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| Mary Lou Dickinson at the microphone reading from her new novel |
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| The Audience. |
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| Mary Lou Dickinson & Loren Edizel. Q&A |
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| Two Inanna Authors. Dickinson and Edizel. Q&A |
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| Signing |
Sigma Mine, Bourlamaque, Quebec. 1940s or 1950s.
This is the mine where my father worked from 1935 to 1962. It no longer exists in this configuration. It all disappeared when the mine became an open pit operation many years later. Even the highway from Val d'Or to Montreal was moved. Gold motivates decisions, not town planning! That head frame was designed by my father as was the hoist. Memories!
I have posted this because the most popular post on my blog has been one on Sigma. Perhaps those people will find a photo of the actual buildings on surface in the early days of interest!
Tagged on FB by prolific, exciting author Lisa Nikolits to write about my writing process:
I've been tagged by the exciting and prolific author Lisa
Nikolits to write about my writing process:
• What am I working on?
• What am I working on?
At the moment, I am editing my third book with the wonderful editor of Inanna Publications, Luciana Ricciutelli. A novel, Would I Lie To You?, it will be launched on October 9th in Toronto. I have also recently completed a mystery novel. When I have time in the midst of editing, sending out invites for the launch, figuring out how to use my website and the Mailchimp program, I am working on a memoir called ‘Restless.’
When I am asked how long it took to write the three books
that will have been published by October, I wince. All were underway before I
retired in 2002, when my goal in my retirement was to see that I actually
finally got my books published. (Collection of short stories, One Day It Happens 2007; Novel, Ile d’Or 2010).
I also occasionally work on another collection of short
stories.
• How does my work differ from others of its genre?
I do not write one specific genre, although I began with short story and novel writing. Mysteries were not in my future, nor was a memoir. But when given an idea for a mystery, I set out to learn how to do that by reading endless mysteries recommended by avid aficionados of the form and review recommendations. The memoir began to unfold when at Banff many years ago I found a manuscript written by a maternal ancestor, who had discovered the Banff Springs, about discoveries in the west during the construction of the CPR railroad. Again I have read endless other memoirs. How does my work differ from others in these genres? I find it difficult to say, but I suspect that my focus to some extent on social justice and that I am a feminist infuse my work. Not that this is not also true of the work of others, just that it always underlies my concerns. I am told that my voice is straightforward and gentle, authentic and honest. I would like to believe that.
• How does my work differ from others of its genre?
I do not write one specific genre, although I began with short story and novel writing. Mysteries were not in my future, nor was a memoir. But when given an idea for a mystery, I set out to learn how to do that by reading endless mysteries recommended by avid aficionados of the form and review recommendations. The memoir began to unfold when at Banff many years ago I found a manuscript written by a maternal ancestor, who had discovered the Banff Springs, about discoveries in the west during the construction of the CPR railroad. Again I have read endless other memoirs. How does my work differ from others in these genres? I find it difficult to say, but I suspect that my focus to some extent on social justice and that I am a feminist infuse my work. Not that this is not also true of the work of others, just that it always underlies my concerns. I am told that my voice is straightforward and gentle, authentic and honest. I would like to believe that.
Why do I write what I do?
What choice does a writer or an artist have? Some theme or character or situation takes up residence in my psyche and demands that I deal with it. Once I have a story or book finished, I have new members in my family in the form of characters who have become so familiar that they are friends for the duration. And if I disagree with them, they exhort me with the fact that I have created them so I had better pay attention.
What choice does a writer or an artist have? Some theme or character or situation takes up residence in my psyche and demands that I deal with it. Once I have a story or book finished, I have new members in my family in the form of characters who have become so familiar that they are friends for the duration. And if I disagree with them, they exhort me with the fact that I have created them so I had better pay attention.
I write because it is apparently a call, or so a nun on a
bus traveling along the St. Lawrence River many years ago told me. A gentle voice,
hopefully, that conveys stories, but also appears to listen and validate the experience
of readers. I used to think I wrote to comfort the disturbed and to disturb the
comfortable, but I don’t think that any more. I just write what I write because
the words are what come to me and the circumstances are those that demand to be
told. I used also to think that writing is a crazy way to stay sane and that
may be what it is for me… my handle on sanity. Creativity as the saving grace
in a troubled world. Or something! And hopefully the writing also conveys some
level of healing to others.
I also write to understand the world, to figure out what I
am thinking, to create a record, to have fun. . It is satisfying to write a
good sentence. I hope to be remembered for at least one memorable sentence!
• How does my writing process work?
• How does my writing process work?
I have been writing since I was 7 and my first book was
published when I was 70. This might suggest a very slow process! What can I say!
It took a long time and the explanation would be a book in itself. Maybe the
memoir I am working on will explain it for me.
Rarely am I facing the blank page (screen) any more, but
rather starting with material that needs revision. If you consider that
revision might be as much as 90 % of the writers’ work, this seems realistic
rather than pathetic. If something simply won’t work, I switch to something
else. This is a far cry from the early days when each piece was new and the
blank page was an unending terror. Persistence has it’s benefits, I guess,
because I often have more material now than I can deal with.
Sometimes the material I am working on is new. Then I am apt
to become a dinosaur and find myself writing in longhand in the middle of the
night. Once I have entered this into Word, I work with the computer. I recall
the days when I had to retype hundreds of pages when I shifted material around.
I remember the days of white out. And am eternally grateful for my computer.
I have, for the last ten years, worked with a writing group (Moosemeat) and the critique that has led to has been very beneficial. I often wonder why I waited so long to see the value of such an environment. In the last year, I started working with another, smaller, group as well. I am submitting my memoir to this group, chapter by chapter. The other writers have books published and as well as being good writers who submit segments of their work, they offer very helpful critique.
I have, for the last ten years, worked with a writing group (Moosemeat) and the critique that has led to has been very beneficial. I often wonder why I waited so long to see the value of such an environment. In the last year, I started working with another, smaller, group as well. I am submitting my memoir to this group, chapter by chapter. The other writers have books published and as well as being good writers who submit segments of their work, they offer very helpful critique.
I don’t have a consistent schedule for work. I have worked
in various ways at different times, depending on the circumstances. When my
children were in their teens and I took a sabbatical from a job to write, I
wrote five days a week during their hours at school. When they left home and I
went back to the employment world, I wrote on Mondays (and weekends). Now that
I am retired from all of that, I try to enjoy being retired (whatever that is)
as well as put in a modest amount of writing a day (it becomes cumulative after
a while) and don’t worry about how much that is unless I find that I am
procrastinating rather than enjoying the rest of my life.
At the Aquarium. Toronto. August, 2014
Visited the new Aquarium today with my grandson. The prices were for Adults, Youth (up to 13) Seniors, Children. How to figure out what to ask for was a dilemma. My grandson figures he is a middle aged teenager. Certainly not an adult. So when I got to the ticket seller I asked for one senior ticket and one ticket for a grandson. The young woman looked us over and saved us $10 by selling us a senior ticket and a youth ticket. And as m grandson said, "No one told any lies." Anyway, it is a splendid aquarium with so much to enjoy and learn. Both of us enjoyed it!
A New Novel... Coming Soon to a bookstore or library near you!!
You are invited to the launch of my new novel, Would I Lie To You? at The Supermarket, 268 Augusta Avenue in Kensington Market, Toronto on Thursday, Oct. 9th at 6 p.m. Mark the date on your calendar.
If you don't live in Toronto, but know people would like to have me read in your town/city, that can be arranged. There is also Skype, of course!
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Would I Lie to You? is a novel about secrets, secrets that even loving couples have been known to keep from each other. After ten years of marriage, Sue and Jerry each harbours a significant secret. In this novel, the son our protagonist didn’t know her husband had and the daughter she had when she was sixteen and never saw.
Would I Lie to You? is a novel about secrets, secrets that even loving couples have been known to keep from each other. After ten years of marriage, Sue and Jerry each harbours a significant secret. In this novel, the son our protagonist didn’t know her husband had and the daughter she had when she was sixteen and never saw.
When Jerry becomes ill and it’s apparent he’s
dying, Sue visits a psychic, Hans, who tells her there is someone like a son in
her life... and...
The novel confronts what happened when pregnancies
were kept secret many years ago, what happens when mother and birth child look
for and either find, or do not find, each other. It also explores the reality
of family secrets, huge issues that are kept quiet under the veneer of polite
society and that affect the individuals and families involved for lifetimes,
even generations. The novel also raises the question of who is family and how
do we create one.
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Whether you can make it out to the launch or not, I invite you to read my new book! You are also invited to comment in the comments section of this site. Or you can email me at marylou.dickinson@gmail.com or add a
comment to my website at www.maryloudickinson.com
Please pass the word along. Word of mouth is a powerful way to garner attention for a book!
My upcoming novel.
Looking for your next good read?
My new novel will be published in October, 2014
The Writer's Journey. Follow Your Dreams
When people follow their dreams, their passion often leads ultimately to the fulfillment of those dreams. Sometimes it takes a long time. At others, the dreams may change and open up other avenues. I always wanted to be a writer and while it took almost a lifetime to get to the published book stage, I do not regret the journey. And here I am to tell you that you never know where you will find the encouragement to continue.
There were many spots on my journey when something happened that suggested it was possible that I would one day publish a book. Then more books. An early such moment was when I opened an envelope to discover that a recommendation had been made on my behalf, unknown to me, by James Polk, then an editor at the House of Anansi Press, for an Ontario Arts Council grant. I did not know who Polk was except that he had turned down my manuscript. Yet only a month or so later, he was recommending me for a grant.
Another significant event was when a story that was accepted by the University of Windsor Review was accepted for broadcast on the CBC's Anthology. And then not long after came a small Canada Council grant. I corresponded in those days with the Editor, not knowing until many years later who the Fiction Editor, who had actually accepted my work, was (Keep reading!).
When I met Adele Wiseman during her stint as writer in residence at the University of Toronto, I met not only a mentor but a friend who remained both until she died many years later. Bill Kilbourn was another mentor and friend. Sometimes my work wasn't entirely ready to submit and yet these two wonderful writers could see something in it.
And then there was the Humber School for Writers. After years of deciding I would not take this program because it was where I live, Toronto, so wouldn't provide an opportunity to go somewhere else (as I had done by going to the Banff Centre of the Arts in 1992 and to a summer writing program at the University of New Brunswick in 1997), finally I read their course information.. My express purpose was to move on in my career as a writer. So I applied and was accepted, too nervous to ask for Alistair MacLeod as mentor, thinking that was presumptuous on my part. Lo and behold, Humber decided his small group was the right one for me.
It was while at Humber that I learned that, ten years apart, MacLeod had accepted two of my short stories that were subsequently published in The University of Windsor Review. Somehow this drew the strands of my writing life together and gave it all some coherence. And the courage to move on. Not long after, my short story collection was accepted by Inanna. Later, my first novel in 2010. And now in 2014, I look forward to the publication of my second novel in the fall!
The dreams continue as one after another my books emerge.A long, arduous, but satisfying, journey.
There were many spots on my journey when something happened that suggested it was possible that I would one day publish a book. Then more books. An early such moment was when I opened an envelope to discover that a recommendation had been made on my behalf, unknown to me, by James Polk, then an editor at the House of Anansi Press, for an Ontario Arts Council grant. I did not know who Polk was except that he had turned down my manuscript. Yet only a month or so later, he was recommending me for a grant.
Another significant event was when a story that was accepted by the University of Windsor Review was accepted for broadcast on the CBC's Anthology. And then not long after came a small Canada Council grant. I corresponded in those days with the Editor, not knowing until many years later who the Fiction Editor, who had actually accepted my work, was (Keep reading!).
When I met Adele Wiseman during her stint as writer in residence at the University of Toronto, I met not only a mentor but a friend who remained both until she died many years later. Bill Kilbourn was another mentor and friend. Sometimes my work wasn't entirely ready to submit and yet these two wonderful writers could see something in it.
And then there was the Humber School for Writers. After years of deciding I would not take this program because it was where I live, Toronto, so wouldn't provide an opportunity to go somewhere else (as I had done by going to the Banff Centre of the Arts in 1992 and to a summer writing program at the University of New Brunswick in 1997), finally I read their course information.. My express purpose was to move on in my career as a writer. So I applied and was accepted, too nervous to ask for Alistair MacLeod as mentor, thinking that was presumptuous on my part. Lo and behold, Humber decided his small group was the right one for me.
It was while at Humber that I learned that, ten years apart, MacLeod had accepted two of my short stories that were subsequently published in The University of Windsor Review. Somehow this drew the strands of my writing life together and gave it all some coherence. And the courage to move on. Not long after, my short story collection was accepted by Inanna. Later, my first novel in 2010. And now in 2014, I look forward to the publication of my second novel in the fall!
The dreams continue as one after another my books emerge.A long, arduous, but satisfying, journey.
Alistair MacLeod. 1936 - 2014. RIP
Farewell to one of Canada's best loved writers. MacLeod wrote beautifully and he treated people kindly and with good humour. He will be missed. And I, for one, will take out his short stories and his novel and read them again, marvelling at the skill and compassion with which they are written.
Some people leave us far too soon. Although MacLeod was 77, it feels that way, as if the world has lost a gentle soul who made the lives of the rest of us better. Fortunately he leaves behind the books that we can still hold and read, a legacy of value.
Some people leave us far too soon. Although MacLeod was 77, it feels that way, as if the world has lost a gentle soul who made the lives of the rest of us better. Fortunately he leaves behind the books that we can still hold and read, a legacy of value.
Reviews, Brief.
Ron Schafrick's first book, a collection of short stories, The Interpreters, is masterfully written and with many of the stories set in Korea, of interest to those who find other cultures fascinating as well as those who appreciate good literature. Well done characterization as well as revealing dialogue.
Now reading Olivia Laing's The Trip to Echo Spring; On Writers and Drinking. At first, I was curious about the writers she chose...Cheever, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Carver among a couple of others, all writers whose work I admire. I did not know about the drinking history of either Cheever or Carver, but what is more fascinating is how well written this book is. When people want to know what I'm reading, I imagine when they see the title they might think I have a drinking problem!
Life of a Writer. #31. The Art of Revision.
Oh yes, a title to obscure the drudgery of revision. It is art, is it not? Or will produce art. As writers what we know is that it is necessary. Inspiration may be what first drove what we are working on, but once those halcyon days of flashing lights and long hours capturing those images have disappeared into the past, what we are left with is shaping, cutting, adding, redoing. Whatever words fit the 90 percent of the work of creation. It requires persistence, dedication, joy and sorrow. Probably much else as well. Patience. Quiet surroundings usually. An understanding family if one is lucky enough to have one. A supportive spouse/partner, also if one is lucky enough to... These supportive people may help us financially as well as emotionally. Or we may have to do this for ourselves. But one way and another, we find our own way through the morass of figuring out how to find those long hours to put in on writing and revision.
In my case, I have the readers' comments from the publisher about my upcoming novel, Would I Lie To You?, and am working on incorporating the ones I agree with prior to editing further with the actual editor of the small press that will publish my book in the fall. One wonders at times if it never ends and then is grateful that when the time comes, the book that emerges will be a better one!
Cuba. March 2014
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| Street Scene in Old Havana |
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| Old Havana |
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| Old Havana |
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| Old Havana |
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| Old Havana |
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| Cuban flag |
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| Ernest Hemingway's House near Havana |
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| Restaurant on Water. Most magnificent seafood. |
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| Santa Clara |
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| Che Guavera Memorial |
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| The size!!! |
A trip to Cuba that included the interaction with a feminist, activist lawyer and a biologist/environmentalist, lectures from a doctor, a lawyer and an economist. Lots of questions and answers in all contexts. An opportunity to meet people who live in Cuba and for us to benefit from their experience. A visit to an organic farm, to the psycho ballet, to dance demonstrations, to a sculptor and doctor's home. To hear music and tour community and women's centres. To meet the children. To see the happy children in school yards and parks. And on it went. Even enjoying the beach! But primarily learning about the people, their struggles, their courage and creativity. About a system that has health care for everyone and where however poor, a roof over everyone's head. Through all the hardships of the embargo and the collapse of the Berlin wall, later the financial embroglio at the beginning of this century in North America, these people have survived and thrived. When the subject of the U.S. comes up, it is clear they do not want to change anyone else, only to be left alone to continue carrying out with the philosophical insights of their national hero, Jose Marti, which place community at the core of everything. So decisions and policies are made by the community for the community with that care for everyone in mind.
Mavis Gallant. A prized photo. 1992
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| With Mavis Gallant at the Banff Centre for the Arts. 1992. |
Growing up in Bourlamaque, Quebec. An early northern Quebec mining town.
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| With my father on the front steps of our house at 103 Champlain. With my mother in front of the beauty salon on the main street. |
Self Photo.
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Draw a balloon over her head with the words...If it weren't for the neck!... written in it.
Well, what do I expect in the seventh decade? Author photo promises to be a problem/hassle for the next book unless it can appease my vanity. On the other hand, for a quick shot with an IPAD this is not bad.
Life of a Writer. #30. Introducing the Detective.
The first chapter of the mystery, The White Ribbon Man, introduces the detective, Detective Sergeant Jack Cosser. If you have been following this blog at all, you know that there were other attempts at a beginning. Gradually this character has assumed his place. The revision is almost complete now. And here are the first paragraphs of the first chapter of my upcoming mystery novel, The White Ribbon Man.
On a gray Sunday in November when
just a touch of frost in the air heralded winter, Detective Sergeant Jack
Cosser hoped to spend quiet time enjoying the last of what had been an
unusually long fall season. He had considered reading a new mystery or maybe
driving a short distance out of Toronto to some peaceful spot for a stroll. He
could not muster the energy to go and work out at the gym, nor to try to find
someone for a fast game of squash. Maybe his partner on the most recent case,
Simon Reid, would be interested. But he could hardly call an off duty police
officer and expect him to be happy to give up a quiet Sunday morning. Reid
might not know it was to allay Jack’s unease, something that had not diminished in the days and weeks since
he and his wife, Marion, had separated, but he would know it was an unwanted interruption.
Cosser
glanced at the mirror over the sofa and saw a man of medium height with brown
hair with a slight wave in it. He thought his fair reddish skin suggested he
probably had freckles in his youth and a short tree trunk of a neck seemed
almost to sit on top of his shoulders. In spite of everything, he thought he
did not look too terrible. Or not, at least, in a way anyone else would notice
in spite of dark circles under his eyes and a worried frown that he tried to
erase by smiling. A lopsided smile that did not improve his appearance, he
thought.
Not a
tall man, probably not more than five feet nine or ten, it was said he was
nonetheless an imposing figure. His ruddy cheeks suggested he enjoyed his
liquor, but it was also part of having fair skin. Oh, vanity, he thought. But
how would he ever court Marion again if he looked as if he were falling to
pieces? And, of course, he was not. Just take the recent case that had gone
cold for years. An old one for which evidence had surfaced about a year earlier
and when it was assigned to him to follow up, he had been able to find the
person who had perpetrated the crime and this had led to an arrest when the man
had admitted his guilt in the old rape and murder. So there had not been
massive publicity that went with a trial. Just a couple of articles when the
man was arrested and then confessed. He was now finally in prison. Cosser felt
good about that one, satisfied that one more criminal was finally off the
streets.
Although nothing made up for his domestic situation.
He did not like it and he was lonely.
There, he had acknowledged to himself the gnawing feeling that overtook
him once he left his work and tried to relax at home. A trial separation. Then
there was no end to the trial, just this ongoing reality of his existence in a
tiny apartment in an old brick house just a few blocks from the smaller house
where they had lived together. And then the divorce papers that he had wanted
to tear up, but if divorce was what Marion wanted he had thought he ought to go
through with it. After all, what point was there in trying to preserve a
sterile relationship with someone you did not even live with any longer? But
suppose she still loved him? Suppose. Oh, he had to stop that. He had to get
some sleep. He lay down on the floor and started to do push ups. Afterwards he
had a shower. When he finally sat down at the kitchen table, wearing the
bottoms of a striped pair of flannel pyjamas, he thought that some time soon he
would talk to Marion. He would ask her if-
After all, it would not be the first time that a couple married again.
From the window across from him, he could see a small
park in the Annex where Jaime still went to play at times. She was too young to
go on her own, but either he or Marion took her there. He loved the delight on
his daughter’s round, chubby face when he pushed
her on the swings or she slid down a slide. But unfortunately it wasn’t his Sunday to have her with him.
He picked up a book,
lying open on the floor beside him, and started to read where he had left off
the last time. It was a mystery novel. You would think in his line of work he
would read something else and often he did. Matthew Fox’s Original Blessing and some
of the books that had come after it. And heaven knew how he even knew about the
books he picked up, but Invisible Man
by an American called Ellison. Tonight it was a mystery called The Last Detective. He liked the
curmudgeon in charge of the investigation, a British cop who eschewed computer
technology. You could not last long in this business these days without using a
computer, but he liked the way this cop was able to focus differently because
he had come from another era. Not one replete with cell phones and faxes and
all the gimmicks that the last twenty or so years had given to the world and to
police investigations. Not that Jack did not use all of that same gimmickry
himself, it was just that there had to be a place for human ingenuity. And, he
thought, also for the human spirit.
Visiting Maxland. Snoopy and Charlie Brown skating in front of Max" House.
p.s. Max is my grandson.
Life of a Writer. #29. Looking Forward to 2014
Looking backward, 2013 was a good year. Looking forward, 2014 holds great promise. A new grandchild in the spring and the launch of a new book in the fall. My second grandchild and my third book. Travels to include Montreal, of course, as that is where my grandchild will enter the world. Also, Cuba in March with a group from Ryerson's Life program and Newfoundland for the AGM of the Writers Union at the beginning of June.
In the meantime, a mystery aficionado is reading the latest draft of my mystery, The White Ribbon Man. I am hopeful that I will complete it soon and be able to send it to my agent.
2014 began at a New Year's dance at Mad for Tango in downtown Toronto with a congenial group with whom I have taken many lessons and attended many dances. On January first, the year was welcomed at Ruby and Larry's brunch, a long time tradition by now. The food is always exquisite, the guests interesting, the camaraderie overflowing and always a cause the hosts have asked that we support. This year it was Willow, a support organization in Toronto for women going through breast cancer.
And so, with hope and optimism, I greet 2014. Blessed by a family that is growing and friends who enrich and challenge me. I looked over the events of the last year and created some goals for 2014 that include enjoying the upcoming events.
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| 2013 Journeys |
Life of a Writer. #28. News on soon to be launched Website.
The website www.maryloudickinson.com is imminent. Jessica Heald, graphic designer with Digit Digital (www.digitdigital.com/), has been working with me to create a new website. Once complete, it will help to inform about my books, especially the new novel scheduled for publication in Fall, 2014.
I will continue to post photographs on my blog from time to time, reviews of other people's books and even recipes and travel information that I find appealing. The blog will feed into the website, or so far as I know it will.
So progress is being made, although I slow down the process when I can't find the relevant information quickly. Jessica, on the other hand, is a whiz!
I will continue to post photographs on my blog from time to time, reviews of other people's books and even recipes and travel information that I find appealing. The blog will feed into the website, or so far as I know it will.
So progress is being made, although I slow down the process when I can't find the relevant information quickly. Jessica, on the other hand, is a whiz!
My upcoming novel posting on HSW Literary Agency website.
Mary Lou Dickinson
Mary Lou Dickinson grew up in northern Quebec and has lived for many years in Toronto, where she worked as a crisis counsellor. She holds a Bachelor of Arts from McGill University and a Master in Library Science from the University of Toronto. Her fiction has been published in the University of Windsor Review, Descant, Waves, Grain, Northern Journey, Impulse, Writ and broadcast on CBC Radio. Her writing was also included in the anthology, We Who Can Fly: Poems, Essays and Memories in Honour of Adele Wiseman. Mary Lou published a book of short stories, One Day it Happens, in 2007, and her first novel, Ile D’Or, in 2010.
Works on Offer:
Would I Lie to You?
Inanna Publications, Fall 2014
After ten years of marriage, Sue and Jerry would say they know everything about each other. But each harbours a significant secret.
When Jerry becomes ill and it’s apparent he’s dying, Sue visits a psychic, Hans, who tells her there is someone like a son in her life. She dismisses this, but at Jerry’s funeral his son turns up—a son Sue didn’t know existed. At first Sue feels betrayed by Jerry, but gradually she accepts her own complicity. And regrets never telling him, or anyone else, about the baby girl she gave up for adoption when she herself was only sixteen.
Encouraged by Hans and a relative of Jerry’s, Sue starts looking for her daughter and relying more on Hans, who is struggling with troubles of his own…
Manuscript available
World, excluding Canada
New Orleans. November 2013
p.s. as a non meat eater, did not eat 'gator meat!
