Baby toe

 

I am so filled with emotion these days.

Filled.

Overflowing.

Every single pore seems to be seeping something. Like, my guts want to explode outward. My heart and brain are working overtime and there is no room in my ever-softening body for another ounce of emotion. It is coming out all over the place.

I am brimming with joy. I am in the depths of despair. I am anxious about everything. I am absolutely boiling over with rage. Oh, the rage is real.

Anyway, three days ago, I stubbed my baby toe.

Like, SLAMMED that poor sucker into the extremely solid leg of our coffee table. 

HARD.

In a true feat of timing, I carried out this perfect exposition of awkwardness while ALL of the inhabitants of our household were in the same room. It hurt so bad I felt faint. I laughed—what else could I do? Hahaha, I’m all fine, nothing to see here—and carried on with less spectacular awkwardness.

That toe is so many beautiful colors right now. It’s probably cracked but I’m not heading out into germ-land to get it x-rayed just so that they can tell me that it is, indeed, cracked and… sorry, there’s nothing they can do for a cracked toe. I AM a physiotherapist, remember.

So yeah, the irony? I can walk all over the place in my bare feet with zero pain, but the minute I put on my brand-spanking new Peloton shoes to work that ever-softening body out on said very-expensive Peloton my baby toe shoots agony right up to my diaphragm, settling somewhere just behind my bladder (another peri-menopausal story altogether), bringing tears to my eyes and allowing a little more emotional leakage (thankfully, NOT other leakage).

My multi-coloured toe is taunting my tenuous stopper on my emotional Old-faithful.

(aside…Peloton folks, one can only do so many meditations—gotta keep up that streak—when one is sitting on a fault line.)

Anyhow. My toe will heal. But wow, that tiny stressor adds so much more to the pressure within.

I’m sure I’m not alone. We’re all dealing with a gazillion little stressors right now. Texas is frozen solid. There’s a new strain of COVID each day. In the Canadian Armed Forces family world, posting season is looming. So much to poke at our emotional strongholds.

Did I let that toe open the floodway? You bet I did.

Had a good old melt-down—privately, in the comfort of my own bedroom—and then kept going.

Emotions are there for us to feel them. They are normal reactions to abnormal situations. I firmly believe in letting them out.

If you’re feeling, FEEL.

Feel it ALL. It’s yours to feel, friends. Keeping it inside will not help. And if you need help, talk to someone.

Only once you have felt it, can you strap on those shoes and get moving.

 

Brenda

Fifty

 

Hi, my name is Brenda and I am fifty years old. 

Midlife. Five freaking decades old.

The thing about turning fifty in pandemic is you have a lot of time to think. Maybe too much time. Fifty is a turning point. A reckoning. Not only was this the year I turned fifty, but it was supposed to be the stepping off point for our youngest—the third of three—and the year my husband and I rediscovered our relationship. After twenty-four years of marriage, far too many moves, and a whole lot of chaos and sacrifice, this was going to be the year the roller coaster levelled out. A return to stability. A year of rediscovery and growth.

Ha.

Hahahaha.

Hahahahahaha!

HA!

Yes, the universe had other plans.

What happened instead was a blessing in very questionable clothing.

Not only did we get to spend a bonus year with our youngest, but we got to see our middlest grow into his own skin while studying and working under our roof. We watched our oldest live up to the challenge of living apart from us as an adult. We had family suppers again. We talked on the phone. We Zoomed. Like so many others we stayed home, looked inward and relearned some family boundaries.

But while we were re-exploring our family we, something else was happening.

Fifty year old me was flailing.

If you follow me on any of my social media pages you’ll have figured out that I spent a big chunk of the past year with my daughter(s) looking out over the edge of the earth from our cottage on Prince Edward Island. Before I go any further, I want to say that I know how lucky I am to have had this refuge, and even more lucky to have the ability and the cross-border approval to get there. I truly, truly wish others could have the same option.

Anyway, in March when the world was going to crap, my daughter and I drove the eighteen hours to our cottage, stopping only for gas on the way, and got across the Confederation Bridge just hours before they shut it down for weeks.

March at our little beach cottage on the Island is about as isolated as it gets. It was just me, my youngest, the foxes and the crows, with a quiet (but lovely) neighbor who kept to herself. There was snow, wind, rain and worry. Worry that I’d made the wrong choice to come there. Worry about my husband and son who were far, far away in a different country in a pandemic. Worry for my other daughter and my parents and family and friends. Worry that someone would judge our American license plates and, in their very real fear, act violently against myself or worse—my daughter.

So much worry.

As a Canadian who has given almost two thirds of my life to my country both in my own uniform and in support of my husband and others in uniform, living there on the edge of the world, as I approached the end of my forties brought on huge crisis of identity.

If I’m not from here…where am I from? What do I want to do with my life? Where is home?

Who am I?

Then one of those days, after a long week of working virtually and dealing with the worry, I started reading Brené Brown’s 10^th Anniversary Edition of The Gifts of Imperfection. In her Preface, she talks about her own reckoning with mid-life. She says:

People may call what happens at midlife “a crisis”, but it’s not. It’s an unraveling—a time when you feel a desperate pull to live the life you want to live, not the one you’re “supposed” to live. The unraveling is a time when you are challenged by the universe to let go of who you think you are supposed to be and to embrace who you are.

I read that sentence and burst into tears.

Really. I’m not kidding. Full on meltdown.

In the silent, hidden way that a mother cries knowing her seventeen-year-old daughter is upstairs doing virtual schoolwork in a pandemic, I sat there and bawled. Ugly-cried. I wanted to yell out loud like Charlie Brown—“That’s IT!” I wanted to call Brené Brown and tell her thank you for putting it so clearly, and for reading my emotional temperature better than I can myself.

I was unraveling. I AM unraveling.

Oh my god, I’ve been living how I’m supposed to be for sooooo long. My hats are my own but I’ve been wearing them because that was what I thought I was supposed to do. No one forced me to wear them. At any time I could have said, no thank you…I don’t think that’s me. But I’ve been wearing them anyway and they are freaking heavy. My shoulders are weary.

And I’m just…tired.

Sitting there in that quiet cottage overlooking the ocean I realized it’s up to me to examine each and every hat I wear. Some of them will stay on my head. Some of them will be put aside, in case I need them again.

And some of them I will unravel, and build something different.

The hat that I am showing you now is one I’ve dusted off now and again, but I realize, after a year of thinking and reading and doing, that I need this hat.

I am a writer. And I need to write. 

I am a creator. And I need to create.

Sometimes my military spouse hat has meant that I have not been true to that need. For some reason in the past, I thought my opinions would be harmful—for my husband’s career, for my family, for me. I was afraid to show my true self because it might be construed the wrong way.

But the thing is, after more than thirty years of serving my beautiful country in the best way I think I can, there are very few people that have that foundation—that reality. And if I’m going to be true to myself, sometimes my opinions will be different. That’s okay.

As long as I’m authentic, and honest and true, I know now that writing—even difficult, controversial writing—is what I need to do.

Unraveling isn’t easy. I’m a knitter and I hate ‘frogging’ something I worked on. It’s painful. And the past few months have been hard for me, and for everyone. They’re still hard.

But the good thing is now I have a ball of yarn to create something beautiful with. 

I’m starting with this blog. It’s been forgotten. As I lost myself under the weight of my hats and life in general, I’ve found that writing is super hard. Finishing my latest manuscript has been a long slog.

So I’m starting here. Just a few words when I can. A few thoughts as I journey forward.

I hope you'll continue to join me here as I do.

Brenda

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Powerscourt, Ireland 2007

Are you wearing your green? Happy St. Patrick's Day!

I love Ireland! 🍀

I've only visited twice, but both times were amazing, and I hope to go back again soon. The folklore, the green hills and steep cliffs, the AWESOME sweaters (my favourite writing sweater was made in Ireland) and of course a few of my favourite people (ah-hem, DUNNE) make it the perfect basis for my latest novel, SKIN.

Aran sweater and a selkie story...a great combination!

Hope you are having a fantastic St. Patrick's Day, and have a great weekend!    

Brenda

NaNoWriMo Take Five (?)

All decked out, and no
place to go

Happy Halloween! 

Hope you are ready for the influx of ghosties and superheroes and Harry Potter lookalikes! :) I'm going through a bit of nostalgia as this will be the first Halloween we have spent without a full cadre of dressed-up Dunnes. With my eldest away at university and my other two teens in a new city with busy lives, I'm not sure any of them of will dress up.  The witches brew and mummy dogs will still be cooking up in the kitchen, and I'll be wearing my favourite purple and black striped tights.

So. October 31st also means preparation for one of the busiest months of my year... November. Remembrance Day. Diabetes Awareness Month (one of my teens is a juvenile (Type 1) diabetic). Christmas preparations. American Thanksgiving. And--when I'm feeling particularly crazy--National Novel Writing Month.

And this month I'm feeling particularly crazy.

The truth of the matter is, with all that's been going on, I'm in a bit of a writing rut. Not blocked (I'm not a believer in writer's block), but significantly decelerated. My mojo needs some gojo. There is nothing better than a month designated to not just pick away at, but to FINISH a project when you're an author. A suspended inner editor and a permission slip to let the laundry pile up...with several hundred other crazy nut-bars write (miss-spell intended) there along with you.

My first NaNo project!

If you've followed me since the beginning, you'll know that Treasure in the Flame started out as a NaNo project in 2010.

In 2011, a little idea I'd titled Red Sand Selkie battled it's way through to becoming SKIN.

2012 was Dependent's year.

2013 I worked on Off Grid (currently under sub).


In fact, just about every year since I found NaNo, I've used November as a month to do something with my writing.

This year for NaNo I'm HOPING to barrel through and finish at least one of the sequels I've got on my laptop... And I'm starting with the much requested sequel to SKIN, tentatively titled SWIM.

 Ocean and Sam are in trouble. Deeeeeeep trouble. And I have to get them out of a very nasty mess. I'm about 25k words in, making it a perfect 50k+ word winning NaNo project.

And that's the great thing about NaNoWriMo. You can't really 'lose'. Any words down at this point will be winning words. And in the end, you get a sequel. Wish me luck!

And now, back to my regularly scheduled Halloween candy pilfering... ;)


Brenda


*Nano Image Courtesy of National Novel Writing Month

A Day Off

It’s Monday. My schedule is flexible—changing every week—but for this week, Monday means a day off.

“Lucky you,” you say. “I never get a day off!”

Well, believe me, you have my sympathy and utmost respect. I applaud any parent who can manage to keep their house from self-destructing whilst working full time. I don’t know how you do it. Seriously, I don’t.

As for me, I work part-time so that I can manage the day-to-day life of a military family with teens (hubby is away…frequently), but really, my days off are supposed to be writing days. 

With two published books and numerous manuscripts in various stages of completion, I still cringe inside when I call myself a writer, but in reality being a writer is a job. A career. Some extremely fortunate people get to write full time. I am not one of those fortunate people (YET) so for now, my days off are technically working days, just with a different career path. Days off are days supposed to be spent in my favourite writing spot, hammering away at the keyboard while building worlds and creating magic. Days off are creative days, quiet days, productive days while the kids are at school, hubby is at work and my mind has a few blissful hours to focus on the screen in front of me.

Ha ha ha ha.  HA! HA!

Lets just take a look at how today started out...

Yell at kids to get their butts in the car. Frantically make coffee because I NEED CAFFEINE. Dishwasher full of clean dishes, countertop full of dirty dishes. Scrounge to find a cup. Pour coffee. Discover there is no milk to put in coffee. Yell at kids to get in car.  Skip breakfast—no milk for cereal. Too late for toast.

Take milk-less coffee with me. Drop kids at schools. Go to grocery store to get milk. Spend an hour in grocery store because I need a meal plan to get me through a crazy week. Buy a gazillion dollars worth of food. Light goes on in car—need gas. Stop to get gas. Drive home. Start putting groceries away, fridge is too full of last weeks leftovers. Empty fridge of science experiments to make room. Garbage is full. Empty garbage and put in new bag. Pantry is full of empty boxes, dismantle boxes and put in recycling, but recycling is overflowing so empty that. Put away rest of groceries.

Realize my coffee is cold. Make new coffee and leave sitting on counter. Try to find a recipe for chicken-creamy-something-put-it-all-in-a-crock-pot-and-leave-it so I can at least get an hour or two of writing done before kids need to be picked up. Give up on recipe books and find something on pinterest in ten seconds. Chop and dump and put nutritious food in crock-pot.  No space, so empty dishwasher and refill it first. Finish crock-pot meal prep. Realize coffee is cold. Nuke it in the microwave.

Remember that kid needs gym clothes washed. Reset laundry that I washed yesterday because it’s been sitting there overnight and has a bit of a smell (I have a thing with smelly laundry...). Trip over cat. Feed cat. Realize dog is outside in the rain. Let dog in and dry his muddy, disgusting paws.

Remember coffee is still in the microwave, cold. Nuke it again.

Sit down for two seconds to take a breath and realize I don’t have coffee. Go to get coffee. Look at the clock and realize it’s now noon and I haven’t had breakfast. Grab a banana. Sit down. Hear the washer finish it’s cycle, go switch it over, but the dryer is full so empty that and fold clothes. Put gym clothes in washer.

Remember coffee is still in microwave. Nuke it again.

Sound familiar? I’m sure you’ve all had similar days. Big, empty days off that suddenly evaporate and it’s fifteen minutes before you have to go again. How does it happen? Some days that coffee is never warm enough to drink it, and I’m lucky if I write a hundred coherent words—today being one of them.

The good news is, I’ve finally managed to sit down with my laptop and I’ve got two hours left to write. The dog is dry. The crock-pot is cooking. The laundry is doing it’s thing, the counter is clean, the groceries are put away, the recycling is out, the fridge is full and I’ve turned on some peaceful music to write by.

And guess what?  My coffee is beside me.

Cold.

Brenda

The Art of Just Sitting

Attwood Bay, BC

Life is busy.

Life with three teens, two careers, and a husband in the RCAF sometimes borders on the insane. I love my life, though, and all of the amazing opportunities it presents. I love that I get to meet so many interesting people. I love that at my day job I can comfort the elderly in their final stages of life. I love the unique experiences that come from being the mom of three active kidlets and the wife of a serving member of the Canadian Armed Forces. And I love that we've seen so much of the world because of the fact that my hubby serves.

But sometimes--like now, for instance--I need to just sit.

Okay, maybe I'm not just sitting. I'm writing. But, For me, writing's like reading. It's an escape. I'm one of those extroverted introverts, and my batteries require a few minutes of calm and peaceful now and then to recharge themselves. A coffee, a comfy chair, some quiet music, a book or a laptop, and--my special treat--a warmed hot pack on my back. Oh, yeah. Bliss with a capital B. Heaven.

I need that time to rest my brain. Free time is so rare these days that when it happens it's almost a shock.  Wow! Is that really an hour in my schedule where I don't have to drive, work, organize or clean? I don't have groceries to buy, or checks to write, or meetings to attend, or laundry to do or kids to pick up or phone calls to make or forms to fill out or prescriptions to pick up or appointments to make...

Today, I have a day off. Imagine! What a strange concept.

Daddy-daughter moment

The problem is, in today's society our brains and bodies get so programmed to go a thousand miles a minute that it's hard to do nothing. It's hard to put the smart phone down (are they really that smart?), forget about the to-do list (oh yeah, we need bread...Must. Write. That. Down.) and be comfortable with simply existing. We may understand that the world will not cease because we are stepping away from it, but it's darned difficult to let ourselves pull back. We have to force ourselves to just sit.

So here's a scenario. Five days on a thirty-five foot sailboat. In a place so isolated it's called
Desolation Sound.

If you follow my Facebook page, you'll have seen some of the pictures. It took months of planning, hours and hours of preparation, and a big, circled no-you-may-not-book-anything-here slot on the calendar, but the Dunne Family were able to sail away to a place where there was no cell phone service. No wireless internet, and sometimes the mountains were so tall around us that they blocked our GPS.

Three teens, three books...

When you are that far from civilization on a tiny boat with four other people, just sitting is not just a necessity, it's an art.

We read a lot of books. In the five days, my eldest daughter read six. We played cards. We scanned the water for sea creatures (we saw porpoises, seals, thousands of jellyfish and even a pod of orcas), and the shore for bears (sadly, didn't see any). We snacked and fished and slept and sailed and at times we just sat.

It was awesome.

And when we came back, even though our bodies were tired and our laundry bins were full, our brains were rested...and our familial batteries were recharged for the insanity of the fall.

It's been two weeks since we returned from our holiday, and there's been barely a moment to think since, so days like today--with empty day planners and kids at school--are a treat to be savoured. Precious time to reflect on a summer well-spent, and maybe to read a little, write a little and just sit. I don't think you can ever perfect the art of just sitting...but I perhaps today I'll give it a shot.

And now to re-heat that hot pack...


Brenda

Strange humans...what are your rushing for? 

Take Each Day

I've been trying REALLY hard to work on a manuscript that's been languishing on my laptop.

Really. Hard.

I want to finish this manuscript so I can get it off to you wonderful readers. But for some reason it's just not flowing out of me. Not that I've got the dreaded writer's block--I'm still picking away at it, but I'm not writing the 2000+ words a day that I'd hoped for.

Just needs a hot coffee and a good book

I pull it up faithfully in the morning, write a paragraph, feel all keen and motivated and READY TO ROCK... and then I open up a social media site. Big mistake. Or a kid gets up and asks for a drive to something. Or I need to go to work. Or the flowers need to be watered (by hand and sparingly...we're on water restrictions), or the laundry needs to be done or I need to make coffee or buy groceries or look at this lovely garden idea on Pinterest or let the dog out or read this book or watch this Netflix show (Why, oh why did I let my daughter convince me to watch my first ever episode of Glee???), or go for a walk or pick up that kid I dropped off or check out a house for our potential new posting...

Yeah.

You get the idea.

The manuscript is still languishing.

But, I refuse to let myself fall into the pit of despair for being such a failure with this manuscript. Why?

Because it's summer. Sweet, sweet, summer. Because my kids have jobs or are putting out their very first resumes to get a job, and I want to support that initiative. My flowers are beautiful. I've created this lovely little floral patio and it makes me HAPPY. So does coffee. I've watched far more Glee than I care to admit, but I've spent hours snuggling with my teenaged girls and singing show tunes while doing so. I've read many books, and in my chosen second career we can call that research. And yes, I even managed to not completely destroy my son's million dollar car while zooming around some fictional town on Grand Theft Auto (well, I might of scratched it a bit, but he assures me that he has insurance. And I didn't kill anyone, so that's good...right?) He laughed, and I laughed, and it was a great moment.

Sometimes we get so caught up in the PUSH, that we forget to take each day as it's given to us. And with working two careers, raising three teens and helping to run a military household, that's often hard to do.

The good thing is that my manuscript is not going anywhere. I've got a couple with my lovely agents already, one of which is just going out on submission. Another story is brewing in my head. And where do I get my ideas for new stories?

By living, of course.

I'll write a few hundred words later...but now? I think there's some Glee calling my name.




Brenda.

Life on the Salish Sea

For those of you who may have missed it, about two years ago I wrote a young adult fiction manuscript about a silkie, a mythical creature who supposedly sheds her skin and drags her victims below the waves to the unknown. My story has a few twists on the classic mythology with Sam the mysterious teenage boy down the beach, but it still revolves around seals and the ocean. The manuscript, entitled SKIN, is with my wonderful agents at Literary Counsel, and I am working (slowly...) on a sequel.

You also may or may not know that last year we moved from central Canada to the Pacific Coast to Vancouver Island, right on the body of water known as the Salish Sea. On the very first day we arrived, we saw a harbour seal outside of our hotel. The next day we saw two. And now pretty much every time we go by the water, at least one little dark-eyed head pops up to say hello. They are so thoughtful and inquisitive, but still shy enough to give you just a look or two before they move on. They look kind of like golden retrievers, but with big, sharp claws. I love them, and I'm constantly reminded of SKIN when I see them.

A porpoise on our starboard beam 

Yesterday my family and I were sailing. Before we went out we saw a fat seal, who popped up on the wharf and hung out for a bit. We called him Dave. We took the boat, went out for a few hours, and were followed by porpoises and a few other seals. It was a wonderful day of fresh air and family time.

When we came back Dave appeared to have a very affectionate friend, whom we called Davette. We giggled a bit at how close they were. Dave (or Davette?) truly appeared to be climbing on top of the other's back. Yeah. My thoughts went there too.

The kids popped up to the car, and I ran back to the boat to do something just before we left. I heard a splash and looked around, and there was this little face checking me out, not two feet away.

I thought it was Davette, but on a second look, Davette was REALLY small. Then Davette flipped over and I saw something unexpected...an umbilical cord still attached! Davette was a Baby Davie! Just out! Brand new! Then momma popped up and Davie wanted to play and snuggle. This was all literally right at my feet.

Davie and mom

I even got some (very poor quality) video:

Of course there was no one around to share this amazing sight with...but my handy dandy iPhone had to suffice. 

Perhaps it's time to get back to that sequel? Hmmm...Could Sam have a little brother? 

So much to write about...so little time.

Brenda

Military Monday: That Time of Year

Make new friends,

But keep the old,

One is silver- 

and the other gold. 

~Anonymous

Yes, it's that time of year again. The posting messages are out, the houses are on the market, and the house hunting trips are booked.

April in the military is not just about new beginnings--not just spring and newness and fresh air. April is the time when the realization starts to hit that this too must come to an end. And when the emotional roller-coaster starts it's trek uphill for both the leavers and the left.

There are two sides of each move and, depending on the year, military families experience both. Every year we know it's coming. Some years we leave, some years we don't. Sometimes the goodbyes are more permanent, and sometimes they are more like see you next year. Sometimes blossoming connections get cut short and come to a quick and final end, and sometimes they are just the beginnings of deep-rooted, life-long friendships.

This year our family gets to stay put. It's a relief in some ways...no boxes, no stressful search for a new home, no schools to pick and trips to plan. Even writing about it elevates my heart rate and makes me sweat. Heck, we still have boxes from our 2014 move, waiting for me to dive in and organize (and they'll likely continue to wait until the next move...).

But, like every year before this one, staying put is bittersweet...because already the process of goodbye has begun.  I have several new friends who are preparing to move, and although I'm happy for them, it makes me sad to think that we may never see each other again when they do. I know from experience that it is much, much easier to leave than to be left. The leaver has the excitement of new adventures ahead, and the left has a hole where a friend once was.

What's amazing about military families is that they keep doing it. They keep searching out friends, even knowing there's no permanence to the situation they are in. They push themselves to say hello, even when they are emotionally fragile from last year's loss. Some posts they may spend in a rut of loneliness, but they know that maybe the next time, the next place has a BFF just waiting to be discovered.

And the result? Maybe not in all cases, but in my case a wealth of wonderful, life-long connections. Kindred spirits from afar. Friendships across the globe. People I love dearly and would do anything for. Unique, amazing individuals who I may never see again, but who have touched my life.

And I'd like to think, in some small way, I've touched theirs.

Sure I'm sad it's that time of year. I'm sad to know that my friends are leaving. But this world has a way of keeping the connections we make. I know there's a new friend waiting, just around the corner. And I know my old friends are always there.

Brenda

Five Calendar Years

So, this morning I was surfing through twitter and I saw this tweet:

There's still time to nominate an author for the 2015 Lieutenant Governor's Award for Literary Excellence! The... http://t.co/nfiw3gNQD7
— The BC Book Prizes (@bcbookprizes) January 28, 2015

I was all YAY! A literary prize! I live in BC! Maybe I can apply!

Before I go any further, let me add that I in no way have delusions of grandeur. I write. I write good things, and I write some not-so-good things. I probably will never win a literary prize, but I have to admit, I'd like to someday write something that was worthy of recognition. Maybe I haven't written that yet, but someday. It's a secret (well, not so secret now...) dream of mine.

You miss 100% of the shots you don't take, right? So it was worth a look.

I clicked on the link, which goes directly to the rules. And yes, my eyes were a bit big for the award's specifics. It says this...

The recipient of the Lieutenant Governor’s Award for Literary Excellence will be recognized as having:

• written a substantial body of literary work throughout their career; and
• contributed significantly to the literary community/industry of the Province of British Columbia.

Obviously, I have not contributed significantly to the literary community of the Province of BC. Heck, I just got here 6 months ago. So no, I'm not really the one for this prize. But with an eye for future possibilities I read on to the eligibility requirements.

1. Writers must be Canadian Citizens or Permanent Residents who were either born in British Columbia or whose principle place of residence has been British Columbia for at least the last five (5) full calendar years.

There it is.

At least the last five full calendar years.

You all know military spouses move a lot. You can read my rant on this HERE. It pretty much says it all.

Since I began my journey with the military as an Officer Cadet more than twenty-five years ago, I have not lived ANYWHERE for five full calendar years.

Let me repeat that. I have not lived ANYWHERE for five full calendar years. 

I managed to get six years in Ontario, but lived in two different places (with the option to make that four...which we, as a family, decided against) in that time frame. It's a big province.

So basically, this award is out--likely permanently--because I choose to follow the man I love. And, I might add, have a great adventure doing so.

This is not the first literary award I've looked at that I was not eligible for because of my status as a very mobile military spouse, and it won't be the last. And I have no idea how to fix it. I'm not going to stop moving, and I'm not going to stop writing, and I'm not going to give up on my dream of someday writing something so exceptional as to warrant recognition.

Thankfully there are some awards, the biggies like the Giller Prize, the Governor General's awards and Commonwealth book prizes, where being a resident anywhere in the country is enough. I can dream about those ones. Those are big dreams for far out possibilities.

I know...Perhaps I can be instrumental in advocating for a Military Family Literary Award? In fact, that's a great idea. An award for people like me, who write and move and deal with the unique stressors of life as an author and military spouse.

Anyone want to help me work on that? Make it a nice juicy award with lots of publicity and a huge pot of prize money?

Hey, a girl can dream.

Until then, I need to get back to writing. :)



Brenda

Merry Christmas!

Sorry I've been quiet as of late...just enjoying the hustle and bustle of the pre-holiday season. I've had a wonderful year, and it's all because of YOU--my friends, family and fans--and I just want to say THANK YOU and let you to know how much I appreciate your support. Merry Christmas, or happy Whateveryoucelebrate to you and those you love. See you in 2015 with new things and exciting possibilities!

~Brenda

Life lessons from my parents

My mom and dad.

Today, September 25th, 2014 marks the fiftieth anniversary of the day my parents walked down the aisle together.

Fifty years is a long time.

Half of a century.

And it is indeed something to celebrate. An accomplishment not often heard about in today's day and age. And though circumstance has dictated that we should be on two different coasts today, they are both very, very much on my mind and in my heart.

I've wracked my brains for some 'thing' to give them that would show them how much I love them. How much I appreciate them. How much they have meant to me. How proud I am of them and how they have shaped my life.

But how do you put a value on such feelings? How do you properly honour the people who gave you life and breath, put you on the right road and supported you even when it was they who needed support?

You don't.

And so here I sit at my laptop. Wishing I could be somewhere else and yet trying to share with the world how I feel. How do you put the appreciation for fifty years together into words?

I can only try.

When I was about 4, while my dad was out at work, my mom taught me how to read. My dad encouraged it when he came home. I'm pretty sure they thought I was from another planet because my desire for books was insatiable. I ate books. And I could not WAIT to get to school. I don't think they realized it at the time, but those first picture books were the makings of a career. Of a passion. Of a love that would last a lifetime.

Around the same time, my dad taught me how to fish. And hunt. And work a garden. And I learned to appreciate growing things and the earth around us. My mom taught me to bake by baking. And how to sew by sewing. How the work doesn't go away on it's own. I learned to make hay when the sun shines and to appreciate the rain when it comes.
I learned how much hard work goes into feeding a family. How sometimes you can put hours and hours of work into a project and have it fail, but you can't stop trying.

My mom taught me to appreciate the quiet times. To be still. To look beyond the moment and to have faith. She taught me that sometimes I have to stick up for myself--but that doesn't mean I have to be mean or vicious. You can be strong without being hard. Strength comes in many forms.

My father, a true handyman, taught me that I can repair just about anything with the right tools.

Together they fostered my independence from day one. They didn't coddle me (although my older siblings would disagree), and they didn't spend every waking hour entertaining me. They had work to do, and they did it. I played by myself. I found things to do. I read. I went outside. I climbed trees and I made leaf sailboats. I played with toy cars in the dirt and I ate apples right off of the tree. In letting me explore, they encouraged my imagination. Sure, times were different then, but I think in doing so, the taught me one of the basic rules of parenting. Kids learn by doing. They need to explore their environments and make mistakes to grow. I made lots of mistakes. But I learned. Sometimes I made the same mistake over and over again. But sooner or later I did it right.

Lastly, having watched my parents from day one, they taught me that the best things in life are not free. Love comes with a price. Hard work, long hours, sacrifice, and heartache are the currency of love and marital success. Forgiveness sometimes comes at heavy cost. No marriage is perfect. Often we hurt those we love most, and we have to dig deep to ask forgiveness. And sometimes things are too broken to be fixed, but you can't know that unless you first try to put it back together.

No matter how happy it looks on the outside, there are always issues. But getting through those issues together, humbling yourself, recognizing your differences and accepting them, brings huge rewards. My parents have taught me that. They find happiness in each other's company. They understand they are two distinct individuals and they have spent fifty years discovering how two parts can become one whole.

I am so incredibly proud to call them my parents.

I am here today as a testament to their love and dedication to one another.

And so, Edna and David Corey, I thank you for all that you have done for me. And I wish you many, many more years of happiness together.

Happy anniversary,

Brenda

Military Monday: Meet C. R. Asay!

Heart of Annihilation Blog Tour and Interview

Today I'm fortunate to feature a new writing friend as she launches her debut novel: HEART OF ANNIHILATION. Congrats! Ms. Asay is a former Utah National Guard who has turned her focus toward motherhood and writing. A little about her:

C.R. Asay

Bio: C. R. Asay joined the Utah National Guard at the age of seventeen. After spending time in the 625th Military Police Corp she transferred to the 19th Special Forces group as a counterintelligence agent. She retired from the military after marrying her best friend and graduating from college so that she could embark on the most exciting adventure of all; being a mom.

The short story version of her first novel, Heart of Annihilation, earned an honorable mention from the L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future contest. C. R. Asay currently resides in West Jordan, Utah, with her husband, four children, and a dog. There is always a dog.

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B: Welcome Christauna! Tell us a bit about yourself. Where are you from?

C: Heber City, Utah. Nothin’ quite like growin’ up in a small town.

B: Tell us about your connection to the military...

C: I joined the Utah National Guard when I was 17. I did my basic training between my junior and senior year of high school and then completed my training after graduation. I remember one guy from my graduating class checking the back of my truck for an M-16 when he heard I’d joined… Still makes me snicker.

I was an in a Military Police EPW (enemy prisoners of war) unit for a while until we were disbanded. After that I joined the 19^th Special Forces group as a counterintelligence agent. I was with this unit until I got out a few years later right after my first child was born.

B: Sounds busy. How has your military background influenced the writing of Heart of Annihilation?

C: My military background is the breath of life behind this work. Heart of Annihilation is a work of fiction, but with a very realistic and accurate military setting.

B: When did you start writing? What led you to writing a full length novel?

C: Writing has always been a part of my life, but it wasn’t until my husband decided to write a novel that I fell in love with the whole process of an actual full-length novel. There is just such detail and scope that goes into a novel that it creates an entire world for readers to explore. I was hooked the 

second I imagined the world that became Heart of Annihilation.

B: I can certainly understand that feeling! Can you describe the process from first words to finished product?

C: I have no process. Someday I hope to have a process, but for now every time I sit down to write I do it differently. I’m usually a pantser, as in I write by the seat of my pants. Whatever comes into my head makes it onto paper and then I revise heavily in the aftermath. Sometimes I’ll write for weeks at a frantic pace, desperate to get the words out. Other times I’ll go for weeks without writing a single new word. I work well under a deadline, so even if the muses aren’t with me, I can usually pound out anything I need to if a deadline is looming over my head.

B: On a scale of zero (nearly impossible) to ten (a dream come true) how would you rate your publishing experiences so far?

C: That’s a tough one. A 7. I love everything about my book. Its very existence seems miraculous to me. I love my publisher and how much work they have put into this book to make it the work of art that it is. I only rate my experience lower because the road here was so incredibly rocky. There were many times, from conception of the book to holding it in my hands, that I wanted to throw in the towel on the whole industry. Heart of Annihilation was shelved several times, and sometimes thrown violently across the room, but the story and the characters were so compelling to me that I would inevitably pull it out, dust it off, revise, revise, revise and try to find it a new home.

B: Any tips on balancing family life with a writing career?

C: Family first, always. My family is so supportive of my publishing efforts. They are truly my biggest fans from my husband, teenager on down to my 1^st grader. And I believe they are this way because I have always put them first. That being said they are happy to give me a wide berth if I’m having one of those crazy writer moments because they know I’ll always come back, happier than before. This year will be a mile stone for me because my youngest will be in 1^st grade, giving me ample time during the day to make writing and publishing a career and giving them my full attention when school is out, rather than cramming in writing here and there, wherever I could fit it in.

B: Do you have any other writing projects on the go at present?

C: I’m working on the sequel to Heart of Annihilation with a tentative release in Summer 2015. I also have an anthology piece coming out on Veterans Day of this year. It is to support the TADSAW (Train a Dog, Save a Warrior) foundation. It’s a collection of fictional stories about working dogs and their connection to their human partners. It’s a fantastic collection. Grab a tissue before you read it.

B: Will do. What is your advice for new authors?

C: The publishing industry is a hard one to navigate. Do the work to learn the craft. Don’t settle for anything less than your best effort and then up your game. Never stop learning and growing. As true with life as it is with writing.

B: Awesome. Cats or Dogs?

C: Dogs. Cats make me sneeze and I love dogs. Always dogs.

B: And the question we’ve all been waiting for…Coffee or Tea?

C: Haha. I’m a Mormon-y type, so hot chocolate. Dr. Pepper if my day is really going wrong.

B: Chocolate is always a good choice! Thanks so much Christauna! And best of luck with your new book!

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More about Heart of Annihilation...

When U.S. Army Specialist Kris Rose catches members of her unit stealing ammunition to kill aliens, she is forced to defend herself with a freakish electrical charge shooting from her fingertips.

Shaken by her newly found power and hunted by vigilantes from her unit, Rose is forced away from her structured, military world and into a fight for her life.

With the aid of her battle buddy, Corporal Thurmond, Rose sets out to learn more about the aliens under attack. In the process, she discovers her bizarre connection to a devastating threat to Earth--an alternate dimensional weapon called the Heart of Annihilation, lost somewhere on Earth.

From a chuteless free-fall from 20,000 feet, to deadly bullet wounds and the unforgiving Sonoron Desert, Kris Rose enters a world where aliens are real. And she might be one of them.

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You can find more about Christauna here: http://www.crasay.com

Don't forget to find her on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Goodreads!

Brenda