So You Think You Can Write

Excerpt

Much as I adopted the easy camaraderie of these elite students, there were some mannerisms that I could not acquire. The veneer of supremacy, the nonchalance of wealth, the disdain of authority and the ignorance of poverty were all acquired traits imbued by years of luxury. Some great protective bubble existed around these girls that made them invincible, invulnerable and oblivious. They were unaware that real girls like them, lived in homes that slanted in the earth, whose entire square footage could fit in their bedrooms, who went to bed grateful that that night they had had supper, or heard no fighting, or didn’t experience the uncomfortable touch of “uncle” somebody or other who helped out with the food money. They didn’t even know that “have nots” walked amongst them, who lived in humble homes, who didn’t own desks or dining tables, who showered outdoors in the early morning darkness so that the strange old man on the hill couldn’t peep at them.

excerpt from novel...by Kathy Thomas

Writers make Good Gardeners

I haven't written in a week...I have however redone my back yard.
Now here in Canada, that 's quite normal, in fact, every single garden looks like it came out of Home and Garden Magazine and May "two four" (24) is like Gardener's Christmas weekend. So the average Canadian...particularly Ontarians go crazy and spend the entire weekend planting, mowing, watering or simply hovering in their gardens. I have, however, generally the most interesting back yard of the lot having inherited green lawn from the former owner and employing a few strategic techniques to change the look.

Here are a few of my gardening tips used over the last few years

• spray weed killer that reduces the lawn to green patches
• buy plants too early and have them frost bitten
• leave the lawn mower for the entire winter to allow rust to set in
• allow weeds to grow so you can see how tall you are
• when asked about your five foot weeds use the "no lawn mower" shrug
  
• dig the entire back yard, eventually converting backyard to Grand Canyons
• plan to make Japanese garden out of Grand Canyon for a few weeks
  
• Stop worrying about it when it begins to snow
  

Unfortunately the snow melted in April and I could hear a collective groan from my neighbours. This din and my humanitarianism was so disturbing, that I have been forced into gardening ....after much debate with my kids, a couple of fights and back breaking work I now have a lawn again. Now I've gotten all ambitious, I'm doing a gravel path leading to graphic grasses in white marble on one end and a miniature pond on the other. Did I mention that if you played basketball in my back yard you'd be playing in a half court. Oh well my neighbours are smiling at me now!
Submitted by Kathy Thomas

Murder and Mayhem at Home

Another excerpt folks:

Whether it was the move, the rerouting of mom’s anger or even the change in dynamics of the family, we found that we could run wild with ease and without repercussions. Much of the activity was centred on indulging our active imagination. We created space ships and tents with cushions, mattresses or whatever was handy and skating rinks by generously sprinkling baby powder on our wooden floors. Occasionally we would stage a murder scene pretending to have been massacred. Our parents would return to ketchup strewn all over the floor and our bodies lying prostrate in various acrobatic poses shaking with detectable laughter. I lost four inches of hair for one of those scenes, but it was a small price to pay for authenticity.

Submitted by Kathy Thomas

Top of my To-Do lists

I have discovered the most delightful coffee shop, that serves breakfast and lunch. It's now my favorite haunt and it has internet access for which I don't have to pay $7.50 an hour. It has a greater number of comfy chairs, prices are reasonable and sandwiches are great. Try the chicken and roasted veggies if you visit. My new haunt is relatively undiscovered and therefore somewhat unpopulated. Coffee Culture I salute you, Starbucks and Second Cup look out. Disclaimer.....I've never actually tried the coffee.....got ulcers.

Anyhow, I've been writing this novel about the temerity of the human spirit and I have been using my novella to understand who I am and how all my past experiences have culminated into this moment in time. The thing about introspection, is that you find hidden in the darkest recesses, the most unusual memories. These recollections often hold your darkest moments and the secrets to actualization. You walk around thinking Oh my God that's why I do this...I give self actualization and introspection a high recommendation...kinda like Coffee Culture.

Submitted by Kathy Thomas

Home Sweet Home - excerpt form novel

The island of Trinidad holds a magnetic attraction for diverse ethnicity and races. It has a small Caucasian population whose descendants were from Spain, France and England in that order. These families though the minority, had power, land and wealth as a result of their ancestral backgrounds. Their families had been slave masters and the wealthy adventurers. The original labour force had come from the first nation people, the Amerindians, then the enslaved West Africans, and after slavery was abolished, the indentured Chinese, Portuguese and Indian labourers. Syrians and Lebanese came along later to explore trade and business. But something about the island’s innate sexuality caused an interracial phenomenon to occur. Despite the best efforts of the stalwart or the distraught, races began to integrate leaving unidentifiable offspring who could only be labelled as mixed.

submitted by Kathy Thomas

Writing is so embarassing

So now you know you can find me lurking in coffee shops, I 'll let you know there is one coffee shop you wont find me in.Not because the coffee's not great, nor because the snacks aren't edible. As a matter of fact I adore their humus wrap.

See, this coffee shop now holds my most embarrassing moment...
After four hours and two cups of coffee, I finally gave up. I had this nice lady and her daughter sitting next to me, and I asked them to throw an eye on my laptop, while I went to the Ladies room. This is one of those coffee shops that gives you those luxuriously huge bathrooms....the kind where the toilet is seems to be 100 feet from the door, the kind that you always fear someone will burst in on you... the kind you can't do the emergency elbow block in.
Needless to say, all my fears were actualized that day....the lady who served me my humus bounced in on me ....

Now you would think my humiliation would end here. Ohhhh Noooo, I needed to let everyone know she walked in on me, so I advertised with one my infamous piercing screams. At that point, I pretty much wanted to remain in the bathroom for the rest of the afternoon, but worried that the nice lady and her daughter would run off with the laptop, I decided to be mature and return. Not only that I continued writing for twenty seven minutes. That was as much of the thirty minutes I thought I could survive.

Feeling quite confident again and proud of my resilience, I begin to exit the coffee shop when I received one last zing.To complete my humiliating visit, the lady who saw me, (who was obviously not as mature and refined as me)was doing the quiet whisper, head jerk and elbow poke to a couple of her friends as I left. I assume this was the pre-cursor to a good laugh.

I can safely say I would only return in disguise....but maybe I wont have anything to fear...it probably wouldn't be my face she would remember. Ewwwwwww!!

Submitted by Kathy Thomas

Secret to Writing # 1

So now that I'm writing, or think I'm a writer...I do what writers seem attracted to doing...going to coffee shops to write. I've written in Starbucks, Second Cup and right now I'm in William's Coffee.

I've got a theory about why writers do this......you see if I didn't go to coffee shops, I'd probably still be wearing Sunday's pajamas, dishes would be stacked on my bedside tables and my children would occasionally open my bedroom door to Febreeze me. Coffee shops forces me to be humane to myself and others. It's a reminder that there others in this world, like characters in the book only real-er.

Okay time for another excerpt from my novel:

She would recall being teased because of her crazy nest of wiry hair, pug nose and her proximity to her black ancestry displayed so prominently in her features. In a family with such diverse lineage, children can vary greatly in characteristics and Mom’s look placed her closest to the African side of the spectrum. Those with Caucasian features, soft curls, straight nose, light skin, coloured eyes were higher up on this scale which led to a sense of superiority. An attitude highly reinforced by the society of that time. Jeannie’s “picky hair” became controversial, when she had to sojourn into elementary school with an afro, after her bird’s nest of a head became too much for the frequently absent Mammy, who resolved the issue, by chopping off Mom’s hair. In those days an afro on a girl was an oddity and a battery of teasing ensued, as she now stood out like a sore thumb. She was a fighter though and wouldn’t sit idly by while they teased; she fought them and developed a quick wit and razor sharp tongue. All along , she was secretly wishing she could have long curls, like the other girls at Sacred Heart Primary. This secret desire would have a profound and lifelong effect on her and would shape the future that would unfold.

Submitted by Kathy Thomas

Got Laid

Chapter 1

“If you can not get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.”

George Bernard Shaw (1856-1950)

Today I take back my life!……..unlikely as this may seem, but the third stair leading up to the bedrooms, is the most significant place in my house. In this most unlikely place of worship, I nurse my morning cup of tea, savouring the gentle light of dawn, the silence of sleeping children and the freshness of the start of the day. In this seemingly innocuous of spots, I find the utmost peace and greatest energy ….it is where my positive thoughts lie, whether I daydream or reminisce. This is the stair on which I get lost, where I drift away from Caramel Square, and Toronto, and even Canada and glide into illusive worlds. This is the stair where molten thoughts and ideas flow and threaten to erupt, in a surge of new energy. There is no explanation for the power of the third stair, but there are many theories….. some suggest that I derive a sense of power as the master of all I survey or that I’m energized by the vibrant yet controversial red walls in the living room or maybe soothed by the pale blue kitchen, bathed in morning light Whatever it is, this is where my day begins and it seemed appropriate, that it would be where my life began.

Submitted by Kathy Thomas