Flash Christmas Sale on the Fallmoore Chronicles!

UPDATE: this sale is now over, but books are still available at the regular price.

Have you been holding off on purchasing the first two books in the Fallmoore Chronicles? Stop waiting! Grab them now at a deep discount. Purchase before December 17 and you should find them in your mailbox before Christmas! (Sale will run until January 4, 2019)

P.S. If you want to know the best way to bless an author this Christmas, leave a book review on Amazon or Goodreads and wait for the indie author angels to rain down showers of thanksgiving on your head!

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That Time I Considered Pulling a Jesus-in-the-Temple in Central Park

As we planned our 20th Anniversary road trip to New York City I knew one thing for sure: it was incredibly important to me that we take time to visit Strawberry Fields in Central Park, to take a moment at the 'Imagine' mosaic, a beautiful tribute placed in honour of John Lennon.

Strawberry Fields was a revitalization project commissioned by Yoko Ono after John's tragic death. The area is gorgeous, a designated 'quiet zone' with huge trees, benches, and the mosaic. Situated in the park across the street from The Dakota, the apartment where John and Yoko made their home, and the location of his shooting, I had no doubt I would feel a bit emotional standing on such hallowed ground.

John Lennon is a person of great import in my life. Though I was but a baby when Mark David Chapman gunned John down in the archway of his apartment building, I feel like a bit of his spirit has been kept alive in my adoration of him. There are people across history who have a way of getting under your skin and staying there. We all have them, those larger-than-life glowing beacons who inform our journey with or without our permission. That is who John is for me. From his message of peace to his brilliant song-writing talent to the obvious adoration of his wife (despite what the Beatle-loving public thought about it), I embraced all of him. And though he made mistakes, he could do no real wrong in my eyes.

The air was crisp, though the sun reached beyond the clouds just enough to make us wonder if our heavy jackets were a little too much. Fallen leaves crunched beneath our feet and our calves ached as we climbed the rolling paths of Central Park. We had already seen some of the iconic bridges. We'd been to the carousel (very anti-climactic!). We walked the Promenade and visited the Bethesda Fountain (though the water had already been drained in anticipation of winter). We ate a hotdog from a cart and marvelled that people would even consider paying a rickshaw driver $5.99 A MINUTE for a ride around the park. We laughed when we heard a group of ladies burst into the Friends theme song while they sat around the edge of the fountain rumoured to have inspired the one used in the opening credits of the show.

And then we came to Strawberry Fields.

The way before us opened to reveal a small clearing, in the centre of which lay the circular mosaic. Imagine. People crowded around it, pushing their way through for photos, sitting in the centre and giving the peace sign for whoever was nice enough to snap a picture for them, grinning ear to ear, laughing, playing, having a good time. A man and his guitar hollered Beatle lyrics from a south facing bench. Vendors stood at folding tables, selling Lennon pins and Imagine postcards. I squeezed through the crowd and timed a photo in the brief millisecond when there was no one sitting there because it meant something to me to mark that I had been there.

But inside I was seething with rage.

All I wanted was an honest moment with my grief. Instead, these hoolligans had turned this sacred space into a marketplace of tourism. I felt disrespected. I felt like John was being disrespected. I wanted to stand up on a bench and scream at them. "DON'T YOU EVEN CARE THAT THIS IS WHERE HIS ASHES WERE SCATTERED??!" I wanted to knock over tables and wield a whip like Jesus did when he cleared the temple.

We didn't stay long because being there didn't mean what I wanted it to mean. We took the western path and walked to The Dakota where I stood in the spot Mark 'Demon' Chapman shot John. I wanted to find some kind of ongoing tribute there. There was nothing. I wanted to be able to light a candle in his memory. I also wanted to set a copy of The Catcher in the Rye on fire right there in the archway of the apartment building—not because Holden Caufield is to blame, or that J.D. Salinger ever knew his book would play a role in one of the most (personally) devastating assassinations in history, (and truth be told, I actually really liked the book)—but because I thought the gesture would properly enact the pain I was feeling in my gut.

We reentered the park and I swallowed the lump of my emotions as we passed the mosaic again—a whole new crowd of people there who could never love him like I love him—on our way to explore The Ramble. Hot fire burned behind my eyes and I blinked hard against it as I paused on the path to take a picture of the Strawberry Fields plaque.

I reflected as we continued to walk. And walk. And walk. (We got a little bit lost.) I felt righteous in my anger, but I also felt annoyed that it was casting a shadow over what should have been a perfectly enjoyable adventure with the guy I married twenty years ago (who just happens to look like John Lennon—coincidence? No! I knew exactly what I was doing!).

John was a harbinger of peace. He believed in humanity, that we were better than war, that love is love and conquers all, and that everyone—even the man who meets you outside your apartment for an autograph, only to return hours later to murder you—deserves attention. If John visited the memorial of Lewis Carroll, one of his favourite writers, how would he react if people were behaving as I witnessed the tourists behaving at his memorial?

I could hear his voice, whispering to me through the Central Park trees, "Peace sister. Don't waste your time worrying about silly things. Relax. Soak in the beauty. Life is very short, and there’s no time for fussing and fighting."

I thought of the glowing woman in the denim jacket who sat on the mosaic and gave two peace signs to her husband as he took her picture, joy radiating from her face, thrilled to be in the moment, and I had a realization. Different people mean different things to different people. To me, John is a three-dimensional being to whom I feel very closely connected in a very real way. He has a piece (a peace!) of my heart and in this place of remembrance, I felt rich grief. But to others, he was a mythical pop star and they like his music because it made them happy. And it still makes them happy. And that manifests itself in goofy grins and peace symbols in Central Park.

And I need to be okay with that. That's what John would want from me if I am to truly honour his memory.

But the vendors and annoying man with the guitar? Well!

I am thankful I didn't go full Jesus on them—though the YouTube fame that would surely come out of it might have been fun. It wouldn't have accomplished anything. In fact, it would have only added to the hubbub I was so offended by in the first place. I do wonder if Jesus regretted his outburst in the temple. Righteous anger has its place, but seriously, some behaviour is just embarrassing, and after all, when it comes down to it, all I need to worry about is whether I'm doing a good job of giving peace a chance.

At the end of the day, I'm glad for the experience, and thankful that it provided an opportunity for John to teach me another lesson about living life well. I'll never be able to forgive those jerks selling his face for profit—right there in the shadow of the building that cast a shadow on him as his life drained away on the sidewalk—but I'm happy to know I rose above it. Sure, it took me a little while, but I got there and that's got to be worth something.

You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. I hope someday you'll join me, and the world will live as one. 

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Your Life and its Dashboard Lights: Why You Should Care

Have you ever had a vehicle with an engine light that just won't go out no matter what you do? Of course, 'no matter you do' should include taking it to someone wiser and trained in the ways of 'what do the funny lights mean'; but if we're being honest, don't we sometimes just keep driving in the hopes that it's a glitch and it will work itself out without intervention?

Someone once told me the lights are there for our protection. That in being proactive, we may face a bill, but it will be a lot less than if we continue to drive, perpetuating the problem, making it bigger (and more expensive) than it had to be.

 
Yet, here I am, still driving our (hated!) minivan with all the lights on. Not only that, but the exhaust is pretty much busted, so it sounds like I'm driving a grungy motorcycle. It makes me angry every time I get in it, but we've also decided it's really not worth dumping a bunch of money into it because its best years are behind it. There's a point where something crosses from salvageable to disposable. Sometimes it's better to just drive a thing into the ground. Then you can invest in a new something that's shiny and reliable and not a minivan! Something that is not the roaring sound of ugly hell on wheels.

But what about me?

Is there a point where I'll go from salvageable to disposable? At what point are the best years behind me?

(Ugh! I'm depressing myself.)

But think about this: what if we had dashboard lights that lit up when something was a little off? How long would we wait before getting our keister into the shop? At what point do we realize that light isn't going off on its own and it's time to bring in the mechanic?

Probably a little later than we should.

In a life of incredible busyness, it's easy to ignore our bodies. We skip meals, we drink too much coffee, we stay up late, we miss the signs that anything has changed. "I'm fine. I'm just tired." That same old mantra.

Is it true?

I recently went for a physical and my doctor asked me if I've been more tired than usual. I laughed. She sent me for blood work which came back with markers for anemia.

I looked up the symptoms of one afflicted with anemia and it was as if every dashboard light in my body lit up with the power of a thousand suns*:

• tiredness
• insomnia
• thinning hair
• dizziness
• leg cramps

check - check - check - check - check

I immediately felt like an idiot. But then I felt kind of great. I'd been blaming my weariness on ALL THE THINGS, and though they certainly add to how I'm feeling, they're not fully to blame. And if how I'm feeling is a diagnosable thing with a simple cure, I could be doing ALL THE THINGS and feeling good in my head, my heart, AND my body! And that's the dream right there.

I have to go back for more testing. In fact, I'm going to the hospital first thing tomorrow morning. But I'm hopeful, that with the proper attention by the people who 'know what the funny lights mean', the dashboard of my life will be clear, and the only light ahead of me will be a big green GO that means my best years are still to come!

It's time to stop being a grumbling, yawning minivan. I'm ready to see a fully restored 1979 Volkswagen Beetle** when I look in the mirror!




* Too much? Whatever. I'm tired...

** Were you thinking of something more along the lines of a Maserati or a Porsche Boxster? Yeah. You obviosuly don't know me at all! 😉

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Thirty Days Without a Break (Is Not Okay)

There are consequences to much work and little rest. There are also rewards. But ultimately, thirty days without a break can lead to about thirty cracks in my good nature and mental health.

Before today — which I booked off work intentionally because I NEED TO NOT LEAVE MY HOUSE FOR ONE STINKING DAY! — the last time without obligations outside my own home hasn't been since July 30.

Rhythm is important in my life and my happiness is quite dependent on a weekly sabbath in which I can confidently and without guilt, enjoy twenty-four hours within my own space.

August has been a wonderful month of great things. My family served as ministry staff at Stayner Camp, where we helped with twice daily worship sets for ten days. It was a beautiful time for us spent with lovely people. The opportunity to make music with talented people is a true gift. But it's still ten days of being a charming 'face of camp life' and for an introvert, this is a bit of a challenge, made more so because I knew we were coming home to dive right into our church's Summer Slam VBS program in which I helped with registration, my eldest as a volunteer leader, and the other two children as participants. Throw in my day-job, baseball playoffs, meetings about a potential investment/small business opportunity, and a publication deadline for the second anniversary issue of my literary magazine, Blank Spaces, and you get thirty days with no time to breathe.

A few nights ago, I crawled into bed, turned on the television to unwind and watch something before bed, and I woke up at 5:30 a.m. still in a half-sitting position against a pile of pillows, the blue screen of the TV lighting the room up since the Apple-TV had shut itself off hours before. That's a good indication that I've been pushing myself too hard.

Still, there's much to do, and even though today is a 'day off', I'm still catching up on publishing business, returning emails, pretending I can't hear the noise of the children in the other room as my son babysits his cousins, and telling myself it's okay I didn't get the clothes off the line before the rain came. (I've also been researching the cost of flights to Iceland, because my twentieth anniversary is coming up in October and it would be fun to go somewhere atypical.)

September will be here before we know it, and strangely, I find myself craving the regularity of school days and slow weekends. While I loathe the idea that days will get shorter and the air will begin to carry the hateful promise of winter, I do look forward to a little bit of order returning to our lives.

Life is crazy. It's busy and chaotic. But never boring. And I'm so thankful I have these weirdos to share it with:

A family shot from our trip to Hamilton last weekend ❤️

I'm setting up shop at the Durham Fall Fair this weekend. If you're in the area, stop by and say hi and enjoy some discounted titles from my growing collection! If I sell out of everything, I might actually be able to afford a 'real' break! 😉

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The Kobo Awards: How To Be a Winner When You're a Loser

[aka You Can Take a Country Girl to the City but You Can't Put Her in a Pair of Pantyhose]

When the notification came that my debut novel had been shortlisted for the Kobo Emerging Writer Prize I found myself overwhelmed with excitement-disbelief-exhilaration—and every other word from the thesaurus that describes the feeling a dog gets when it hangs its head out a car window.

When I realized this meant my presence was requested at a snazzy ceremony at a Toronto museum I found myself overwhelmed with terror-dread-trembling-drop my phone in the toilet-horror—and every other word from the thesaurus that describes the feeling a puppy has when it makes "a deposit" on its owner's white carpet.

Two things were very clear to me:

1. This was a huge deal.
2. I wasn't going to miss it for the world.

I felt a deep-rooted passion for The Church in the Wildwood from the moment I sat down and wrote the first scene. I believed in it, and decided from the beginning that I would see it through to the end, whatever that meant. After being rejected (or completely ignored) by all the Canadian literary agents I could find, and then being rejected (or completely ignored) by all the Canadian publishing houses I reached out to, I took their 'screw you', turned it back on them, and started my own publishing company.

Going it alone has not been easy or cheap, but it makes it that much more incredible to know that I earned my place on the Kobo Awards Shortlist—not because of the marketing genius of a knowledgeable and wealthy publishing house, but because I poured out my blood, sweat, and tears. This nomination means I did good work. Me, myself, and I. And to every person and place who rejected me, I can say:

"I believed in myself and it was enough."

 

I was allowed only one plus-one and so, because he is my hugest support and cheerleader, I made my husband take time off work and join me on the trek to the city.

We arrived downtown a little early, so we parked and went for a walk before sitting across the street from the venue to watch the fancy people going in. When we finally made our way to the entrance for the obligatory photo-by-the-sign (see above), I looked down to discover runs in my nylons.

First of all, I almost never wear nylons, so why I thought they were a necessity for such an event as this, I can't tell you. Secondly...GAH! Thanks to the friendly security man running the front desk at the museum, we were directed to the basement washrooms where I could discreetly slip out of them and hide the evidence of my stupidity in a garbage can.

It was then, following the signs to the upper level, that we were welcomed into a reception hall decorated with fresh flowers, catered treats, and an open bar. I was greeted with a lovely gift bag (new Kobo reader!), offered champagne, and I tracked the room nervously for the other authors in my category (Yes, of course I Googled them all so I'd know what they looked like!) while my name and book cover appeared on a screen at the front of the room every five minutes.

Though wildly out of my comfort zone, standing in that room with other debut writers, with agents and publishers (yup, some of the very same who rejected me!), and members of the press, it was such a thrill to be part of it all.

There were celebratory toasts and awkward conversations with people who were wonderfully kind. When the time came to announce the awards, it actually felt like a ceremony you would watch on television. "And the nominees for best Literary Fiction are..." Hearing my name during that time was a whole lot of WOW!

I wasn't surprised when Omar El Akkad was called as the winner for my category. His book has done tremendously well and has received many prestigious accolades. Plus he was super nice to me, so cheers to him.

Obviously I would have been thrilled to win, but I'm so proud to have gotten as far as I did. The shortlist was whittled down from hundreds of Canadian debuts and I'm excited to be counted among the other five incredible authors in my category. (I'll post links to their books at the bottom of this post.)

Following the ceremony, we walked down Bloor Street to Fionn MacCool's for some steak and mushroom pie that would have knocked my socks off if I hadn't dumped them in the ladies bathroom back at the museum. (I'd been too nervous to eat any of the fancy catered food at the event.)

When I posted to social media that I hadn't won, I received a resounding kickback of "yes, you did!" And all things considered, I do feel like a winner.

On the way home, we stopped at IKEA so I could visit all the things I'd placed in my online shopping cart (after I decided I deserved a newly decorated office if I went home with the $10K). I ran my fingers along the surface of the desk I want so badly and I heard its evil whisper, "Keep dreaming, Loser."

And I was like, "Whatever, IKEA! You use an Allen key to build a bookshelf? I used just my brain to create a whole world!"

p.s. Amazon gives me a little kickback if you follow one of these links and make a purchase

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Seven Questions: My Interview with Liv Archer

I recently took some time to work through seven questions posed to me by a young writer who reached out to me on Twitter. Liv Archer has started a new website where she is celebrating indie writers by purchasing and reviewing their books, (The Church in the Wildwood was her third indie review) as well as interviewing authors with thoughtfully crafted, spoiler-free questions.

Her questions impressed me and they were a pleasure to answer as most of them had me go a little deeper than a cliché response. I appreciate that so much. I know how hard it is to put together good, meaty questions!

So thank you, Liv, for inviting me into your indie celebration. Thank you for being a champion and encourager of indie authors. So often it can feel like we're screaming into an empty room. It's nice to be heard once in a while. ❤️


Check out her questions below and then pop over to her website to read my answers.

1. There are a lot of religious elements that your story is wrapped around. What kind of research did you do to capture the spiritualism accurately?

2. What did you find to be the best method for keeping track of your timeline with your dual perspectives?

3. How long did it take you to write The Church in the Wildwood?

4. Did you visit any locations specifically to set the scenes?

5. Were there any particular authors or books/stories that kept you inspired throughout?

6. In moments when The Church in the Wildwood refused to cooperate, what encouraged you to keep writing to the end?

7. How do you want this story to affect people?

[Click HERE for my answers]

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Iris Carver is a Monster (Said the Peppy & Opinionated Eighty-Four-Year-Old Woman)

Our washing machine died. It was like any sudden death. Unexpected and uninvited. It croaked and I stood in front of it like the left-behind spouse: lost, grieved, desperately sad as I pulled the sopping wet clothing from its guts and dumped them in the bathtub.

We called in the repairman with hope he could shock it back into being. As he worked, he told my husband that his mother had read The Church in the Wildwood and she hated Iris Carver so much that she'd been waking up angry in the middle of the night.

This might be my favourite reaction to my book EVER! I'm counting it a high compliment that a character created from my imagination could raise such an emotional reaction in a person—I mean, such power I have *she says as she wickedly taps her fingers together and cackles with glee...*

I don't share this same opinion, and though I do accept and respect it, I love Iris with the kind of love that can cross oceans and scale mountains and fix washing machines.

So the repairman replaced the belt and voila! Good as new! Turns out that old sudsy beast was only mostly-dead...

...Until a week later when smoke began pouring out of the top during the spin cycle. (😭)

So the man with the feisty mother returned. "You know what would be really funny?" he said. "If you called my mom and told her you were going to put her in one of your books."

"No no," I said. Because leave the poor woman alone!

But then he called her anyway and told her: "I'm at Alanna Rusnak's house and she wants to put you in one of her books!" And then he handed me the phone.

"Hello dear," she said, and I immediately pictured myself sitting across the table from Marilla Cuthbert.

"Oh, that Iris Carver! She's such a hateful woman! How could she do that to that poor boy? Lock him in his room like that! And how stupid does he have to be to let her lock him in there? And what's wrong with that minister? So stupid! A stupid man! I don't understand why everyone is so in love with her—hateful woman! How did you even come up with such ideas?"

She went on to make me promise to never put her or any of her family members into one of my books. "If you promise to never use my name, I promise to read your next book. And if I don't like it, I'll be sure to let you know!"

It's nice that I got to enjoy a good laugh because the official word of the day was: Washing Machine = Dead. Mostly-dead was only good for eight loads. I put that thing through the ringer and it kicked the bucket for the final time.

The repairman left with a signed copy of The Ghost of Iris Carver, joking(?) that he was going to take it to his mother's house and read it to her, replacing every mention of Iris' name with her own.

Mother's have a name for people like him and it's spelled B * R * A * T *


If you want to decide for yourself what kind of monster Iris Carver is, pop over to Amazon or buy directly through me by clicking here.





In other news, the fine folks at Kobo (those same darlings who shortlisted The Church in the Wildwood for their $10,000 Emerging Writer Prize) invited me to write an article for their blog—an encouragement for aspiring writers and it goes a little something like this...

[Click here to read the rest]

Now, if any of you know how to wish a washing machine into existence...?

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A Craft Fair Does Not a Successful Book Launch Make

Before you think I'm complaining, let me stop you right there—Saturday's craft fair was not a waste of time, nor do I wish I hadn't signed up. (Nor did I question my decision to also book myself into the Fall show. CHRISTMAS SHOPPERS!) I didn't plan a big launch party for The Ghost of Iris Carver because it's really just a place-holder - a bridge to get from The Church in the Wildwood to the next novel, Black Bird (for which I plan to have a mostly finished first draft by the end of next weekend's writing retreat along the shores of Lake Huron - after I write the article Kobo has asked for. Don't know why Kobo is a big deal in my life these days? Check out my last post!).

What makes a book launch successful?

   1. Having a book to launch.

BAM! SUCCESS!

Just kidding. There are a million ways to quantify a successful launch and all of them are relative.

Did I sell books? Yes! Can I quit my day job? No. Am I a failure? No. Was it a success? Meh.

People don't attend a craft fair because they want to buy books—they come for the crafts. Of course, there were the people who bee-lined to my table, telling me the only reason they came was because they knew I'd be there with the new book (what a compliment!) but they were they exception, not the rule.

What I did do was make my display attractive, and that alone got people to stop and look things over. It didn't lead to sales in most cases, but at least it wasn't a long day of people rushing by, avoiding eye contact because they felt sorry for me. It was great exposure for my publishing company, and led to some conversations that could potentially lead to some new clients, so that's a positive right there! (There was an adorable hippy woman who told me she felt God had led her to the fair just so she could meet me and I could encourage her to finish that book about the talking piano. There was also the quirky lady who told me a psychic had told her she was going to write a book. I handed her my card and told her I could help her with that. We'll see what happens...)

In speaking to other vendors who were veterans of this particular show, I learned this was a particularly low traffic year. Many of them were disappointed by the trickling turn-out, but we determined, with the very slow beginning of spring this year, and Saturday being one of the actually nice days we've had so far, hanging out in a cold rollerskating arena is not the way most people want to spend their day when there's sunshine to be had elsewhere.

All this to say, The Ghost of Iris Carver is officially out in the world and I would love to get a copy into your hands! If you're an Amazon shopper, add it to your cart and check out when you've passed the free shipping threshold. If you read on a Kindle device, you can grab it for 99¢ (for a limited time only!) - later this week it will be available through Kobo and Chapters/Indigo, and of course, you can purchase directly through me.

THE GHOST OF IRIS CARVER, PAPERBACK

Choose your shipping needs

Local Buyer - No Shipping $10.00 CAD Shipping Within Canada $13.00 CAD International Shipping $16.00 CAD Include a copy of The Church in the Wildwood (shipping anywhere) $25.00 CAD

ATTENTION INTERNATIONAL SHOPPERS: because Canada Post doesn't love me, I can't afford to pay their RIDICULOUS international shipping fees. What I can do is send the books directly from my print company, but they won't be signed - sorry. If you still want a signed copy, I'm certainly willing to work that out with you. Send me an email and we'll discuss cost.

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Wildwood Shortlisted for Kobo Emerging Writer Prize

On May 2, 2017, The Church in the Wildwood went live on Amazon, and yesterday, May 1, I received notice via email that it has been shortlisted for the Fourth Annual Kobo Emerging Writer Prize in the literary fiction category. I can't think of a better book birthday present! One of the other finalists said he was 'stunned and delighted' and there's no better way to say it, so I'll say it too:

STUNNED AND DELIGHTED!

When I opened the email I told my co-worker yelled across the office (and scared her half to death) that my book was shortlisted for a literary award. I'm pretty sure I had both hands over my head, punching the sky like a complete dork, but I don't even care. Crown me the Queen of Dorktown*.

It wasn't until about twenty minutes later that I read through the entire press release they sent me and realized I was invited to attend the fancy awards event in Toronto next month. GAH! What do you call it when something is thrilling and terrifying at the same time? And what does one even wear to an event such as this? And why oh why didn't I buy that great pair of boots when I was shopping with my sister on Sunday???!!

I'm sharing space on the list with five other Canadian authors and their debut novels. I'm up against some tough competition, and I tip my crown** to them and their incredible talent. (I've since ordered copies of each of their books, so that if I meet them in June, I'll have something intelligent to say to them instead of, "So this is super cool, eh?') No matter the outcome, I'll be able to say I made the shortlist for a major competition and that is prize enough! 

Come back at the end of June. I promise to tell you every socially awkward moment of the awards ceremony 😜

Also, if you haven't read my book yet, order it now. If the honour of this listing tells you anything, it should be that it's worth your time 😉 If you're still not convinced, read this new review that was posted last week.

If you're local and you want a SUPER GOOD DEAL - come and visit me at the Neustadt Craft Show this Saturday ($2 at the door). A heavy box of The Ghost of Iris Carver arrived yesterday for that very occasion. I'll also have (limited) copies of Wildwood as well as other titles for sale - most of which will have at least a couple dollars knocked off the regular price.

To each and every one of you who have been following my publishing journey since the beginning: without your support I'd just be a weirdo tossing words into the ether; you've kept me from invisibility, picked me up when I've felt inadequate, and offered the right encouragement at the right moment. Thank you. Thank you for being here and putting up with me. I am forever in your debt.

*Send crowns to Alanna Rusnak, RR3 Durham, ON

** Seriously... where are my crowns?

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An Update (Since it's #WorldBookDay and all)

I didn't even know it was World Book Day (because really, shouldn't that be EVERY day?!). I didn't know until I was tagged on Twitter by my author friend Zev from Georgia. He started a love party that got me so distracted, I found myself leaning against the kitchen counter half an hour after I'd planned to start the dishes, taking part in a joyful orgy of indie author love.

Sigh.

There is nothing like the global community of writers. We're all total weirdos, and if you put us in a room together it would likely be the most awkward party ever witnessed, BUT we're heck'a'good at patting each other on the back and handing out encouragement. It's a great time to be a writer.

Anyway... this is supposed to be an update. (But if you want to see some of that Twitter love fest, follow this thread and this thread.)

 

[Can't see the video? Pop over to YouTube to hear my thirty second chat about getting Iris Carver ready.]

These last couple weeks have been a whirlwind of work as I got The Ghost of Iris Carver ready. Thankfully I have a team of reliable helpers who were willing to drop everything and give the proof a final read-thru; and, with their help, I'm feeling confident in the files I signed off on and sent to the printers.

Yesterday, I ordered finalized copies of The Ghost of Iris Carver—which, for those of you who haven't heard me whine yet, is the WORST moment, because you shell out a stupid amount of money for books that you hope will sell (therefore giving you that money back), with zero guarantee of return. It's a recipe for a stomach ache.

So books are on their way to me - a lot of books - and it would really help me out if you came to the Neustadt craft show and bought one or two 😉 I'll even sign them for you!

Of course, copies are always available through this website or through Amazon—going live on May 5! (Pre-order the Kindle version for just 99¢)




 

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This is What My Brain Looks Like

When Wildwood came out last year, a promise rested in the back pages for a 'sequel' and since then, The Ghost of Iris Carver has been creeping along at a snail's pace. Because I intended it to be a short novella, I let it drift a little, not giving it the attention it deserved until I slipped away with one of my Writer's Jam girls for a writing retreat getaway in January. The story fell out of me as I sat in front of the fire in that Inverhuron cottage. It was quick and clumsy, but I left there with a draft—which I whipped into something semi-complete and sent it out to a handful of beta-readers who returned rich, insightful comments and suggestions to help me bring it to its full potential.

Late Friday night, my sister sent me a link to a Facebook post from someone looking for a few more vendors at their annual craft show. I followed through, contacted the organizer, and secured myself a spot.

For May 5.

I'd be foolish if I didn't use that as a launch platform for Iris Carver.

I'd had a rough idea for a release date. I thought end of May/beginning of June was an okay goal. Because it's not a novel, I didn't feel the need for all the fuss (and by fuss I mean the incredible experience) of a full launch party, so I wasn't working towards a big end... more of a la-di-da, I'll get to it when I get to it.

But now...

I have a definite release date and the pressure is on.

Because of the recent stat holidays (since I work for a church I got both Friday AND Monday - yay!) I received the gift of long, uninterrupted hours of focused attention on my manuscript—so much so, in fact, that at one point my whole body started to vibrate because I WAS STARVING! I was so tuned in to what I was doing that it was almost 3pm before I realized I'd put nothing in my belly but that half pot of coffee early in the morning. That is poor self-care! Don't do that!

I am nothing if I'm not a hero under pressure. I love a deadline and realize that's what was missing from my Iris Carver journey before now. 

Now she's the ghost who keeps me up at night. (See what I did there?)

I'm three drafts deep after working through all the feedback from my beta-readers, and I feel like it's shaping into something really beautiful. My desk may look like a mess, but trust me, this is progress. Worry about me when my work space isn't chaotic—that's when we really have a problem!

If you want to give me a little bump of encouragement, you can pre-order your print copy of The Ghost of Iris Carver right here and I'll send a signed copy to you the week of May 7. If Kindle is your thing, you can pre-order through Amazon for just 99¢ and it will arrive on your device promptly on May 5! I know, it's a steal!! The price will go up on release day, so grab it while it's hot!

THE GHOST OF IRIS CARVER Choose your shipping needs

Local Buyer - No Shipping $10.00 CAD Shipping Within Canada $13.00 CAD International Shipping $16.00 CAD Include a copy of The Church in the Wildwood (shipping anywhere) $25.00 CAD

If you need some convincing, Kingston author, Geraldine Mac Donald has said:

If there were ever any doubt in my mind about Alanna Rusnak's extraordinary talent, she has fully eradicated any uncertainty with her latest novella, 'The Ghost of Iris Carver'. Not only was she able to create deeply engaging characters and bring them fully to life on the page, but she was equally capable of expertly placing them into a conceptual labyrinth and conceal them just behind the venerable, sacred, fourth wall.

My advice to you, the reader, would be: buy, borrow, or steal* a copy of The Church in the Wildwood and familiarize yourself with the small town world of Fallmoore and the tragic (yet lovable) character of Iris.

I'm looking forward to launching another title into the world, and I really hope you'll be there to celebrate with me!

*Please don't steal.

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Mother's Intuition [Protecting Our Daughter]

I live my life with a glass-half-full mentality. This isn't something I have to work at—it's just the way I am, and I'm perfectly happy with that. I am quick to trust people and I believe in the general goodness of others.

I'm also an attentive listener—it's one of those introvert traits I'm proud of. (So yeah, maybe I won't be the centre of attention at a party where I don't really know anyone, but you'll fall in love with me because I'll let you chat my ear off while I give you attentive eye-contact and nod enthusiastically.) I listen because people fascinate me. I listen because I'd rather do that than talk about myself. And I listen because I'm wired to do it.

So when I went and picked up my daughter early from what was supposed to be a sleepover it was because a little voice inside me told me I had to. And I listened to it. Because it usually only says sunshiny things... And my glass may always be half-full, but you can bet I'd throw it at you if I thought you were threatening my family. (And F.Y.I. my 'glass' is a heavy ceramic mug, so that thing could do some serious damage!)



I said yes to the sleepover before I had all the information. That's my fault.

Noa was so excited, and I really had no concrete reason to prevent her from going.

I'm being silly, I told myself. I'm worrying for nothing and making unfair judgements.

I dropped her off and it was weird.

• There was trash piled up beside the door. That was weird.
•  I tried to make small-talk with the parent—me, the introvert who HATES small talk—and he gave me nothing. He would not engage. That was weird.
• There was another man in the kitchen who wouldn't even turn around and acknowledge me. That was weird.

I kissed her goodbye. Squeezed her against me even though she was pulling away because she wanted to run off with her little friend. "If you need anything, you call me," I told her. "Anything!"

That evening, as I sat on the couch with my husband and eldest son, watching Split*, I couldn't shake the nagging discomfort in my gut. Every time the James McAvoy character appeared on the screen, I pictured the man who wouldn't turn around in the kitchen and I finally said to my husband, "What if we changed our plans so we go to the ROM tomorrow instead of Friday?"

"But isn't Noa supposed to be at her friend's until tomorrow afternoon?"

"I'll go pick her up."

"Because you want to go to the ROM, or because you don't want her to stay there?"

And I admitted my fears and how uncomfortable I was feeling and how I wanted to have a reason to pick her up early.

Then I called my mother.

"It's better to be paranoid and make sure she's safe than to ignore it and have something happen." —Mom

Ahhh... mother's wisdom. Sometimes you just need assurance from the person who raised you.

And so I went and picked her up, using our trip to the ROM as a ruse. I was warm and apologetic as I stood in that doorway and lied, and I didn't feel bad about it (even though my wise mother raised me to always tell the truth).

And the moment I had my daughter back in the car with me I relaxed. I was at peace.

It's very likely I was being paranoid. I probably had no reason to feel afraid. It was probably a combination of my own recessed prejudice, residual memories from my childhood when I slept over in a house with a man who scared me, and the knowledge that my sweet daughter has the same trust in the world as I do... but those things together meant I wouldn't sleep a wink unless she was in her bed on the other side of my own bedroom wall, her blond little head on her One Direction pillow.

I believe in intuition. I think it's important to pay attention, to use discretion, and, above all, protect the ones you love.

We got up early the next morning, and we did go to the ROM. We had a wonderful time together as a family.

I don't regret the choice I made, whether it was rude or harsh or unjustified—I only know, that had I not acted on my feelings and something had happened, that's a regret I could never ever leave behind, and that's all the justification I need.

Checking out the pretty mosaic ceiling at the Royal Ontario Museum

*If you like weird, creepy, psychological thrillers, this one is pretty great!

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This One Time, They Said My Name on the Radio

Last Friday was World Book Day and, in celebration of that, one of the local(ish) radio stations did a shout-out for reading suggestions from their listeners AND SOMEBODY RECOMMENDED WILDWOOD!

This is made a much bigger deal because it was a complete stranger who left the comment. It's wonderful when friends support you and offer compliments and encouragement, but when it's from a stranger... sigh... that's the stuff!

I received an excited call from a friend who heard my book mentioned on the radio as a result of the Facebook post. How fun is that?! My husband called the station and they were nice enough to to send us the clip.

It may not seem like much, but it's important to celebrate each little victory as it comes! 

And if you haven't read my book yet, it's basically famous, so you should really make it a priority 😉  Grab a copy HERE.



If your browser won't allow you to listen to the embedded player above, you should be able to hear the radio spot HERE.

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We've Got A Series, Folks!

One of the greatest compliments a writer can receive is that earnest reader-plea of 'When is the next book coming out?' or 'You just have to write a sequel!'

It gives us warm fuzzies.

Before it plunges us into a deep pit of despair and responsibility!

Just kidding. (Sort of.)

When I wrote The Church in the Wildwood I intended it to be a stand-alone novel. I'd created a world that I really loved and thought I'd be happy letting it exist in its little literary bubble while I went on to build more worlds.

But then you guys were like nag nag nag and I was like, FINE!

And so, because readers are the way writing can actually be a viable, affordable, pursuit, an author should listen; and, if it turns out the reader is right, they need to follow the path that's being lovingly cleared ahead of them.

This is not to say the reader is always right. Forced writing is ugly. There is no truth in it. No heart. I want no part of that. But when a suggestion tugs at your heart-strings AND a character keeps pulling on the hemline of your thoughts... do you really have a choice?

The Ghost of Iris Carver is a novella that will form a bridge between Wildwood and my next novel, Black Bird. It will (re)introduce the reader to Iris's small town of Fallmoore as she chases the ghosts and questions of her past. And it's where you will meet my next great love, Bird Mitena. (Click the bolded title link at the top of this paragraph to learn a little bit more... including the first endorsement blurb that has come back from an early reader.)

The Ghost of Iris Carver is currently in the hands of my eight beta-readers and on track to be released this spring, after which all my personal writing energy will be poured into completing the first draft of Black Bird (currently sitting at just under 50,000 words).

And after that? You'll just have to wait and see! Now that I've decided I'm comfortable calling this thing a series (The Fallmoore Chronicles) the possibilities are really endless as to what I could make happen in this little Canadian town. I've had some requests that there be a Promise Book novel. Readers seem really curious about life at the Harridan Bluffs commune. I make no promises, but it would be an interesting narrative to chase...


One quick question before I leave you: Do you think I should re-brand the cover of The Church in the Wildwood with the The Fallmoore Chronicles tag, or is it okay to let it stand as is... or maybe wait for an anniversary edition? Inquiring minds want to know!

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Author Interview with The Awesome Gang

I was recently interviewed by The Awesome Gang, a website dedicated to promoting indie authors. It's fun to share a little glimpse of my journey with strangers and I hold on to a little slice of hope that my story might inspire someone to set out after their own dreams.

You could pop over to their website and read the interview there, or you can enjoy it right here...

Tell us about yourself and how many books you have written.
I grew up watching my father write and the soundtrack of his typewriter instilled in me the desire to do the same. Stories came easily to me, and every time the local newspaper (I grew up in a VERY small town) published one of my little pieces, I would be over the moon, and further inspired to chase my dreams. In 2010, as a young mom in desperate need of reconnecting with my creative self—that part of me that had been shelved to raise my children—I started a blog as a creative discipline. I shared stories from my boring life, reconnected with that need to write, and started chasing the ultimate dream of writing a book.

What is the name of your latest book and what inspired it?
In 2014 I signed up for Nanowrimo with nothing more than a title and an idea that I wanted to write a thriller. The book that came out of that one month hyper-writing experience was not a thriller; it was much deeper and richer than I could have ever anticipated. It took almost three years of hard work before The Church in the Wildwood, my debut literary novel, was officially released in June of 2017, and through that arduous, rewarding process, I learned a lot. Not the least of which being that allowing myself space to do something that feeds my spirit made me a better, stronger person in other areas of my life.

Do you have any unusual writing habits?
I am a night owl. My best ideas come after the sun has set. I always make myself a hot drink before I sit down (tea or coffee) and I prefer to write in total silence – no music, no chatter, just the sound of my fingers on those keys. Perhaps it goes back to those childhood typewriter memories.

What authors, or books have influenced you?
Anne Rice writes with the kind of eloquent poetry I strive for. She has such a beautiful way with words that captures and inspires. And Leonard Cohen. Oh, Leonard. He moves me like no other. He wrote with such raw, unapologetic vulnerability – such a gift! I keep copies of his books all over my house, so no matter what room I’m in, I can always get a little fix.

What are you working on now?
I’ve just completed the first draft of The Ghost of Iris Carver, a companion piece to my first novel and a bridge between it and another novel, Black Bird, which is about 10,000 words away from completion.

What is your best method or website when it comes to promoting your books?
Social media has definitely been a great help for me in promoting, though I don’t think I’m very good at it. The truth is you really only get as much as you put in. When I disappear from platforms like Twitter or Instagram (because life gets in the way – three kids, a husband, and a day job is a lot to juggle!) my sales go down as does traffic to my website. When I’m active, engaging with followers, suddenly everything bumps up. There’s a lesson in there…

Do you have any advice for new authors?
Call yourself a writer. Naming the thing you want out loud gives it power and strong legs to stand on. When I kept my dreams to myself, I don’t believe they had any chance of coming to light. Sure, I was afraid people wouldn’t take me seriously, but voicing my desires helped me take myself seriously, and that’s the most important thing.

What is the best advice you have ever heard?
A first draft doesn’t have to be perfect. I don’t know if it’s the best advice, but it’s been instrumental in helping me complete drafts. I used to hang out on single paragraphs – even single sentences – until they were ‘just right’ instead of powering through and getting the story told. First drafts aren’t for anyone else to read. They’re supposed to be garbage. Perfection can come later in the process.

What are you reading now?
I recently finished Out of Orange by Cleary Wolters and I’ve just taken on a beta-reading project for an author friend of mine – a science fiction novel. I also just ordered Jenna Fischer’s new memoir The Actor’s Life and can’t wait to dig into it. With my children, we’re working through the Harry Potter series and are currently on The Prisoner of Azkaban, which I read aloud to them before bed.

What’s next for you as a writer?
I’m aiming to have The Ghost of Iris Carver out in the world in 2018, with Black Bird following closely behind in 2019.

If you were going to be stranded on a desert island and allowed to take 3 or 4 books with you what books would you bring?
Leonard Cohen’s Book of Mercy – for its beauty and genuine voice; something by Ted Dekker – not so much for reading, but so I can gaze at his dreamy photo and not feel so alone; the biggest journal I can find – to write all those feelings of abandonment; and a hardcover copy of Battlefield Earth – because it’s big and could be used as a weapon or kindling…not to say it’s a terrible book, I just couldn’t get through it (but perhaps being on a deserted island would remedy that problem).



[This post contains Amazon associate links...that means, if you click one of the links and buy one of the books I'm talking about, I'll make a little bit of money... and let's face it, I'm doing whatever I can to support this crazy full-time writer dream of mine... and you need more books anyway, you know it's true! 😜]

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The Church in the Wildwood Named One of CBC's Top 95 Must-Read Books of 2017

Back in December of 2017, CBC Books put out a call for readers across the country to nominate their favourite books of the year. I shared that call on social media and then quickly forgot about it. What a thrill when today, a reader on Facebook shared the link to the list, saying I'd made the cut!

My response was a very eloquent WHAT????!!!!

I don't even know how to express the excitement I'm feeling, sharing space with the likes of Canadian superstars Terry Fallis, Eden Robinson, and Michelle Winters — Robinson and Winters were both shortlisted for the 2017 Giller Prize! I mean...whoa!

You can check out the full list HERE - scroll down to number 36 to find me.

I think I've harboured an unspoken fear that I will slowly slip back into invisibility. 

Sure I wrote a book, and yeah, people really seemed to respond to it; but with the attention span of the modern-day-human, I worried I would be but a blip on the screen of their life—there for 297 pages and then forgotten...donated to Value Village to hang out beside all those copies of Fifty Shades of Grey. (That is my nightmare. It's ugly. Please don't let me linger...)

This is a nice little pick-me-up. I'm needy. Recognition affirms and soothes me, and it encourages me to go on.

Thanks to my nominators, thanks to my readers, and thanks to CBC.

(This is not the blog post I planned on writing today. I actually have a check-list of things I wanted to accomplish before midnight tonight, and while blogging is on there, I had intended to talk about what happened on the incredible writer's retreat I went on two weeks ago OR share about the interview I did last week with a book website. But this is good. This means I'll have something to talk about next time and maybe it won't be a thousand months before my next post. No matter what happens, I can still check something off my list, and that feels good.)

Until next time friends...


 

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