Authors Coffee House October 25
Looking forward to another of our Authors Coffee Houses. Chuck Bowie, author of the Donovan: Thief for Hire Series, will be reading from his work-in-progress:
‘When Emma returns to small town New Brunswick to manage the Manse Arts Centre, she assumes the tenants will be the challenge. And then people start dying…’
Blighty’s – a taste of yesterday
In Fredericton, we seem particularly sensitive to the city’s past. Since I have only lived in this area about 40 years, I often don’t remember landmarks familiar to those who have lived here most of their lives. My husband who was born here often points out the location of landmarks that no longer exist.
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When I asked him about Blighty’s, memories surfaced right away. When he was 12 or 13, Blighty’s was a regular part of the week. After church on Sundays, Blighty’s was the first stop on the way home. He remembers it as a crowded spot, always busy. It was little more than a small shack, with eight or more people working inside, waiting on people or preparing food.
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Blighty’s used fresh-cut potatoes for their French fries. My husband remembers the smell of grease and the bright coloured light bulbs strung on wire. He also remembers that everything tasted delicious.
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Drive up, stand at wicket, get a number and wait until called. Everyone in the family ordered fish and chips (one or two big pieces) and a bottle of pop. The food was served on paper plates, sized for the meal, and a bottle of ketchup sat on the counter. There were a couple of picnic tables but they always ate in the car. At the end of the meal, there was a big barrel for the garbage.
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Blighty’s underwater in the flood of 1973 (Source: New Brunswick Archives)
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David Watts, a friend from my writing group Fictional Friends also remembers Blighty’s and he has captured the spot in one of his image-rich poems. David is a photographer and writer. He has contributed posts to CommuterLit here and keeps our Fictional Friends writing group moving in the direction of learning. David is also one of the organizers of Odd Sundays, a reading venue for writers in the Frederiction area.
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David says:
my love of words and how they work has been a life-long passion
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I hope you enjoy David’s memories of Blighty’s …
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Thank you David for taking us back to Blighty’s!
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All my best,
Jane
Red fall
In a few days we have seen green trees and shrubs turn to reds, oranges and yellows, the colour of fall. Then, in another short space of time, the rains come and so much of the colour is gone. One thing I like about living in this part of Canada, nature makes its presence known in the march of the seasons. We can never lull ourselves into thinking we are independent of our surroundings.
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All my best,
Jane
Meniscus: Karst Topography …. a new book and a free e-book
If you like dystopian science fiction with a touch of romance, you might like my science fiction series Meniscus. For a twist, my story is told as a long poem and is an accessible quick read. My books are also illustrated and include maps, a glossary and an alien dictionary.
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If you would like to try out the series, the first book Meniscus: Crossing The Churn is free in e-book form from Oct. 12 to 16. Have a look here.
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Meniscus: Karst Topography is available on October 15 at Amazon in both paperback and e-book here. When the women of Themble Hill are taken by the Dock-winders, the Slain and his friends travel on a rescue mission to Prell. The book will take you on a search of the streets and alleyways of the alien city. But do the women of Themble Hill need rescuing?
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All my best and happy reading!
Jane (a.k.a. Alexandra)
after a poetry reading
Why do you go to poetry readings? Is it because you are supporting a writing friend? Because you love poetry? Or because you search for the perfect poetic experience — the memorable reading of an unforgettable poem, expressive words you know you will always be able to summon. Have you ever left a poetry reading feeling renewed, animated, believing in the impossible?
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I attend a lot of readings. I go to support my writing friends. I go because I love words and poetry. I also go because I long for the memorable. Occasionally, I will hear words, phrases, poems to thrill me for the rest of my life.
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I have had many such experiences. I have been privileged to hear Roo Borson read her poem Grey Glove. I have heard Roger Moore read poems from his book Monkey Temple with his stirring Welsh accent. Years ago I heard a young Irish poet read her poem about a kettle boiling on the stove, and I have never forgotten her words even though I have forgotten her name.
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after the poetry reading
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Bailey Drive is a steep incline
for an out-of-shape heart
a pause returns the thud in ears
to chest where it needs to be, a moment
to see maples on the Aitken House lawn
animated by wind, as metaphor for adrenaline rush
of words
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as trees send Tesla coil sparks into blue sky
from trunks constrained by building
and sidewalks, to branches and twigs
unfettered, plasma filaments bloom
on fractal paths
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another pulse, trunk to bud-tips
and another, signals up and outward
heart slows and holds in place
lightning throb in continuum of space
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All my best,
Jane
haws and sharps
As we trim our roads at our cabin, we sometimes get into arguments over what shrubs should stay and what should go. Most decisions are easy: mountain birch and willow are numerous on the property and will grow back; oak and maple are always kept because of their beauty and relative scarcity; alders disappear without the slightest consideration. However, whether to keep the hawthorn (Cretaegus) or let it grow, always takes some wrangling.
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The Hawthorn is a woody shrub or bush with sharp thorns, growing in thickets and along rivers, lakes and coastal areas. Hawthorn is also called Red Haw. The red, fleshy fruit is used to make tea, jelly or jam.
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I think the shrub should be kept just for its beauty. Who could resist those bright red haws?
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My husband wants it gone. The thorns are long and sharp enough to pierce an ATV tire or scratch a truck.
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Who wins the argument? Beauty always prevails. Even those thorns have their own, terrible, loveliness.
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risk
Hawthorn (Cretaegus spp.)
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each fall, the hawthorn bleeds
with berries, impales
with thorns
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berries are difficult to gather
easier to flood, with red
imagination
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to strip the bush of every drop
Cretaegus draws
so choose –
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ignore the feast, or risk
a bleed to pick a berry
collude with birds
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see how waxwings hover
twig to twig, manoeuvre
in the thorns
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haws, of course, not wasted –
what red the thrushes leave
will rot
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nourish another season
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poem from within easy reach (Chapel Street Editions, 2016) –
one poem of many to celebrate the edible wild …
to order a copy of the book, contact Chapel Street Editions
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All my best,
Jane
nom de plume
When I decided to write and publish the science fiction Meniscus Series, I thought it might be a good idea to take on a pen name, just for the Series. I chose to use my first name Alexandra. A pretty name, but always my unused first name and therefore not familiar. But now that everything is electronic, Alexandra is the name I encounter more and more often in my daily life.
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name of this boat is Alex
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When I was a child, starting school, my parents warned me I might hear the name Alexandra when people addressed me. On the first day of school we all sat on the floor of the gymnasium and listened for our names to be read. I listened extra hard, terrified I would not recognize the unfamiliar name. At last the gymnasium was empty and my name, Jane or Alexandra, had not been called. As it turned out, my parents had sent me to the wrong school!
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Using the pen name Alexandra has been a little strange. When registering for things like Access Copyright and Public Lending Rights I have to remember to register both names. I show up at launches and behave as Jane since that is the name most people know me by. I started a special blog www.offplanet.blog for posts about my science fiction series but recently I sign “All my best, Alexandra (a.k.a.Jane).” I sign books in the Meniscus series with Alexandra (a.k.a. Jane). I guess I am always going to be Jane.
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Do you have a pen name and what has been your experience with using a nom de plume?
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All my best,
Jane (a.k.a.Alexandra)
new place to sit and dream
We recently replaced an old deck on the back of our house. We have not been able to use the space for years and now we have a place to sit and dream or read, even in the rain! We have another, larger deck, where I also sit when I need a break. But the new deck is more private and covered. For deck furniture we added a locally-made bench bought last year and a small table I made to celebrate cattails! I think I need a pillow with a cattail design for that left corner!
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Do you have a place where you can sit outside, even when it is raining?
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All my best,
Jane
curls
Ordinary things are so beautiful. Here are a few curls I have encountered this week:
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curls of wood on our new deck
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tendril on my cucumber plants
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curl at the end of a plant support
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All my best,
Jane
have grape vines, will not prune
I have planted grape vines in quite a few places on our properties over the years.
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At our cabin, one vine survives, climbing an inch or two each year on an arbor we built. The cabin lot was supposed to be great for growing grapes — a sunny slope, the temperature-modifying lake and breezes to discourage insects.
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However, the vines have not been thriving. This year for the first time, I have a scrawny bunch of grapes.
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The vines at home in our garden do thrive, although the light is scarce. Each year I have a few small bunches of grapes.
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my grapes, wandering about in the birch tree
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The vine at the back of the house is amazing. Without pruning, it has climbed high into the maple and fir trees. But an unpruned apple tree keeps the light low. Pruning, that must be the key!
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Competition
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Grape vines climb
high into maple.
Feign kudzu.
Burden the balsam,
bend branches.
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Grape leaves flare,
arrange themselves, nip
every ray.
Mosses and bracken
starved for light.
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But apple
demands its revenge.
Sends shadows
to starve chlorophyll.
Bullies grape.
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Teases leaves
with flecks of half-light.
Grapevine sets
no fruit this season.
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Not a single grape.
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All my best!
Jane
nichepoetryandprose 