Tag: short-story

Who Would You Like to See in the Sequel?

My next project is the sequel to “The Cottages at the Cape – Margie’s Summer Getaway” and Tanya is going to be a central character, as is, of course, her sidekick Janie MacDonald, paralegal extraordinaire.

Who, of the characters that populated the original novel, would you like to see pop into Tanya’s world and flesh it out some? Would you like one or both of Tanya and Janie to have a love interest? (knowing as you do, that Tanya is a love ’em and leave ’em kind of lady)

There will be new characters, of course – it would be boring to recycle all the same ones. Boring to read and boring to write.

Meet Mrs. Irma Keist, who pops into Tanya and Janie’s new practice in Dartmouth, NS, with a surprising story to tell:

She had announced herself when she walked in: “Mrs. Irma Keist here, I’m a battered wife.”

Then she’d sat in the broadest of the reception-area chairs, being broad herself, and flipped through the pages of a vintage Good Housekeeping magazine, saying not a word.

“Mrs. Keist, can I get you a cup or tea or coffee? Can I take your coat and hang it up?” Janie tried.

“No, and no.” was the reply.

Janie sat in the next closest chair with her phone in hand, record function enabled.

“How about we start by taking your personal info so I can get you set up in a file on our system?”

“No”, was Irma’s reply, “If I gotta pay to talk to you people, I’ll talk to the lawyer, thank you.”

Just for fun, here’s the prompt I wrote to generate this image with AI (Microsoft Designer):

a tall wide middle aged woman in a long cloth coat and red tuque with steel grey curls sticking out of the tuque sits in a reception chair in an office reception area while a petite short, dark-haired young professional woman sits in a chair beside her, leaning towards her and holding a cell phone. Outside a broad window there is a residential street with lawns and flowers in a colorful, pixel art style.

Notice that there is a ‘Reception’ sign on the upper right hand side of the image that seems to just float there. One of the oddities of AI images – things that appear and seem detached. My fav genius, Megan, fixes that shit. I just sit and marvel at it.

Images are fun to create, but the downside is that now, Janie MacDonald and Irma Keist are carved in stone and are kind of cartoonish. That may not be a look I want for my creatures. But it’s early in the game, alors. Nous verrons. Allons-y!

Behind the Blue Door

The blue door above is the outside entrance to my living quarters, a cozy one-bedroom in my sister and her husband’s home in St. Catharines, Ontario. Within this door is everything I need: comfort and ease and quiet to pursue my interests, whatever they might be at any particular moment. A perfect lair for a retiree and her cat. Meet Roy.

Beth and J.C. are my great friends: Beth and I take turns making and serving pretty darn good dinners; we enjoy weekend games nights with our friend Karl and our summer evenings are full of Blue Jays – not the avian kind.

Beth and J.C. know, however, that there is something odd about the critters in their basement. Sometimes it’s not the least bit quiet down here, because Roy is the loudest and most opinionated feline you’ve ever seen. I’ve had many, many cats and he is the most vocal of them all, by a country mile. (Is a country mile longer than a city mile, do you think? And if so, how?)

He doesn’t look like an insecure cat, does he? Just check out that impertinent stare. But if I am not anywhere that he can hop on my lap when he has a mind to, he makes a great deal of noise – his voice, and powerful it is, sounds like that of a heavy-smoking, whisky drinking karaoke acapella metal music singer. I’m going to record that voice and post it here one of these days. Just so you can experience Roy in all his wild glory.

When it’s quiet down here, though, it’s very, very quiet. Sometimes Beth fears she’ll find me comatose with the TV remote in my hand and the screen gone to bright silent blue. We are that age, you know. But, so far, it means I’m writing and Roy’s hanging around, just chilling. As long as I remember to feed him, he’s good for hours at a time, lounging beside me where ever I’m perched – couch, bed, armchair. I have a desk but I’d rather slouch somewhere soft and warm.

Sometimes, though, he’s had enough. He installs himself beside me and works his pointy little head under my arm, worms his face up to mine to lick my nose. Then he twists his rather long legs around my belly and pats the keyboard with one or two paws – enough to wreak havoc on whatever I’ve just put up on screen. Roy’s one of my blocks. I dedicate this blog to him, and all the other things that trip us writers up mid-sentence.

Hence the name writersblocks.blog. Here’s to you, Roy.