Zee or Zed: The Great Canadian Debate

When I was a child, the alphabet was simple. I knew all my letters from A to Z, the latter being Zed. Life was simpler then. We had only one television station, and that was the CBC, so American influence on our language was nil.

It wasn't until later that the letter Zee made it's appearance. How it happened, I'm not sure. Soon some of my friends started saying it. Come on, they said, try it. Just once. But I knew better. If you say it once, it's so much easier to say it the next time. A slippery linguistic slope.

Most English speaking countries refer to the letter as Zed, with the exception of the USA where the letter is Zee. Although the Americans didn't coin this term for the last letter, they can be blamed for starting this crazy fad. In 1828, Noah Webster guaranteed it's predominance by stating in his American Dictionary of the English Language: "Z...it is pronounced zee."

With the growing popularity of American television north of the border, Canadian children started to adopt the pronunciation. American Sesame Street takes much of the blame. Gone were the songs about quarters and caribou, and the letter Zed. In was the singing orange and the slick, stylish letter Zee.

So which is the correct way? Zee or Zed? The debate rages. Even in spelling bees the pronunciation of the letter has become a hot topic. Although some of us still cling to Zed, we must accept that Zee has become a part of our lexicon. Let's just all get along, and admit that is it convenient that the end of the song rhymes.

How do you say it? Zee or Zed?



This brings us to the end of the A to Z Challenge. I hope you enjoyed posting and reading as much as I did. I had fun with every day - from Eh to Zed.

X

X is a sadly underused letter. It looks cool. It sounds cool. It marks the spot. Why don't we use it more often?

Rather than pick one X word to post about, I thought I'd mention a few of my favourite uses for X.

• The number ten. You can use three letters to spell it, or knock it down to two numbers, but why do either of those when one letter X will do the job with style.
• Buried treasure. X tells you where it is. Although, it would be handy if that X were also on the ground, and not just on the map.
• If there was no X, what would mathematicians find the value of?
• Kisses. I mean O's are nice, bet everyone loves an X now and then. And if you signed a note with just O's at the bottom, people would think you were trying to be spooky - Oooooo. Very ghost like.
• Tic-tac-toe. Having a game of B's and O's just doesn't have the same ring.
• Two X's on the eyes - the best way to illustrate that your character has shuffled off this mortal coil.
• Last but not least, x chromosomes. I'm glad I've got two of 'em.



Work in Progress

I don't like to blow my own horn, but I am the queen of WIPs. I know, I know. You're probably thinking "My WIP can beat her little ol' WIP any day of the week and twice on Sunday." That might be true, if I had only one Work in Progress.

As of today I have 27 works in some stage of completion. This is not including the bits of ideas I have jotted down here and there. These are the stories and poems and other writing thingys that I take out and work at on a rotating schedule.

I should just pick one and work on it until it's finished. That's what normal people do, I bet. I should just spread them all out on my desk and say "And-you-are-IT-be-cause-the-king-and-queen-said-so." (Did any of you do that when you were kids, trying to pick who was 'IT'?)

Anyway, I should just pick one and finish it. Some are close to being done. I just need a little more time. I should put everything aside and finish one or two of them. I should do that. I try. But another one always whispers me away, promising lovely sentence structure and flowing dialogue. I should learn not to give in. I should.

What can I say? I'm a work in progress.

Versatile Blogger

John Wiswell of Bathroom Monologues fame, has bestowed upon me the prestigious Versatile Blogger award. In true John fashion, he has added his own little twist. Six question there be, and six answers by six bloggers. And of course, we're talking about John Wiswell here, so these are no ordinary questions.


1. What's the last sentence (from any of your work) that made you feel pride in writing?
I wrote a really great text to my brother-in-law this morning. Other than that, I don't know that I ever really feel pride in my writing. I love writing, I'm passionate about it, and sometimes I come up with some pretty good ideas, but I don't always have the skills to bring those ideas to life in the way they deserve.

More than any one sentence, I do like how some of my stories tie together. That's what pleases me, when it turns out just the way it should.

 

2. What’s the last work of fiction that left you envying the creator? In what way did you envy he/she/it/them?

Tough one. Let's go with the Song of Ice and Fire series because it's what I've been reading most recently. So many things to envy; the world building, the author's ability to create such massive works of fiction, the character development. And it spawned a pretty great TV series. Who wouldn't be envious of that?

 

 

3. In your entire life, what have you most catastrophically failed at cooking or baking?

I cook and bake a lot, and I like to think I'm pretty good at it. Oddly, the one thing I am terrible at making is those ready made cookies, those ones that you just put into the oven. I burn them every time. From scratch cookies? No sweat. Pre-made cookie dough? Hockey puck material when I'm done.

 

 

4. What field of science most frequently inspires you?

Genetics is the most fascinating and inspiring to me. Science has barely scratched the surface there, and as a writer, those endless possibilities are a great source of inspiration. My fascination with genetics may have come from having a very good biology teacher, or from reading a lot of X-Men comics. I'm not sure which. 

 

 

5. What task most recently frightened, grossed you out or otherwise intimidated you, such that you got someone else to do it?

I've got a houseful of kids and animals, so I'm not easily grossed out or intimidated. I am afraid of heights, so anything that requires going up a ladder gets passed on to someone else. No window washing or gutter cleaning for me.

 

 

6. Who is your favorite dead author? Or, if there is no single such person, name six of your beloved dead authors (in no necessary order).

Edgar A. Poe. His writing was imaginative and frightening and beautiful.

 

 

I shall pass this award on to some of the new blogging friends I have met during the A to Z Challenge. The six lucky recipients are:

 

Jaye Robin Brown

Christine Rains

Susan Kane

Madeline Mora-Summonte

Nancy Thompson

Tim Riley

 

Since I don't know what the original rules were for this award, the recipients may pass it along, answer the questions themselves, or simply bask in its warm glowing warming glow.

Up along

Up along is a term used here for anything or anyone that is not here.

Up along can be anywhere from Nova Scotia to British Columbia. It only matters that is is not here.

Translation:

Jim's gone up along for a spell. [Jim has gone somewhere that's not here for a while. Poor feller.]

Susan is from up along. [Susan is from a place that's not here. Poor scrap.]

We always feel sad for people who are gone up along, or are from up along. They aren't here. And that's a terrible, terrible thing. We're always sure they're up along, pining away for home. And if they aren't from here? Sure once they get here, we know they wish they were from anywhere but up along.

Theme (and other things I pretend to do on purpose)

Tell the truth. You've had this happen. You write a story, and by gum it's a good one. You polish it, and put it out for the world to see. Then someone comes to you and says, "I really enjoyed the theme of evil, and how the gloves symbolized evil deeds, and they ultimately led to his destruction."

Wha?

This is where you need to pause and think about your reply. You may be ready to say, "I don't think that's my story you read".

Don't.

Say something about how you planned it all out, and after hours of mental toil you created this story that echoed the plight of the world, and showed how we would all be destroyed if we didn't stop to consider our actions and where they would lead us.

Really, you were just writing a story about a guy who liked to do bad stuff.

I've had this happen a lot. Irony and foreshadowing pop up in just the right places, a theme develops, there's even some symbolism in there. None of it is planned. It just works out that way. It's the natural course of things.

And it really makes me wonder about all those notes we took in high school lit class. You know, the really, really long ones on mood and theme and atmosphere, the essays on symbolism and irony.

It makes me wonder what Steinbeck and Shakespeare would say if they read those notes on their works.

Probably something like: Wha?

Scarred

Every now and again, we'll be out with friends. There are stories. There is laughter. Always, sometime during the laughter, someone says it:

"Is that a cut on your tongue?"

Picture it, my house, 1982. My brother and I were tearing up the house, running and jumping like wild animals. Mom was on the phone talking to goodness knows who, she probably didn't know herself it was so difficult to hear over the racket my brother and I were making. We followed her into the bedroom and proceeded to jump on the extra-springy, super-bouncy mattress that was a specialty in the eighties.

This is great fun! I can do high jumps! I can do flips! Watch me I can go higher - weeeeee! It all came to a very abrupt end when my brother fell. Down on his hands and knees he went, still giggling, and the force of his collapse caused a chain reaction - I went down too. Unlike my brother who had an extra-springy, super-bouncy mattress to break his fall, I had nothing but his big, hard head. I struck him with my chin. After that things get a little fuzzy, but I distinctly remember birds and stars and the coppery taste in my mouth.

If you think the pandemonium stopped, you are wrong. It just changed to a different pitch. Little bro was moaning that his head hurt, mom was screaming into the phone that she had to go, and once I saw the blood dripping from my chin I starting wailing like a banshee in an ambulance. That was it - no more monkeys jumping on the bed.

Mom dropped the phone, grabbed me up, and ran into the bathroom to get a facecloth to mop up the blood. She eventually quelled the flow enough to see that my teeth were OK, but I had bitten half way through my tongue. I was unimpressed by the pain and throbbing, and even less so by the wad of gauze mom kept stuffed into my mouth for hours and hours. At least it seemed like hours. It could have been days. My brother sooked that his head hurt and nobody cared and I was the favourite. That made me feel a little better.

So, many years later, my tongue has long since healed, but I am left with a reminder that I forget about until reminded of it. On the left side of my tongue is a ridge about half an inch long. It's not pretty, but it comes with a story, and it has become a part of me. No one can see it as long as I keep my mouth shut.

Everyone notices it.

Replies

Wow. I got a ton of questions, a lot more than I anticipated. Fun questions. You guys rock.

Let's start with the ones I got through email.

How tall are you?
Oh, we're starting with a height question are we? I'm tall enough to get on the roller coasters that you must be this tall to ride, with a teeny bit of spare change.

What's your biggest fear?
Clowns. Hands down. What are they hiding under that make-up anyway?

You seem like a bit of a dork. Just how nerdy are you?
Well, I don't play Dungeons and Dragons, if that's what you're asking. But I did buy this shirt today:

I would say, on a scale from 1 to 10, my nerdiness falls somewhere around 7.6.

How do you like your coffee?
I like my coffee Irish, my wine Italian, and my men Scottish.

Boxers or Briefs?
You know I'm a girl, right?

What's your favourite part of where you live?
I love this question. It's hard to narrow it down, but what I love most is the smell - the salt air, the crowberries, the trees, the bogs. It smells so good here. I love to travel, but the the best part of that is stepping off the plane in St. John's and smelling the sweet Newfoundland air.

Are we there yet?
No! Now quit your whining. Don't make me come back there or I'll turn this post right around and we'll go home.

Does Mt. Moriah have any caves?
No. But it has lots of McLeods

Why is it called 'The Rock'?
Because that's exactly what it is. A big rock in the middle of the ocean. You know those shows where they're digging a hole (for obvious reasons) and they're down five or six feet? Well, you'd be digging a long time to bury anything that deep here, if you could manage it at all.

Have I asked too many questions?
No.

Do you care?
You could say that I care too much.

So are Newfoundland (New Found Land) and Appalachia (Apple-a(short)-cha) twin sisters separated at birth?
I'm starting to think they might be...

Liquor or beer?
Both. Actually, my preference is probably beer (if it's Guinness), but if it came right down to it, I'd take a glass of red wine.

Why do wet ducks bark at night?
You'd bark too if you were wet. At night.

What is your must have object on your writing desk?
There are two must haves: A cup of coffee and Hector, my iron crow. He's a very good listener. Not so good at giving feedback.

I'm pretty emotionally exhausted right now and have some workshops next weekend. I'd like to bring new material to them. Should I try to gut through a new short story this week, or just hang with what I've got?
Reply hazy. Ask again later. ;)

And the answer to the zombie question:
I would say no, zombies can't taste what they eat.
Let's get scientific. Zombies are basically moving corpses. Considering the amount of decay, they would have no taste buds to speak of. The reanimated brain would function only on a very basic level, so senses such as smell and taste would be limited.
My best guess is that zombies eat based on instinct, not dining pleasure.

Questions

I had no idea what to write for today's post, and then I got an email from a friend who said "I really hate being asked where I get the ideas for my stories."

So do I. It's a difficult question to answer, so I usually just make something up on the spot, like shaking a magic 8 ball.

Lightbulb.

So, I thought it would be fun to be your magic 8 ball. Ask me anything. No subject is off the table. The questions don't have to be interview type questions, they can be about anything. Whatever comes to your pretty little heads. I promise my answers will be better than "ask again later" and "it is certain".

Every morning my littlest one get out of bed and asks something totally out there. If I can answer "Does a zombie taste what it's eating?" at 7:00 am, I can answer your questions too.

Post your musings in the comments section and tomorrow I will answer them. R is for Replies.

Postcards

The person who invented postcards is a genius. One piece of cardboard that has a photo of where you are, and a place to write a short greeting. Pop it in the mail and your correspondence is done.

I like postcards for several reasons. They're great to collect if you can find some other than the tacky ones they sell at souvenir stands, you know the ones I'm talking about.

Postcards are a very good way to practice word economy. You have only a teeny tiny space to say what needs to be said. What words and details are important? It's a good skill for writers to learn.

One day, I really, really want to put aside the trite "wish you were here" greeting and write something a little more like this:

Yep, hiding out in Amsterdam. That's the plan.

Onomatopoeia

Boat Ride

clump, clump, clump, clump
creak. creak
Thump
creak, creak
splash, splash
swoosh (creak), swoosh (creak), swoosh (creak), swoosh
Bang, bump
blurb, blurb, blurble
glug, glug, glug
scrape, sploosh, scrape, sploosh, scrape, sploosh
Hup, SPLASH
splish, splish, splish, splish...
clunk, thunk
flop
ahhhh


Want to know more about the word onomatopoeia? Check out Matthew MacNish's post for today over at the Quintessentially Questionable Query Experiment.

New-Found-Land

I had another post in mind for today, but over the weekend I decided instead to do a short tutorial on how to pronounce Newfoundland. Four times over the past two days I have heard it mispronounced on TV, on the radio and by visiting performers.

It's not New-Finland, or New-Funland (although that sounds like a great place to live). It's not New-FOUND-lund.


It's Newfoundland. Rhymes with understand, and has the same cadence. The 'found' is usually smushed in there. It doesn't quite become a 'fin'. More like a 'foun' without the 'D' sound.

Newfoundland.

Now when you all come visit, you'll know how to say it.

Music

I had a few topics in mind for M, but since I gave Canadian literature a hard time yesterday, I thought I'd make up some ground by talking about Canadian music.

On Thursday night, Hubby and I went to see Bryan Adams. I  know what you're thinking, but really, you had to know Bryan before he did that song for that movie. There wasn't a kid growing up in Canada in the 80's who didn't rock out to Summer of '69, or make-out to Heaven. And you know, the guy is pretty good live. Reckless will be forever in my music library.

It got me thinking about Canadian music. We have a spectacular music scene here. I'm not even talking about the Celiene Dions and the Shania Twains, or even the Michael Bubles or Justin Beibers, because for everyone of them there's a lesser known artist who could positively blow you away or break your heart. Here are just a few:

Elliot Brood, NQ Arbuckle, Luc Ducet, Great Big Sea, Chris Kirby, Great Lake Swimmers, Metric, Stars, Wintersleep, Said the Whale, Repartee, Arcade Fire, Cuff the Duke, City and Colour, Hawksley Workman, Blue Rodeo...

I really don't have room to name them all. So I'm leaving you with a little Bryan Adams, one of my favourites actually, in all it's 80's glory.

'Literary' Fiction vs. 'Genre' Fiction

First, let's get this out of the way. We're operating here under the dubious claim that literary fiction is not a genre in itself. It stands alone, on a pedestal, high above the mystery, romance, horror, sci-fi, and fantasy scraps.

Moose puckey.


I've seen literary fiction described as 'euridite' when compared to commercial fiction, as the learned like to call it.

Spare me.

In Canada it gets even more complicated. There are two Canadian Literatures. Let's call them lower case canadian literature and upper case Canadian Literature. Lower case canadian literature is the wide umbrella that covers all literature produced in Canada. Upper case Canadian Literature is a sub-genre within literary fiction and includes works that are quintessentially Canadian.

In Canada, literary fiction is king.

While our neighbours to the south pump out books by writers like Stephen King, Nora Roberts, Dan Brown, and George R. R. Martin, Canada puts genre fiction on the bottom shelf. It is enjoyed, but then tucked away in a secret corner often overlooked by reviewers, and often ignored by prize awarders.

This means two things for genre writers in this country: You'd better work hard, and you'd better be good.

Now writers are moving outside the constraints set by these genres, and they are refusing to pigeonhole their works. With the once stringent boundaries and formulas between genre and literary fiction shifting and crumbling, it will be interesting to see what the future holds for Canadian Literature.

Kill Your Darlings

A popular phrase among the writing set, 'kill your darlings' is most often attributed to Faulkner who supposedly said "In writing, you must kill your darlings."

The phrase was actually coined by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch. In his 1916 publication On the Art of Writing he said:

“Whenever you feel an impulse to perpetrate a piece of exceptionally fine writing, obey it – whole-heartedly – and delete it before sending your manuscripts to press. Murder your darlings”

'Murder your darlings' has since become 'kill your darlings', but the idea remains the same. It's tough advice to follow. You spent all that time getting the story just right. The opening paragraph alone took two days. Each word represents a piece of your soul. It has to be good, right?

Right?

Right? 

So what happens when your second pair of eyes says that the first two paragraphs are extraneous? What about when your editor sends your manuscript back covered in bright red marks?

Kill your darlings.

Stephen King says it in his book On Writing:

“kill your darlings, kill your darlings, even when it breaks your egocentric little scribbler’s heart, kill your darlings”    

Swallow your pride, take a deep breath, and start slashing.

***
Speaking of killing and darlings, Anthony Rapino has announced the release of his novel Soundtrack to the End of the World. You can find out all about it over at his blog, and take part in a contest he has going on right now.

Also, for the next two days you can download his short story collection Welcome to Moon Hill for free. If you are a horror fan, do not miss out.

Jinker



Jinker: To play tricks, to frolic; A bringer of bad luck. [Dictionary of Newfoundland English]

I always loved that word, Jinker. It's fun to say. When we were kids one of us would fall into the brook, or come home covered in tree sap and Nan would say, "Oh you're a proper Jinker, you are." I always thought Jinker would be a great name for a dog.

I never had an actual dog named Jinker, but I did write about one. Jinker made an appearance in several Newfoundland based tales for younger readers. The stories have a creepy, supernatural bent, and Jinker lives up to his name. This is from the story "Tell No Tales."

My curiosity got the best of me, as it always does, and I went to investigate. Jinker had a half decent sized hole dug and was still tearing into the ground. I laughed at him, he looked so serious. Then I caught a glimpse of something in the hole. It was a piece of wood, just under the surface. I stopped laughing and started helping, pulling up more sod to see what it was. Chances were it was only a piece of wood from the old graveyard fence, but something was tingling in the back of my head. Maybe it was something more.

I haven't really done much with these stories (notice the tend there), but I had great fun writing them. Maybe one of these days I'll dust them off, add a few more and let them see the daylight.

It was a dark and stormy night...

It's become a cliché in the horror/suspense genre.

"It was a dark and stormy night."

One florid line that sets the mood, builds the atmosphere, and prepares the reader for dark things to come. But where did it originate?

English writer Edward Bulwer-Lytton created this phrase as the opening for his 1830 novel Paul Clifford. He wrote:

"It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents, except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness."

This melodramatic style has spawned the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, which challenges writers to compose the opening sentence to the worst of all possible novels.

It is interesting to note that Bulwer-Lytton is also responsible for giving us the phrase the pen is mightier than the sword.

For a bit of fun,how would you follow up this most famous (or infamous) of openings? What happens in your dark and stormy night?

Horror

I've been a horror geek for a long, long time. My favourite bedtime stories were the darkest ones (I think most horror fans can trace their preference back to the Brothers Grimm). By the time my age hit the double digits, I couldn't get enough ghosts and ghouls and monsters of all kinds.

Edgar A. Poe? Yes.

George Romero? Yes.

Stephen King? Oh, yes.

In writing this post, I tried to think back to the first horror story I wrote for an audience. If I remember correctly, the story that started it all was written as part of a presentation for a school project - for my Religion class.

We were doing a unit on drugs (what this had to do with religion I can only guess). We worked in groups to put together a multi-piece presentation, and ours included my cautionary tale, written in glorious and gory detail. Of course, the story had to go to the teacher for approval, and she suggested that I "tone it down". Her objection may have been with the splat of the body as it hit the concrete, but I think it was probably the carrion crows enjoying their feast that pushed it over the top.

Look, if I'm doing a PSA, I'm going to do it my way. And I'm going all out.

So my efforts weren't appreciated back then, but I've since found an appropriate audience. I've also found some fellow horror lovers who share the same dark imagination. Here are a few for you to visit and enjoy:

Erin Cole
Anthony Rapino
Angel Zapata
Lily Childs

Any one of these writers will keep you up at night with a serious case of the creeps, and they'll have a blast doing it.

Gerunds

Does anybody really get them? I mean, I know they end in -ing, and they are essentially verbs made into nouns. For example: I like running.

But I still don't really get it. Do you? To me, a gerund sounds more like some scary little creature that hides in the compost heap.

And personally, I'd much rather verb nouns than noun verbs. I like to lamp my dark spaces, Frisbee the dog, and beverage my friends. This makes sense. Gerunds do not.

Do you get them?


My A to Z Challenge on Writing Away

Fetch

Fetch: An apparition or double of a living person, the appearance of which often portends death or disaster. [Dictionary of Newfoundland English]

Newfoundland folklore is full of all sorts of creepy and sinister creatures. The Fetch is one of my favourites. Just imagine walking home late at night and meeting yourself on the road. The idea is delightfully terrifying. I wrote a story about it a few years ago. Here's a small excerpt:

 

 

I tried not to look. With every ounce of my being I tried, but I just couldn’t help it. As I passed the figure my head slowly turned toward it, and I could tell that its head was turning toward me.

Everything stood still as I looked into that face. My own face. The red hair was mine, the splatter of freckles, the nose, the mouth. The ratty sneakers and dirty jeans – all the same. Only the eyes were different. They were my eyes, alright, but they were dull and lifeless. Instead of blue they were dark grey, like a stormy sea.

I didn’t take my eyes from that thing for one second. I couldn’t. I opened my mouth to scream, so did the thing, but there was no sound from either of us. It seemed there was no sound at all. The whole harbour was silent. I turned to watch it as it passed, and it turned to watch me. Then it was gone.
…

I knew what I had seen. I’d heard the stories over and over. It was my Fetch, and it meant one of two things. Seeing your Fetch means terrible misfortune, the absolute worst of bad luck. But it gets worse. It could mean the Grim Reaper is ready to call your number.

I never hoped for bad luck so hard in all my life.

Editing

So you've finished your story. Now what? You edit, of course.

You might have your own editing process. Here are the steps I follow for mine.

• Put it away, the longer the better. A few days at least, or a week or even more. Time away gives me a fresh outlook when I return.
• Trim unnecessary and duplicate words. Simplify the language.
• Check for errors. This includes spell check, checking for the correct use of homonyms such as there/they're, and correcting passive voice.
• Check the formatting to make sure it is correct and consistent.
• Read it out loud. Even when I think I'm done, this little trick catches mistakes I missed.

Once the editing is done, it helps to have someone else read your story. Two sets of eyes are better than one.

Have your own editing process, or something to  add? I'd love to hear it.


My A to Z Challenge on Writing Away

Devilskin

Devilskin: Mischievous, prankish boy or man. [Dictionary of Newfoundland English]

I heard this one quite a bit growing up. There was no shortage of Devilskins in my family. I think the saying probably came from devil's kin, but the idea of a devil skin intrigues me greatly. It sparked an idea for a rather experimental story.

He found it on that path through the graveyard. At first he thought it was an old coat someone had left behind. A crumpled leather coat in the middle of the path. He picked it up and saw what it really was – a shriveled skin. It was like a person suit with no person inside.

Quick as a wink he put it on. It smelled like burned matches, but it was smooth and soft. It hugged around his body and his head so only his face was his own. He liked it.

The story is sitting unfinished right now, because it started down a path I didn't like, one that lead away from that graveyard path where it started. I've gone back to try and find my way. I won't be surprised if I'm led astray again.

It's what Devilskins do best.


My A to Z Challenge on Writing Away

Cuffer

Cuffer: A tall tale or yarn. [Dictionary of Newfoundland English]

There's no better way to pass the long winter evenings than sharing a few stories. This is a strong tradition in Newfoundland that dates back centuries. Storytelling was an integral part of kitchen parties and community concerts, where favourite stories were passed on with ever-changing details.

A cuffer can also refer to a gathering of fishermen, usually aboard a ship, to exchange stories and tall tales. This sort of get together was famously illustrated in Ted Russell's Smokeroom on the Kyle.

C is also for Cathy, who is known to tell a good cuffer. You can find her enjoying Life on the Muskoka River.


My A to Z Challenge on Writing Away

Berry Picking

One of my favourite late summer - early fall activities. Berry picking is the perfect activity for a writer. You're outside in the fresh air, the repetitive activity lets your mind wander, and afterward you've got something delicious (and healthy) to snack on while you write down all those great ideas.

My favourites are Partridgeberries. They're easy to pick and clean, and they grow in abundance here. They have a nice, tart taste that makes them perfect for muffins and pancakes.

This past October, while berry picking in my favourite patch, I came up with a story about a woman who's livelihood depends on the wild berries that grow near her home, and what happens when that livelihood is threatened (with creepy results). Here's an excerpt:

Crisp autumn days would find her in the meadows near her cottage, bent low in the thorny brush. She picked carefully, taking only the ripest berries, never causing damage to the delicate plants that bore the fruit. From morning ‘til dusk she would pick, sometimes moving no more than four or five feet, her hands stained deep red from the juice.

At night she would clean and wash the berries and begin the next step. Wine and jam, scones and muffins, cakes and tarts; this was her most profitable harvest. There was no electricity this far from the village, so she worked by candlelight and baked her goods in a wood fired stove. The food she sold would get her through the winter. The food she kept would see her well-fed.

My A to Z Challenge on Writing Away

As Tough as a Gad

Figurative language helps writers appeal to the senses. Similes in particular can be great fun to write. When done well they can read like poetry. When done poorly, they can be unintentionally hilarious.

(Gad: A slender, flexible twig used like a rope for fastening. [Dictionary of Newfoundland English])

Newfoundlanders are very fond of their similes, and we have some very interesting ones. They are used often in everyday conversation, and usually start with 'As__ as a ...' I already mentioned 'as tough as a gad'. Here are a few more:

- As wild as a puckawn (A puckawn is a goat)
- As far as ever a puffin flew
- As dry as a splitting cuff (a splitting cuff is a glove used for splitting fish)
- As lonesome as a gull on a rock
- As old as Buckley's goat (I don't know who Buckly is, or how old his goat was)

Ahhh, Newfoundland. The place where they're never stuck for a few colourful words.

And speaking of Newfoundland, my good friend Alan starts with the letter A. You can visit him at his blog Conversations from Land's Edge. He's the witty guy in the fez.

My A to Z Challenge on Writing Away