okay, I do think I know it all on that topic, and I don't have any pressing need to review the latest tips, still I like to see what people have to say about packing.
This one particular set of hints had nothing earth-shatteringly new, but I found one sentence or part of a sentence that I just can't get out of my head.
The lady is explaining how she packs differently for just herself or with her husband or with the whole family. Then she says, "I just pack Jason and I's stuff into...." I couldn't get past that. I stopped right there. I's?????? Did me get I's coffee this morning? I's? Really? Seriously? I's?
I can't get it out of my head! I's.

Writing this novel

I thought I'd finished it. But that was almost a year ago. Then, after several non-responses from prospective agents, I decided to get it professionally evaluated. Not edited. I think I can do that myself. With a degree in linguistics and another degree in education, plus nearly forty years experience teaching English, I think I can do my own editing. I'm not perfect. I can make mistakes as easily as the next person. And I know that I'm the worst person to do my own fault-finding when reading my own work. That is why I truly crave a critique group. Some people with similar goals and interests as myself. But an evaluation would be helpful.
Now, my master's degree in education was in curriculum and instruction, and included a lot of work on what curriculum and instruction evaluation looked like. But it seems that none of that applied to this manuscript evaluation. At the very least, I'd hoped the editor I paid to do the job would tell me if the story was worth rewriting or if I should just abandon it. But she said nothing about that.
She was, however, extremely helpful in other ways. She couldn't resist editing, though. Most of which I ignored because I didn't agree with her. Also, she didn't understand one of my main characters--the mother of the protagonist. That character happens to have serious personal flaws. Mainly, she is not a good mother. She doesn't listen to her daughter's concerns. She doesn't always remember to provide for her daughter's needs. She puts her job ahead of her parenting, and so on. That's who she is. That's one of the problems that my protagonist has to deal with. But my editor is a good mother. I can tell by the criticisms she has of "Fiona." So I have to seriously think about each comment she makes about the relationship between Fiona and her daughter in the story. It's most irritating, because I know my characters and how they have to interact.
Back to the helpful bits, though. My editor has a daughter in a wheelchair, and my main character is a teenaged girl in a wheelchair. So, although I've had a son in a wheelchair, and I've had a close friend in a wheelchair, and I've worked in a rehabilitation centre where most of the patients I dealt with were in wheelchairs, there's still a lot I don't know about life in a wheelchair. My editor gave me a lot of advice that was extremely helpful.
So now what? I'm still working on editing and rewriting this novel. I've been at it for about ten months now, and I'm only half way through the rewrites. I'm feeling totally lost, and very discouraged at this moment.
The other problem with this slow progress is that before I sent House of Secrets away for evaluation, I was already halfway through the first draft of the sequel! And I want to write a third novel with these characters to make it a trilogy.  If these books are going to take as much time as H of S, then I'll have to live well into my hundreds!!

still more about "I'm back"

It's been a few weeks now since I got back from that trip to the UK.
After Dalgellau, we spent a couple of nights in Porthmadog, still in North Wales. I don't remember much about that place. I wasn't keen on the "bed and breakfast" we were in. Nothing wrong with it, but I just wasn't very comfortable there. The name of the place was, if I remember correctly, translated as "The Old Bakehouse" but I can't remember the Welsh name. Breakfast was served in the "restaurant" attached next door--more like a pub that just closed down to give us breakfast before we left for the day.
We had a good trip down to Aberystwyth, which was really funny for me. I was there almost exactly sixteen months before. I stood on the same spot where I had photographed my son and husband in January 2017. And there I was with my daughter on June 3rd or 4th, whichever it was, in 2018. Aberystwyth is a very nice town. It has a beautiful beach--but not really good in January or even June. Kind of chilly in the Irish Sea.
We went to a historic mansion for tea. That's not a drink in the UK, it's more of an institution. Sometimes it's sandwiches and cakes, sometimes it's a full dinner. This time it was mostly cakes. And we had it outdoors, looking at the mansion. The mansion was chosen as a place to visit because some of our group wanted to visit a haunted house, and this one is said to be haunted. No ghosts for us, though.
The next day, we went to a slate museum. I found it very interesting, but the other three females just wandered around and didn't go. Too bad, because the slate museum had a few good ghost stories. Much better than the mansion.
Next day, Catherine and I took the train back to Gatwick airport, which pretends to be in London. We spent a night in a hotel, the Crown Plaza, which I don't recommend. Then, next morning, I flew home while my daughter flew to Scotland to spend a week there.