The Capital Gets A Bit Creepier

My latest non-fiction paranormal exploration, CREEPY CAPITAL is now on bookstore shelves.

Come along with paranormal raconteur Mark Leslie as he uncovers first-person accounts of ghostly happenings throughout Ottawa and the surrounding towns - the whole region is rife with ghostly encounters and creepy locales.

Discover the doomed financier who may be haunting the Chateau Laurier. Experience the eerie shadows and sounds at the Bytown Museum. Listen to the echoing howls of former prison inmates at the Nicholas Street Hostel. And feel the bitter sadness of the ghost of Watson's Mill in Manotick. You'll marvel at the multitude of ghosts that walk the streets and historic landmarks of Canada's capital.

I love that, in the book description I'm called a "paranormal raconteur" - I'll need to revise my author business cards.


This weekend I'll be heading to Ottawa to officially launch it at three different bookstores.

Friday May 27th
Chapters Rideau
4 PM

Saturday May 28th
Perfect Books
Noon to 2 PM

Sunday May 29th
Books on Beechwood
Noon to 2 PM

I'm thrilled that Ottawa Ghostbusters will be joining me for the Friday and Sunday signings. (These wonderful volunteers go to events and ask only for a charitable donation for payment. For coming out to a couple of my Ottawa signings, so people can have fun pictures taken with cool Ghostbusters, I've donated money to the Red Cross Fort McMurray fund)

Here's the pic from the Books on Beechwood website. FUN!

I also thought that the cheeky post Perfect Books put up was fun. Politics can be CREEPY indeed.

Oh, and, of course, Barnaby will be there too, as always.

May the Fourth Be With You And Other Nerdy Greetings

May the fourth be with you.

I always enjoy this early day in May, but it makes me think about other sci-fi or nerdy greetings, introductory phrases and well-wishes from movies and television.

So, in celebration of May the 4th, I thought I'd share these to see if you can name all the sources.

Sadder Still To Watch It Die Than Never To Have Known It

I fondly remember those teenage years when I would put on a Rush album, sit there holding the album in my hands, marveling at the overall spectacular visual presentation of the art (usually by the genius Hugh Syme) while the music filled the air in my bedroom and stirred my heart, mind and imagination with spectacular new visions and tales that bounced around inside my head.

Yes, I'm talking about the large square cardboard object that held the vinyl disc inside a paper sleeve that sometimes even had the lyrics printed on it. Occasionally the album cover would open like a book -- 2112 by Rush, of course, did just that. And there was an incredible story inside.

But it didn't have to be one of the themed story albums that inspired my imagination and creativity. So many songs from this band set my imagination on fire and produced characters, settings and scenes from stories in my head. I imagined, for example, with the Rush album that was my proper and full introduction to the band, Grace Under Pressure, a theatrical/musical stage show about a post-apocalyptic world, and invented characters that would further connect the songs together in an overall story arc. Heck, I was even able to connect the songs from Signals together in a similar story arc about a young boy who rose up to become a world leader via following his passion for adapting technology into making the world a "better" place.

So when the opportunity to write a story for the anthology 2113: Stories Inspired by the Music of Rush (edited by Kevin J. Anderson and John McFetridge) came about, the biggest question was which of the hundreds of stories that this band had inspired in me would I write about.

I mean, after all, so many different songs from Rush inspired so many different amazing tales, images, characters and situations. And much of my writing had already contained elements from the band's music and lyrics that infused themselves between the cracks.

And despite the fact that I had already had a story published a year earlier that had been inspired by the song "Losing It" from the Rush album Signals, (a song that continues to bring tears to my eyes and which I got to see performed live during the band's R40 tour), I knew that song, one that had long been an intensely personal song for me, could inspire yet another story.

The previous story that had been inspired by "Losing It" was a dark humour piece I had published in Tesseracts Seventeen called "Hereinafter Referred to as the Ghost." I wanted to draw inspiration from the same song, but this time take a more heartfelt approach.

The song paints a quick portrait of a dancer who is no longer able to dance and a writer who can no longer write. After displaying the loss of their life passions, the chorus chimes in:

Some are born to move the world
To live their fantasies
But most of us just dream about
The things we'd like to be
Sadder still to watch it die
Than never to have known it

For you the blind who once could see
The bell tolls for thee . . .

 The song still brings shivers and a gentle tear to my eye. The music is as hauntingly beautiful as the portrait of the two artists who still hold the passion, yet whose bodies and minds are unable to continue on.

And so, in my story "Some Are Born to Save the World" I wanted to capture that same feeling in the guise of a super-hero at the end of his career. Bryan, the story's main character, has dedicated his life to employing his supernatural abilities for good as White Vector, and the tale captures his rise and fall in that life-long conviction.

It is a story that I am quite proud of, not just because of the tale that the song inspired, but because I know that the story has already reached a number of readers in a positive way. Here are some of the reviews I've already seen that mention the story:

"Leslie explores Bryan’s motivations and fears with a sure hand, and delineates the qualities, good and bad, that could drive a person to dress up and fight crime. Even in the last days of his decline, Bryan is able to rediscover a new purpose and a return of his dignity, and it’s a measure of Leslie’s skill that this change happens in a realistic, yet meaningful fashion." - Brandon Nolta, Tangent Online

"This one teared me up, but in a good way." - Erin S. Burns, Burns Through Her Bookshelf

"This was one of my favourites. The life, death and rebirth of the superhero White Vector. This perfect little gem captures exactly what being a superhero means. I wouldn’t change a thing. You just can’t beat a well-executed origin story." - Paul, Goodreads review

Me and Ron Collins (contributors to the anthology) making a Kevin J. Anderson sandwich

Kevin, Ron and I doing our best "Starman" pose (from 2113, not 2112)

While 2113 might be the only actual Rush-themed anthology that I have had a story published in, I know there will be more tales born out of inspiration from the band's more than 40 years of music.

There's Snow Story Like A Snowman Story

For years now, some of my most popularly received published stories include a couple of snowman tales that I have written. Both tales, inspired by the question of what might happen if a snowman were to come alive, take decidedly different approaches, and yet they both answer the question with a tongue in cheek sense of dark humour.

Those stories, by the way, are "That Old Silk Hat They Found" and "Ides of March" -- the former was inspired by my reflecting on the whole 'Frosty the Snowman' concept and the latter was written after I had heard a radio report of a man being shot in the process of someone trying to steal the snowman from his front yard.

So when Rebecca Moesta was editing an anthology and was looking for stories that involved teenage heroes/heroines in the midst of a darkness using creativity and heart (an inner 'spark') to overcome adversity, the last thing I imagined I would write would be another snowman story.

I wanted to tackle the important issues of not fitting in, of the dangers of a viral-image sharing culture, of cyber-bullying and teen suicide.

Wow. Tough material, indeed. The question is, how could I possibly work my previous adoration for snowman tales into this story and provide a spark?

I was quite satisfied with the answer to that question in my tale "Impressions in the Snow." Apparently, so was the editor, as Rebecca ended up buying it for Fiction River: Sparks, which was published at the very end of March 2016.

Sparks is part of the Fiction River anthology series that Kristine Kathryn Rusch and Dean Wesley Smith publish and are series editors for.

I was even quite delighted that my name made it onto the cover.

As a teaser, here's the opening to that story as it appears in Sparks.

The snowman's smile saved Karen's life.

     The feeling came over her quite suddenly. One moment she was standing on the edge of the weather-worn bridge, contemplating the rapidly flowing waters twenty feet below, and the next she was staring at the snowman at the other side of the river bank, trying to figure out why she felt an overwhelming sense of recognition while gazing at it.

     Karen and the snowman looked at one another, both of them silent sentinels standing very still at their respective posts, dark silhouettes barely lit by the full moon peeking out from behind the clouds, yet still casting enough light to reflect off of the recently fallen snow. The bridge she stood on and the deciduous and evergreen trees were covered with a quarter inch of the fluffy powder on the tops of the branches and the boughs. But the snowman, like Karen, didn't have any of the freshly fallen snow on the brim of the black top hat crested on its head -- it was as if it, like Karen, had only recently arrived in the forest from some other place.

     As if it had, perhaps, been following her.

In the midst of something that led to her darkest moments, I had my story's hero, Karen, trying to emulate the sexy antics of a mega controversial pop star who rode naked on top of a wrecking-ball and licked a hammer. But instead of using real names in my story, I created Kylie Miles, a former wholesome child-star who performed under the name Suzanna Utah, but then completely changed her image with her latest pop hit and video: "Smash my Heart to Dust." (I mean, nobody would ever guess who I might have been thinking about when I invented this pop star -- right?)

This was a fun story to write. And Karen personifies so much about what I admire in giving and caring young people -- and so much of what I worry about in those kind-hearted and giving souls who leave themselves open to ridicule, particularly before the people around them mature to their level. That can be such a hard time for young people.

Karen's story is fantasy of course, but it speaks of karma, of pushing love out into the world, and, despite the element of suicide, there is a positive message in it. It's a story that I'm quite proud of.

And, it quite effectively shows that I'm not done with writing snowman stories. That and when I write a snowman story I can move beyond my normal comfort range of dark humour. And I have Rebecca Moesta, Kristine Kathryn Rusch and Dean Wesley Smith to thank for that. Had I not participated in the Fiction River workshop I might have never discovered that about myself.

This Author's Earnings

I have been a writer since I was about thirteen years old and spent the summer hammering out a fantasy adventure novel on my Mom's old Underwood typewriter. And I started submitting stories for publication at the age of seventeen.

My first fiction sale happened a few years later, in 1992, for which I received five US dollars and a contributor's copy of the small press magazine the story appeared in.

Since 1992, I have either made money or the "payment in copy" equivalent of actual payment that I, as a young and desperate writer seeking to build a "name" was willing to accept in the very early days. Of course, as time went on, the pay I was willing to write for moved upwards towards what is considered "professional rates."

Along the way I have always had a day job in order to keep a roof over my head and food on the table. This came from the oft-given parental advice I received when I said "I'm going to be a writer." My folks reminded me of the importance of having a good day job so that I wouldn't go hungry while pursuing my dreams. So I sought a "day job" that would keep me as happy as writing makes me. Hence, my ongoing role as "bookseller."

In terms of "day jobs" I've been extremely lucky - always working within my field.  And, as the Director of Self-Publishing & Author Relations at Kobo via Kobo Writing Life (a role I've had since October 2011), it continues to be a rewarding and fulfilling career.

So while I don't yet make enough money from writing to support being a writer full-time I must pause to admit that, even if I did earn enough from writing, I'm not sure I COULD leave the fulfilling and satisfying career and role I play.

But with respect to looking only at that "writerly earning" I just finished putting together the numbers for my writing earnings and expenses for 2015.

And, even though my "day-job" involves supporting thousands of authors who are able to earn enough money from self-publishing to be full-time writers (something I'm extremely pleased to be assisting them with), I don't yet fall into that particular bucket myself. In fact, though I'm a huge advocate for self-publishing as a viable option for writers, I personally earn more than half of my writing income from "traditional publishing."

Here's the breakdown of my writing income sources for 2015:

Income from Traditional Publishing:  52.75%
Income from Self-Publishing: 36.10%
Income from *Mixed Sources:  11.18%

* Mixed Sources refers to income that doesn't come directly from publishers or from direct self-publishing royalty sources. It includes other writer-related income from things such as Public Lending Rights (mixed titles), direct sales of print books, speaking and writer appearance honorariums, etc.

I should add a few caveats to this pie-chart, of course:

First, my numbers show that in the previous year almost 60% of my income came from self-publishing, while only about 35% came from traditional publishing. So it's interesting to see how, in a single year, things can change. This, to me, highlights the importance of being OPEN to all opportunities available as a writer. You never know WHERE the income might come from in the next 12 month period.

Second, if I were to break the income down and only look at eBook sales, self-publishing still leads with almost 90% of my income. The Traditional publishing game, for me, is all about PRINT books. Fortunately, my non-fiction books continue to do well in traditional print venues. However, I barely earn anything from the digital sales of my traditionally published books.

Third, if I were to look only at non-fiction sales, traditional publishing accounts for about 95% of my income. When it comes to fiction, the exact opposite is true. About 90% of my income from fiction comes from self-publishing.

All this is to say that there are pros and cons to each side and I benefit from being open to both.

A few take-aways for this particular writer:

1) Traditional publishing continues to be a good experience for me, particularly with respect to non-fiction titles that are distributed to print retail markets. I'll likely work on at least one book per year for that market.

2) I will continue to self-publish in both digital print formats (using POD - print-on-demand) for projects that earn me decent income but are not likely to appeal to a traditional publisher. Niche market material, etc.

3) Being open to new opportunities and new revenue sources remains a focus for this writer -- I have begun the process of getting books converted into audio, and will continue to be open to new opportunities as they present themselves.

Life Reflected in Art

I've been reflecting all day on the fact that it has been thirteen years since my Dad died.

A few nights ago, when he was feverish and having trouble falling back to sleep, as I laid in bed beside my son trying to comfort him, we chatted in the dark.

He asked me if there was anything I regretted. With tears in my eyes, I told him the one thing I really regret was not having spent more time with my father when I was younger. While I had made it a point to spend time with him once I was a young man (ie, in my early twenties), I often think about all those additional fishing and hunting excursions I could have gone on with him when I was younger -- all that father/son bonding time that I missed out on.

Because the times spent with my dad were always so very precious; and the memories I have are good ones -- fun ones.

I told Alexander that's one of the reasons why I love to spend so much time with him; why the traditional week-long "Boy's Road-Trip" we do every year the first week of July is so important to me. While I do spend a lot of time traveling, I have made spending time with Alexander a top priority.

Every year, on this delightful day in which we're supposed to all turn a little bit Irish and drink a toast, a cheers to St. Patrick, I find myself offering a special little cheer to the many beers that I shared with my Dad over the years. I think of the happy memories, all we had, and not the regrets.

And, today, I have been thinking about how many of the books I've written are reflective of that important father/son bond.

When he was still alive, one of my biggest fears was my father dying. To that end, I struggled with the thought, and imagined having to face it head on. From that fear and anxiety came the novel MORNING SUN.

Sharing parts of the first draft with him that I was working on while my Dad, my cousin Rodney and I were on Manitoulin Island during deer hunting season. (Dad and Rodney were hunting, I stayed back and hammered away on the laptop on the novel)

Dad & I on Manitoulin Island. Him reading MORNING SON; me with a beer

MORNING SON (a novel which I haven't yet published - it remains in a drawer) is more of a contemporary story with a bit of an underlying mystery. It's the story of a bereaved man who learns that his father's last dying wish was to have his son scatter his ashes at his favourite fishing hole. The only problem is that he always kept his favourite fishing hole a closed guarded secret. The young man, a bookstore manager who continually escapes into work as a way to avoid conflict in his life, finds himself compelled back to the Sudbury region to explore his father's past and find that secret locale. But in the midst of uncovering the past, he also unveils a closely guarded family secret that explains why his father was estranged from the rest of the family.

The novel contains many autobiographical details as well as several details from my father's own life. All fictionalized, of course. But many elements -- my father's near fatal motorcycle accident, the less than out-doorsy bookworm son with epilepsy -- are based on reality.

Here's the prologue for that novel:

I never spoke so many words to my father as I did when I was thirty-two and traveled with him from Ottawa to the sprawling network of fishing holes off Highway 144 in Northern Ontario. The only thing that took any real pleasure out of the experience was the fact that my father was nothing more than about five pounds of ashes in a silver-plated urn that I had strapped into the passenger seat beside me.

     A man of few words his entire life, my father's Will reflected the same, stating that everything was to go to his only son, and that upon cremation of his body, I scatter his ashes at his favourite fishing spot. The only problem was that my father's favourite fishing spot was a more closely guarded secret than the US president's nuclear launch code. That and I hadn't fished with my father since I was eleven; I was about as likely to remember where he'd take me fishing all those years ago as I was to guessing the winning Lott 649 numbers. And I would be just as at home reading a topographical map as I would be reading the French language my namesake suggested I possessed.

     Nonetheless, leaving my wife and child behind, I set off to fulfill my father's request, taking myself on a journey of introspection, self-discovery and, finally, a clear picture of who my father really was.

     Despite some of the shocking secrets I discovered, the realization that my father was as flawed and fallible as myself, and the fact he had been dead for several weeks, I never felt closer to my father in my entire life

     And I couldn't have loved him more.

As I mentioned, I haven't yet published the novel. I did send it off to a few publishers back when I first completed it and received a few polite rejections. Apparently, mainstream more "literary" novels just aren't my forte. I then moved on to other writing projects; but every once in a while I wonder if I'll pull it back out, give it another polish, and send it off to a publisher or perhaps self-publish it.

One novel that I DID publish, and which was based on my father's actual death, was, again based on some things from both my father's life and my own. The afore-mentioned near fatal motorcycle accident; my initial adoration of computer programming back in the Commodore PET computer days; not to mention that the novel mostly takes place in a fictionalized version of the building where Kobo's home off is. (I changed the company my hero works for to an online insurance company).

EVASION was inspired by my father's death, and the anger I felt towards the doctors, towards the hospital, towards everyone involved. It also came from the odd thing that kept happening to me for years after he died. I kept imagining I had spotted him in a crowd or driving the car beside me on the highway. It made me wonder: well, what IF he really is still alive? How could that be? Why would it be? The answer to that turned into a thriller -- one in which a man investigating his father's mysterious death finds himself hunted by everyone he knows and encounters. And thus, the novel, EVASION was born.

Here's the beginning of the Prologue for EVASION:

Scott Desmond was looking at a dead man.

     He shook his head, swiped at the sweat running down his forehead and into his eyes, tried to focus more clear-ly on the sight before him.

     There was no mistake about it.

     The man he was looking at across two sets of train tracks was none other than his father – a man who had died almost eighteen months earlier.

     Scott shook his head for the second time, rubbed his eyes, tried to focus through the humidity of the August day. But there was simply no disputing the fact.

     The man he was staring at across the GO train plat-form had to be his father.

EVASION is available in print, eBook and now in audiobook versions. You can also read the entire text of the first draft of the novel (unedited, so you'll have to just suck up the typos and grammar and other issues) on Wattpad where it has had almost 200,000 reads. I'm quite delighted with the audio version and think that Brian Troxell does an amazing job reading it. Click the link below to listen to a sample of it.

Evasion on Audible

I have already written most of the sequel to EVASION. It's a story that focuses on the life of Lionel Desmond. (Lionel was my father's middle name, and, yes, much of Lionel' character was based on my own father -- it was so much fun writing Evasion and based certain personality traits on my Dad. Even more fun exploring a fictional childhood from my father's perspective)

My father has shown up in a few other stories I have written; stories and tales he has shared, or that have been shared about him have surfaced in so many other places, including direct tributes that became a collaborative effort such as the time I wrote him a poem inspired by a painting and he turned the poem itself into a beautiful piece of art. So while these, so far, are the only two book-length works he has appeared in, I'm sure he'll continue to make himself known in other works along the way.

That's the reality of art that pulls snippets from life. That's the reality of continuing to be inspired by someone who meant so much.

Here's to the continued inspiration, the memories and the never-ending love. Thanks, Dad!

Eugene Lionel Lefebvre: June 28, 1938 - March 17, 2003

Evasion in Audio

I recently worked with a professional audio production company to create an audiobook version of my thriller EVASION.

The narration is done by Brian Troxell and he has done an absolutely brilliant job of making the book sound even better.

The full audiobook will be available for purchase on all of the usual sales channels (Audible, iTunes, OverDrive, etc) but I'll also be rolling the novel out in serialized podcast form once I have a release date for when the full audio book will be available.

In the meantime, here's the opening of the novel, or Episode 01 of the podcast that features the opening Author Note along with the Prologue, complete with an intro and outtro that features music from Kevin MacLeod.

My 2015 in Beer: Top 5 Beers, Top Bars and Venues

Apart from being a lover of books, I've also long been a lover of beer.

And in the past 10 years or so, I've enjoyed making an effort at trying new beers. But it got to a point where I couldn't remember if I'd had a beer or not, so about 3 years ago (April 2013), I started using UNTAPPD to track my beer.

Fun beer explorations near Kelowna, BC

I'm far from a connoisseur (ie, I'm not all that good at describing the various flavours, and mostly just either "like" or "don't like so much" the beers I'm drinking) and I quite enjoy trying new beers and also the recent rise of craft breweries that have been exploding in the past couple of years.

I also try not to check in the same beer more than once. But occasionally, for the sake of checking in a beer at an interesting or new location, or for changing my rating of a beer (perhaps, upon second or third taste, I change my perception of the beer), I'll check in more than one.

Here's a look at my beer tracking as pulled from UNTAPPD, for 2015.

• I tried 789 unique beers in 2015
• I enjoyed them at 120 unique venues
• I averaged 3 beers per day in the year

Some other interesting stats:

My Top (Combination of rating plus number of times checked in) Beers drank in 2015 include:

• Buggywhip (Abe Erb)
• Blue Collar Pale Ale (The Hamilton Brewery)
• Pale Ale (Mash Paddle Brewing)
• Paranormal Imperial Pumpkin Ale (Flying Monkeys)
• Samuel Adams Summer Ale (Sam Adams)

In 2015 I gave 61 different beers a rating of 4.5 or higher (out of five stars) and gave 6 of them a five star rating. The 6 five star rating beers in 2015 were:

• Origin Wheat - MacKinnon Brothers Brewing Co.(Hefeweizen)
• London Pale Ale - Meantime Brewing Company (Pale Ale - English)
• Not Your Father's Root Beer (5.9%) - Small Town Brewery & Taproom (Root Beer)
• Pumking - Southern Tier Brewing Company (Pumpkin / Yam Beer)
• Samuel Adams Fat Jack Double Pumpkin - Boston Beer Company/Samuel Adams (Pumpkin / Yam Beer)
• Nightmare on Mill Street Pumpkin Ale - Mill Street Brewery (Pumpkin / Yam Beer)

The lowest rated beer from 2015 was one called Double IPA from Stoudts Brewing Company, which I gave 1.5 stars to and left this comment: "I'm not fond of the nail polish remover aftertaste."

Among the most popular and favourite venues I checked in this past year include:

• The Winking Judge (Hamilton)
• The Pony Bar (New York City - Hell's Kitchen)
• The Craft - Brasserie & Grill (Toronto - Liberty Village)
• Phantom Canyon Brewing (Colorado Springs)
• Valhalla (New York City - Hell's Kitchen)

I also attended a number of beer fests throughout the year -- and, my beautiful partner in beer-enjoyment and I were able to not only get to a number of them together, but also did some amazing explorations of beer locales within Southern Ontario, in and near Kelowna, BC as well as in various neighbourhoods in New York City. Liz and I have even more fun plans regarding our beer explorations this coming year which I will be posting about at a later date.  (Of course, our other plans for 2016 involve doing an extreme race together, a lot more hiking than we accomplished in 2015, and even more great walking tours of various cities that we travel to together - that should help reduce the somewhat negative effect of enjoying our favourite beverage so often)

Liz and I at Because Beer in Hamilton - Summer 2015

My totals, for UNTAPPD, to date (and which started April 6, 2013) include 1,831 unique beers and 669 badges (yes, UNTAPPD does a great job of the gamification of social beer drinking). I'm pretty sure that I'll get to 2,000 unique check ins before the end of the year, and, based on previous trending, I should hit about 1900 by time the end of January rolls around.

Of course, I also have writing goals.

Now, if ONLY my goals of writing and enjoying beer could ever be merged some-how. Hint Hint - news on that to come.

My 2015 in Writing

As I used to (and have skipped writing up for the past couple of years), I thought it might be useful to outline some of my writing goals, achievements, successes and missed in this past year.


Since 2012, I have been writing non-fiction paranormal books for Dundurn. Haunted Hamilton came out in 2012. Spooky Sudbury (co-authored with Jenny Jelen) came out in 2013. Tomes of Terror: Haunted Bookstores and Libraries came out in 2014.

While I wrote most of Creepy Capital: Ghost Stories of Ottawa and the National Capital Region in 2015, and turned the book in back in April 2015, the scheduling of the book in Dundurn's line-up didn't end up landing until Spring 2016. So I missed a year publishing a non-fiction title.  My Ottawa ghost story book will be coming out in a few months, this year. In fact, as I type this, my editor has gotten the book back to me and I need to return it by next month so that the publishing process to have the book out in May 2016 can stay on track.

Liz and I about to embark on a mid-winter downtown Ottawa ghost walk

Creepy Capital was a fun book to work on, and it involved multiple trips to Ottawa with my partner Liz who adopted the role of research assistant. We had a lot of fun going on the ghost walks as well as staying in one of the haunted hotels and exploring the museums and other locales that are covered in the book. There was lots of exploring and many fun side-line adventures involved. It felt, to me, like the MOST hands-on research I have done for any of my non-fiction paranormal books.

I also started working on the next non-fiction paranormal book HAUNTED HOSPITALS which is being co-authored with Rhonda Parrish (details for that one to be confirmed an announced)

This past year I managed to get the completed manuscript for A CANADIAN WEREWOLF IN NEW YORK to a fantastic editor recommended by folks from the Superstars Writing Seminars, where I am a guest instructor, and have been for the past three years. I'm still only half-way through the edits on that, and, while I had fully intended on getting the book out by the end of 2015, I'm still not quite there. (Oh well, at least it'll be something to get done THIS YEAR!)


2015 saw we sell a short story to a Rush themed anthology edited by Kevin J. Anderson (2113), as well as revise a story I'd sold the year before to another anthology edited by Rebecca Moesta (SPARKS)

Speaking of short stories, I also ended up becoming editor of a couple of anthologies.  The first was based on some amazing workshops led by Dean Wesley Smith and Kristine Kathryn Rusch. I'm editing EDITOR'S PICKS, an anthology idea I came up with while scheming with Dean during their absolutely fantastic Fiction River anthology workshops that are held in the winter each year in Lincoln City. That'll be coming out next year.  I also read through submissions from the Sudbury Writers Guild and selected stories that'll appear in an anthology that they will be publishing either later this year or in 2017.

Also, this past year, Liz and I rented an artist table at Hamilton Comic-Con. While I had volunteered at the Horror Writers Association tables at similar cons in Toronto in the past, this was my first solo author table at a comic con.  And it was an amazing experience. We have already booked tables for comic cons in Niagara Falls, Sudbury and are on the waiting list for Ottawa for later this year.

Meeting John Schneider (of Dukes of Hazzard, Smallville, etc) at Hamilton Comic-Con

Not only was Hamilton Comic-Con a great place to sell lots of copies of Haunted Hamilton and several of my other titles, but I got a chance to meet a pretty cool actor (John Schneider - AKA "Bo Duke") who and found out that he is a super friendly and wonderfully nice guy. He had been checking out the various artist tables and was asking me about my books, wondering which one he should buy. I made sure that he walked away with a signed copy of Haunted Hamilton (he'd never been to the city before, after all, and I figured he should have an interesting souvenir of the city), and I insisted giving him the copy -- after all, he had entertained me for many years; it was the least I could do.

So, whereas 2014 saw three books released, and 2015 didn't see any new releases of mine, it was a year of productivity, finding new promotional opportunities and getting some works in play for this year.

My 2015 In Reading

Wow. So I only posted 3 articles to my blog in 2015. And I didn't even do the annual summation of the books I had read the year before either.

Hoping to kick-start this year into at least 12 posts -- let's see if I can do at least 1 post every month, shall we?
 

HIGH LEVEL SUMMARY OF MY PAST YEAR IN BOOKS

Here's a bit from my year in books as summarized by Goodreads.

• I read 41 books in 2015 (not counting the ones I had to read for work, ie, as an editor).
• The shortest book I read was 45 pages (Kevin J. Anderson's Million Dollar Productivity)
• The longest book I read was 495 pages (Stephen King's The Bazaar of Bad Dreams)
• The most popular book I read was The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins 
• (I'm most surprised that Harper Lee's Go Set A Watchman wasn't the most popular one)
•  I enjoyed at least three (perhaps four depending on how you classify them) romance novels in the past year. Two Marie Force novels, one straight out romance (Maid for Love), another romantic suspense (Fatal Affair), one Liliana Hart romantic comedy/suspense (Whiskey Rebellion) and Graeme Simsion's The Rosie Project
• I only read 3 non-fiction books in the past year. Odd, I normally like to read more. In fact, I'm sure I read more - at least one or two other non-fiction books for writers. Perhaps I missed recording a few. Will have to go back and double check that.

I won't break the list down the way I have in years past -- simply, I'll list the books that I most enjoyed having read in the past year, linking to each one.  In no particular order, here at the books I loved the most from my 2015 reading:

Poles Apart - Terry Fallis

The Damned - Andrew Pyper

12 - Sean Platt & David Wright

Clockwork Lives - Kevin J. Anderson

Last Call - Sean Costello

The Martian - Andy Weir

The Crossing - Michael Connelly

The Rosie Project - Graeme Simsion

Fatal Affair - Marie Force

The Girl on the Train - Paula Hawkins

Fourteen Years Ago

Fourteen years ago a dramatic and terrible series of events occurred, 2996 people lost their lives, and the world was forever changed.

Project 2,996 was initiated by blogger D. Challenger Roe as a way to bring bloggers from around the world together to remember and pay tribute to the victims of Sept 11, 2001.

The point of the project is to CELEBRATE and REMEMBER the lives of those who were lost rather than focusing on the tragedy of that day.

This past summer my partner and I visited the 9/11 memorial in New York City and I was overcome with an incredibly powerful emotion. I walked around the beautiful structures, touching the names of so many strangers, thinking about all of the lives that were cut short, about the elements that each of those people used to bring to the world and to the lives of those they knew and loved.

We met a few people who were there to find the names of their known loved ones, and at times felt like odd spectators at the scene of a horrible highway accident -- curious and concerned even though we had no direct ties to the people whose lives were lost.

And then I found myself looking to see if I could find the names of those whose lives, as part of Project 2,996, I researched, in order to remember them. But I realized finding the engraved names didn't really mean anything -- instead, talking about them, which I did, helped honour their memory. As will, I hope, re-sharing their stories again this year.

 Raymond Meisenheimer

 

Remembering Raymond Meisenheimer  (Blog post from 2006)

Deora Francis Bodley

 

  Remembering The Lives of Two Heros (Blog post from 2007)

David Reed Gamboa Bradhorst

  Project 2996 - Sept 11, 2008 (Blog post from 2008)

 

Though I never knew them, I do often feel like they are long long friends, and so today I have been again thinking and reflecting on their lives.

Every year, on this anniversary -- and sometimes on the days in between -- I re-read the original posts, I think about the lives they lived before the tragedy and I send a silent thought that they are not forgotten.

A Dozen Years, A Lifetime of Memories

Twelve years ago today I lost my father.

For the longest time, losing my father had been my greatest fear. The first full length novel I wrote (still unpublished) was an attempt to come to terms with facing that fear. And a relatively recent novel that I wrote explored my desire to explore "what if he hadn't died." I doubt I'll ever stop including this element in some way in my writing.

Yesterday, when I was talking with my son about the grandfather that he never had the chance to meet, he asked about the surgery and if I ever wished I could find a time machine so I could go back and change what happened on that day. One of the things I love most about hanging out with my ten year old is that our minds are so alike; we can get into a grove and the decades of age difference between us dissolve. 

It's always an interesting premise, wanting to go back and change things that didn't go right.

But there are a few things that went right that fateful morning. Such as giving my father a hug and a kiss and telling him that I loved him before he headed off into surgery.

Dad and I in Levack, sharing a beer and some laughs back in the 90's

Taking the time to tell those that you love, those who are important to you, is always the right thing to do; even when it's awkward. But the great thing about love is that you can give and share love without ever once feeling depleted of it. It's an amazing internal natural resource.

Tonight, when I'm sitting back and having a beer, I'll be toasting the memory of my father; I'll be toasting all the fun times that we shared, all those moments together, and the life that he lived; celebrating a man I continue to try to emulate. But I'll also be celebrating the incredible gift that I have in being a father to such a truly wonderful son as I continue to marvel at all he is and continues to grow to become.

Alexander and a game of chess we played last night (while philosophizing) at The Winking Judge

Tonight, I'll be toasting to memories, and to futures; and reflecting on just how blessed I am that I get to live between the two extraordinary lives of my father and my son. The influence of both of them make me into a better person.

Memories of Uncle Peter

Last night, I had a few beers at my favourite local watering hole and toasted the memory of Uncle Peter. Peter Dusick passed away a couple of nights ago.

I called him "Uncle Peter" but technically he was my cousin. He, will, of course, always be "Uncle Peter" to me.

And, as I sat at the bar at The Winking Judge, chatting and joking with a few of the staff and regulars, I thought that perhaps The Judge was, to me, what The Blue Bird in Levack was to Uncle Pete. And, as Levack legend has it, Peter was to The Blue Bird what Norm was to Cheers. When he wasn't at work or fishing or working in his garage, you could find him at The Blue Bird.  Like Norm Peterson, he was there every day - sometimes, you'd call there before calling his house on a day that you knew he wasn't either at work or out at the camp or hunting or fishing.

I remember, trying to sneak in to The Blue Bird and have a beer before I was of the proper age, hiding behind my friends and a menu when Uncle Peter came in so that he didn't catch me. (Stupid me, I should have known he'd walk in - it was a day that ended in "y" after all) Although, if he had spotted me there, something tells me the teddy bear likely would not have ratted me out to my Dad. He likely would have given me a warning, shooed me out and said if he caught me there again, he'd go to my Dad and there'd be hell to pay.

I call Uncle Peter a Teddy Bear, because, like most of the Dusick men, he was a large and powerful man with a deep voice and the gruff look of someone who could snap you in two. But, in the Dusick-man manner, he was a also a big softy with a heart of gold and a smile as big and deep as his love for his family.

I recall, fondly, almost falling out of my chair laughing when he shared the amusing (and slightly disturbing) tale of how, when he was young, his brother chopped half of his one finger off. He shared the tale the way he told most stories, with a giant grin on his face and an infectious laugh. Even as he described standing there with the finger hanging by nothing but the flap of skin, there was no anger or bitterness towards his brother for the "incident" -- it was just one of those stupid things that a couple of brothers did, yet more mischief that they engaged in as part of growing up.

Peter loved being with friends and family, and the giant grin on his face and the laughs he shared over the years were evidence of that. He was generous to a fault; there aren't many people who would actually give you the shirt off their back, but Peter was certainly one of them.

When my Dad died, I remember the quiet and solemn morning that my Mom and I went to scatter his ashes at Windy Lake. Peter had been staying out at the camp on Windy Lake and met us in his boat to take us out to where he knew was one of my Dad's favourite spots to catch fish. It was a sad morning, difficult for all of us (I was so choked up that I couldn't even read the words I had carefully crafted to speak when releasing the ashes), and I recall watching the ashes settle into the water, the three of us barely able to see it for the silent tears filling our eyes as we each reflected on memories of my Dad. Peter was there and was a comforting presence to us, and I'm forever grateful for that.

When I was young, I spent a lot of time at Uncle Peter's house, goofing around and getting into trouble with my cousins (although nobody used an axe to take off any else's finger - it was a different kind of fun trouble). There are too many funny stories to mention. But I recall, when hanging out in the garage with our Dads, looking at just how many beers the two or three men working in the garage (likely on a snow machine or some other small engine item) could put away in an afternoon without seeming to be affected by them at all.

Uncle Peter loved to cook, loved to prepare food and loved to feed people. I was not a big eater when I was young; quite picky, in fact. My Mom still reminds me about how I raved about the amazing hot dogs Uncle Peter made one time when I was having lunch there. I'd never been a fan of hot dogs, and rarely could eat a single helping on my plate; but that day I'd had 3 or 4 hot dogs and raved about how, when the buns ran out how Uncle Pete did the coolest thing. He wrapped a single slice of bread around the wiener - to me, it was a gourmet solution that I raved about for years. I've even used that method myself, and every time I do, I think about Uncle Peter.

I saw Uncle Peter and Aunt Linda at the Sudbury hospital in November when my Mom was staying there after her operation. I was so pleased to see them (having not really seen them in a long time), and I still marvel at just how concerned, generous and thoughtful Peter was to my Mom even though he was there for a variety of health concerns that had been plaguing him for a while. But he was like that; regardless of the situation, of the hardship or personal concern, he had a smile, a story and a laugh for everyone. Generous, thoughtful, a big teddy bear of a man.

Left to Right: Uncle Leslie, Bob Armstrong, Jerry Mallow, Uncle Peter and my Dad. Four of these men are likely now sharing fun hunting stories across from one another at some watering hole in the sky . . .

I'll likely have another toast, raise another glass of beer to Peter as he sits there, at some after-life bar table with so many other amazing men from our family, sharing stories, laughs and friendship.

Silly Christmas Lyric Meme: Twas The Night Before Christmas

Years ago I started a silly Christmas lyric meme where I take a song we hear countless times during the holiday season and discuss something that confuses me about it or is worth exploring if merely for the humour . . . (feel free to play along and share your own silly thoughts about Christmas lyrics on your own blog)

I'm going to slightly break with tradition this time around and go with a poem rather than a song. But Clement C. Moore's "Twas the Night Before Christmas" (AKA "A Visit from St. Nicholas"). Although this poem HAS been set to music many times over the years.



The Rules: Pick a Christmas lyric that inspires silly thought and discuss it. Then either tag people or simply invite your readers to chime in with their own silliness.

Feel free to use the "Cousin Eddie" image by copying the following code and replacing the '(' and ')' with '<' and '>' :

(a href="http://markleslie.blogspot.com/2006/12/mark-leslies-silly-christmas-lyric.html")(img src="http://static.flickr.com/136/321235351_90abf16624_m.jpg" alt="Mark Leslie's Silly Christmas Lyric meme" /)


The Song: Twas the Night Before Christmas, attributed to Clement C. Moore.

Lyrics in Question: "When what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer with a little old driver..." and others, to be mentioned.

The Comment: I propose that the popular interpretation of this poem is missing out on a simple fact. Santa isn't a human-sized man at all, but, in fact, a tiny elf.

That could certainly explain how he can slip down the chimney without issue.

Let's look at the line. One assumes that the tiny sleigh and reideer are because of the distance Sanata appears up in the sky. But nowhere does Moore mention that Santa is really high or far away. He simply calls the sleigh miniature, and the reindeer tiny and the driver "little" and "old."

Later, the narrator describes hearing on the roof the "prancing and pawing of each little hoof."

And, when Santa arrives, he is described with a droll little mouth and a little round belly. Moore even comes right out and says: "He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf."

Then, he describes how Santa stands laying his finger on the side of his nose and then rising up the chimney. There is no description of crouching or trying to jam his human sized body into the fireplace. It's a quick and easy movement; easy, because he's elf-sized and not human-sized.


I still love this poem and have enjoyed reading it to my son every year. And I'm not at all put off by the fact that Santa is a tiny little elf rather than a human sized coke-drinking overweight man. Santa is still Santa, after all.


[To read my previous Silly Christmas Lyric commentary, check out 2012 (Santa Claus is Coming to Town) 2011 (Frosty the Snowman), 2010 (Here Comes Santa Claus) 2009 (I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus), 2008 (Silent Night), 2007 (Silver Bells) and the original 2006 (The Christmas Song)]

Post NaNo Chat

So I made it through another NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), hitting the 50,000 word mark but not quite finishing off the novel I was working on. Ideally, I'll have some time between now and the end of the year to wrap up that first draft and then let it sit for a few months before attacking the second draft.

But, for the Kobo Writing Life Podcast, I recorded a chat that I had with some fellow Kobo staff members: Shayna, Camille and Bessie -- we shared our personal experiences with NaNoWriMo.

Video snapshot from the KWL Podcast NaNoWriMo Chat

You can download the MP3 here, listen online at the Kobo Writing Life Blog, or even subscribe to the RSS feed.

It was a fun chat -- always interesting to hear how different writers approach the same task.

Playing The Lemons You're Dealt

I was recently up at my Mom's house in Levack. I've been spending a lot of time there lately as I help her sort through some health issues.

Being back in my childhood room leaves plenty of space for introspection. This has been a particularly challenging year with twists and plot turns that I just didn't see coming. So one can imagine how that might lend itself towards engaging in self-reflection and looking back at my life. And, being in the home I grew up in, of course, comes with all kinds of physical props that can stir so many different memories.

But the other day I was fascinated with a particular piece of "art" that I had created when I was in Grade 12.

It was a piece of art I called Second Excalibur.

2nd Excalibur - check out the "signature" of "ML" I used

I chose that name because I was imagining a post-apocalyptic world in which all of our modern technology and weapons are gone and humankind is left with the types of tools and weapons from our past. In the midst of the turmoil and chaos, a new leader who will bring peace and order to the madness will arise, identified (in an Excalibur/Sword in the Stone style manner) by the person who is able to pull this sword from the "stone."

The stone, in this case, is a combination of rubble and a brick wall, representing a world that is partially destroyed, likely by war.

And when I thought back to how I ended up deciding to create this piece of art, I was reminded of the age-old adage of playing with the cards that you are dealt or taking the lemons that life hands you and making lemonade.

Basically, taking an unexpected situation and, not only making the best of it, but making something good of it.

The particular art project, you see, was the result of a mistake, a screw-up I made. We had been mixing the powder and water that would turn into the "clay" for creating a sculpture. I ended up leaving the stir stick in the mixture, left it out and forgot about it. By the time I discovered my error, it was too late and a terrible mess. I had a cup with a rock hard blob with a wooden stick sticking out of it.

My art project was ruined.

Or perhaps not.

As I sat looking at the mess I had made, I thought about what I might still be able to make with it. So I peeled the cup away from the globby rock-solid mess. As I did so, I was fascinated how one side of it was so perfectly smooth while the other was "wild" and jagged and more natural.

So I started to etch a pattern in the smooth side to make it look like a brick wall. I wondered if I could play on the thought of a half crumbled wall. But then I considered the sorry wooden stir stick that I just couldn't pull out. Not being able to pull it out made me think of the sword in the stone. Then I got the idea to carve the wood into a sword and make it part of the sculpture.

And from that, Second Excalibur was born. A piece of art with a bit of a societal back-story to it.

Second Excalibur

It's not a great piece of art, but I think it's a creative one, and evidence that, even when things go wrong, there might be a way make it work, to just go with it and see where that takes you. You might be pleasantly surprised.

Sometimes, when writing you might "write yourself into a corner" and either feel stuck or perhaps end up writing a scene or circumstance (in order to get you out of that corner) that takes you in a completely different direction you might never have thought of in all your planning. And what you end up creating might even be better than if you hadn't made the original errors in the first place.

Life can be like that too.

An unexpected twist or plot-turn might, at first, seem to be a negative thing. But are there things that can be gained as you head down that new path? Do those twists take you somewhere new where you can discover things you might not have been able to see before? 

You, of course, need to have your eyes open and look for those opportunities; inspiration can come from what might otherwise be considered a bad turn.

Having supposedly failed 1000 times at creating the light bulb, Thomas Edison was quoted as saying "I didn’t fail 1,000 times. The light bulb was an invention with 1,000 steps." And Fred Astaire, whose career spanned 76 years allegedly kept the following memo, from his very first screen test:  "Can't act. Slightly bald. Also dances."

Edison and Astaire seemed to have both done pretty good for themselves.


It's partially perspective; partially persistence; partially patience.

Lemonade from lemons. Playing the cards you're dealt.

When life deals you lemons, make playful art. That's my advice. If you're willing to take advice from a man who has been mixing and messing up metaphors on his blog since 2005, that is.

Ode On A Traveler Mug

So yesterday, in my rush to get my son to school and get onto my Hamilton to Toronto commute, I left my traveler coffee mug on the kitchen counter. I didn't notice it until I was already on the road, and completely forgot about it until the end of a long day where it greeted me when I arrived.

Not once did it question why I had created it and left it there alone.
Not once was it angry at my human-ness.

My coffee mug, like a devoted canine companion, was there waiting for me with imagined puppy-dog eyes to look up at me as I finally returned from a day started without it.

And for that reason, I write this poem.

ODE ON A TRAVELER MUG

You noble, elegant and quiet vessel
Of infinite wakefulness
In those silent morning hours

You beautiful purveyor of AM bliss
Of inspiration, of energy
And of ritualized addiction

You friend of humanity
In your comforting, warming ways
You carry forth the essential 'lifeblood'
And allow it to travel, to move through space and time
Ever warm, ever present, ever within reach

Earlier that morning I brewed a special blend of black crushed beans
And poured it inside you with all the greatest intent
Of bringing you, and the treasure you carried inside you
With me on that day's quest into servitude

But, rushing, oblivious
Perhaps because of the fact I hadn't yet savoured
Even a single ounce of the fruit that you bore

I departed on my journey alone
I departed on my journey without you
And had all but forgot the grand designs
I held in my heart and mind for you

Finally, twelve hours hence
I returned home
Only to be greeted by your presence

Standing, patiently, lovingly, like a stoic sentinel
Like a beloved, cherished and faithful canine companion
Greeting me from where I left you alone and quietly waiting for me
On my morning breakfast counter

The Eleventh Hour

So I made it through another NaNoWriMo.

As predicated, I fell behind mid month. I hit a slump that I couldn't seem to pull myself out of.

But I managed to pull it off mostly in the 11th hour. I made it to 50,000 words but know that I have another 2000 odd words to write to finish the short novel.

I'm temporarily out of words. I'll let the images speak for me.

Started strong, faltered, remained flat, then starting pulling up my socks

And...

 

NaNo OhOh!

This morning, I'm about to continue working on the first draft of a novel that I've decided to write during NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month)  And by novel, I mean a really short novel. Something in the range of about 50,000 words.

It's called Coversion (potentially Covert Operations, but I like the title parallel option) to the much-requested sequel to Evasion, which I wrote last November.  Evasion has had almost 130,000 reads on Wattpad, and I've had a lot of people ask for the next one . . . so why not just roll with it.

I started out the month a few hundred words ahead on the 1st and the 2nd, but I have started to lapse.

As of this morning (I haven't started writing today), my average daily word count is 1284 (with a goal of 1667), meaning I wouldn't be done the book until December 9th. Not bad, but if I let it keep slipping, I'm in trouble.

Here are my stats. (Note that if you click this link after 9:30 AM EST on Nov 8th you might see different numbers than appear below)

I had started off okay, but I'm slipping. Time to double-down (which is what November 8th is at NaNoWriMo - okay, they call it Double-Up Donation Day because it's about doubling your donation if you plan on donating on the same day many writers try to double-down their daily writing because, like me, they likely worked long hours during the week and thus fell behind in their word count)



But I'm hopeful, because here's how Evasion looked throughout the month last year - LOTS of falling behind with a final giant last minute production styled day where I ended up okay just in the nick of time.

Evasion stats from 2013

I came close a few times, but didn't ever hit the point I was supposed to be at any point during the month. I played a terrible game of "try to catch up" all month. But I managed to pull it off at the last minute. Not bad.

Evasion Wattpad Reading Stats

And Evasion was a fun short novel to write. So far, Coversion is intriguing for me to write, because I'm having to explore a lot of questions and unanswered mysteries that I set up in the first book but, even though I resolved the basic plot of that novel, I still have some 'splainin' to do.

Apart from being able to read the entire novel for free at Wattpad, Evasion is available in eBook via many platforms including Kobo and Kindle and is also available in print.