tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58207165634190827362024-03-13T19:38:30.658-07:00The Wading PooleStories of Fact, Fiction and the ParanormalLucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-52968111487565825182014-07-03T08:20:00.000-07:002014-07-03T08:20:30.891-07:00Guest blog by ex-vampire baby on bites and the World Cup By Gaius Julius Rex<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3A1In7C2-WI/U7RgnYrxo0I/AAAAAAAAAOg/PV8UMMcH9vU/s1600/World+Cup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3A1In7C2-WI/U7RgnYrxo0I/AAAAAAAAAOg/PV8UMMcH9vU/s1600/World+Cup.jpg" height="200" width="162" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Artistic interpretation of the World Cup, <br />
recent bites and my teddy bear.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Yes, it is me Gaius Julius. I return from the (fictional) dead for a special World Cup report, after much pleading by the human blogger, Lucianne Poole.<br />
<br />
Naturally, you are eager for an explanation as to my lengthy silence. I will only say it is related to the recent resurgence of 80s fashion. <br />
<br />
<div>
</div>
Furthermore, I am no longer vampire baby. I am now ex-vampire baby and most currently a vampire adolescent. I will explain: I am experiencing the equivalent of what you call in human terms, puberty. My tricycle, monopoly-playing and trampolining days are over.<br />
<br />
I have entered a new chapter in my fictional life, which involves the following. (I am going to use bullets):<br />
<ul>
<li>video games, which my mother, T. Rex, describes as "aggressive", </li>
<li>various hair products, </li>
<li>strange new feelings that lead to indiscriminate (vs. discriminate) biting.</li>
</ul>
This brings me to the World Cup. Uruguay's Luis Suarez was banned for four months for taking a nibble out of the Italian soccer player Giorgio Chiellini during the June 24 match, which Uruguay won 1-0.<br />
<div style="border: 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 17.02400016784668px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
At first, Suarez valiantly defended himself and denied the bite. Since then, Mr. Suarez, apologized to Chiellini. I applaud Mr. Suarez for taking responsibility, however, isn't it time to come out of the <strike>coffin</strike> and be counted as a [deleted]? My lawyer edited this blog.<br />
<br />
This is the end of my post.Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-37644245547694376262013-10-30T09:18:00.000-07:002013-10-30T09:18:05.013-07:00Non-Halloween edition by a fictional vampire baby<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XMPaotZybqg/UQhWGSuKLtI/AAAAAAAAALI/HM7XU_Y8K5E/s1600/Little-vampire-by-Ceskino-Wikimedia-Commons-GNU-License-300x292.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XMPaotZybqg/UQhWGSuKLtI/AAAAAAAAALI/HM7XU_Y8K5E/s1600/Little-vampire-by-Ceskino-Wikimedia-Commons-GNU-License-300x292.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is not me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
By Gaius Julius Rex<br />
<br />
<em>Yes, I am back. The human blogger <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/100925971592247381624?tab=jX#100925971592247381624/posts?tab=jX" target="_blank">Lucianne Poole</a> "felt it was a propos" for me to write the Halloween edition. As this is a human celebration, I naturally refused: hence the non-Halloween edition.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>Please note that I am using numbered bullets.</em><br />
<br />
1. Madame Desfarges was fired from her job as a greeter. Screams of "Off with your heads!" in a heavy French accent apparently did not delight the shoppers where she worked as a greeter.<br />
<br />
2. I have hired Madame to help me search for my birth mother. As I do not have money to pay her, Madame said she would accept headless dolls in lieu of payment. My lawyer advised me not to ask her why.<br />
<br />
3. While looking for said headless dolls in the park, I met Doug who offered to read my tarot cards. Doug is an unemployed fisherman from Newfoundland who has a sideline in tarot card reading.<br />
<br />
4. Doug immediately identified me as undead but he said he is not fussy and that he is a fan of Twilight and that he would give me a free reading.<br />
<br />
5. Doug told me I would find what I was looking for in a local coffee shop on November 1, 2013.<br />
<br />
6. Meanwhile, Madame agreed to go trick or treating with me. Of course, we will dress up. I will go as a zombie <a href="http://pm.gc.ca/eng/" target="_blank">Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper</a> (suit, tie. grey men's wig and no makeup).<br />
<br />
7. I am feeling strangely affectionate towards humans these days. It could be because my Facebook following has grown to 2 million. (This is a fictional Facebook page so do not bother trying to find it.)<br />
<br />
<em>This is the end of my blog.</em>Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-27858250063495657332013-10-02T07:14:00.003-07:002013-10-02T08:00:26.937-07:00Guest blog by fictional vampire baby: the search beginsBy Gaius Julius Rex<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h-hOgBrnDxQ/Uktx0QFtQSI/AAAAAAAAAOE/0q5tvnYM0Ho/s1600/vampire+baby+tricycle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="A sketch of a vampire baby riding a tricycle next to a cat." border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h-hOgBrnDxQ/Uktx0QFtQSI/AAAAAAAAAOE/0q5tvnYM0Ho/s1600/vampire+baby+tricycle.jpg" height="320" title="Guest blog by fictional vampire baby:mom" width="296" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Dear human readers and fellow supernatural beings,<br />
<br />
The human blogger, <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/100925971592247381624/posts" target="_blank">Lucianne Poole</a>, has asked me to continue with my posts. Apparently, millions of readers follow my posts avidly, so I graciously agreed to prop up her feeble human blog for a bit longer. (She has also promised me a role in her next novel).<br />
<br />
<strong>Free at last</strong><br />
I thank the thousands of you who signed my petition to release me from the clutches of my fictional jailer, <a href="http://thewadingpoole.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">Madame Defarge</a>. (FYI my petition was fictional, which explains why you will never find any names.) <br />
<br />
Thankfully, my foster mom, <a href="http://thewadingpoole.blogspot.ca/2013_04_01_archive.html" target="_blank">T. Rex</a>, was persuaded that I did not need said babysitter, and she got Madame a job as a greeter at a chain store.<br />
<br />
<strong>Silver linings</strong><br />
Once freed, I naturally turned to a project that was occupying my thoughts while I was in the "slammer". You will never guess, human reader, what this project is so I will tell you. I was inspired by Madame's favourite TV show, <a href="http://www.tlc.com/tv-shows/who-do-you-think-you-are" target="_blank">Who do you think you are</a>, to track down my birth mother.<br />
<strong></strong><br />
Of course, I assume my birth mother is a) a world-champion trampoliner b) an outstanding Monopoly player.<br />
<br />
<strong>Obstacles</strong><br />
So I jumped on my tricycle (my faithful cat Gengis Khan at my side) and raced up and down the sidewalk on Las Olas Boulevard. I asked everyone whom we hit/knocked down if they knew my mother. <br />
<br />
All I got was:<br />
<ul>
<li>a $5 bill;</li>
<li>a pamphlet about Latter Day Saints, and </li>
<li>two lectures about: a) leashing cats b) staying away from drugs. The last lecture was inappropriate as I was only born this year during <a href="http://thewadingpoole.blogspot.ca/2013_04_01_archive.html" target="_blank">vampire spring break</a>.</li>
</ul>
<strong>Not a cry for help</strong><br />
If you have ever searched for your vampire mother after she abandoned you on a beach, please share your advice and lessons learned. I eagerly await your reply.<br />
<br />
This is the end of my blog.Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-26172034576626654802013-08-14T12:12:00.000-07:002013-08-14T18:07:55.467-07:00Guest blog by fictional vampire baby behind "bars"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
By Gaius Julius Rex</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ji-nrkWbrcc/UguzIGcPYPI/AAAAAAAAAN0/7I66ORomhYk/s1600/vampire+baby+behind+bars.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img alt="Stick-figure sketch of a vampire baby and teddy bear behind bars." border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ji-nrkWbrcc/UguzIGcPYPI/AAAAAAAAAN0/7I66ORomhYk/s1600/vampire+baby+behind+bars.jpg" height="320" title="Guest blog by fictional vampire baby behind "bars"" width="306" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Greetings humans, fellow supernatural beings and Mr. <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/13849975141730668288" target="_blank">Coyote</a>,<br />
<br />
The human blogger, <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/100925971592247381624/posts" target="_blank">Lucianne Poole</a>, asked me to guest blog for her for the rest of the summer. It's not clear why she needs time off, except for the usual feeble human excuse of summer vacation.<br />
<br />
<strong>My unforseen incarceration</strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
I was going to write something earlier but I have been "jailed".<br />
<br />
This is due to a misunderstanding of the nature of Independence Day (aka Fourth of July) celebrations, specifically the "firework" displays in my neighbourhood of Fort Lauderdale. I was unfamiliar with the sounds of destruction that accompany this holiday. I mistook screams of delight for those of terror. <br />
<br />
Unfortunately, these sounds triggered a instinctive reaction in me that was unforeseen by my foster parents and Nate, the human with whom I was playing Monopoly at that specific time. <br />
<br />
<strong>My new babysitter/jailer</strong><br />
<br />
Since then, my foster mother, <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5820716563419082736#editor/target=post;postID=4030008378620192000;onPublishedMenu=overviewstats;onClosedMenu=overviewstats;postNum=2;src=postname" target="_blank">Theodora Rex</a> (aka T. Rex) banned me from playing Monopoly and has engaged a fictional sitter called <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/charles-dickens/9038420/Madame-Defarge-My-favourite-Charles-Dickens-character.html" target="_blank">Madame Defarge</a>. She speaks only French (no, not even Latin or ancient Greek), knits incessantly and cackles at inappropriate times (such as when I complete a New York Times crossword puzzle: my new hobby). <br />
<br />
Mme Defarge also trims my talons, I mean finger nails, too short so they no longer make interesting clicky sounds. Her only redeeming quality is that she lets my cat, Gengis Khan, relieve himself on my parents priceless Persian carpet.<br />
<br />
<strong>Life behind bars</strong><br />
<br />
T. Rex has sent me for baby massage therapy to calm my "murderous impulses". I strenuously resist but Mme Defarge has an iron grip like T. Rex. She pummels me with such sledge hammer-like force that I am reluctantly lulled to sleep.<br />
<br />
In effect, she has become my jailer, so I thought I would use this blog to start a petition to free me (There are currently no websites for fictional petitions). <br />
<br />
Please leave your name in the comment below and also indicate if you are interested in playing a fictional game of Monopoly when I am declared no longer "life-threatening".<br />
<br />
This is the end of my blog.Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-79533966930567107302013-06-26T11:15:00.000-07:002013-06-26T11:20:24.068-07:00Guest blog by a fictional vampire babyBy Gaius Julius Rex <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OLakuG7lfow/UcsswrqD0vI/AAAAAAAAANg/iB1awLp6dhA/s1600/vampire+baby+selfportrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OLakuG7lfow/UcsswrqD0vI/AAAAAAAAANg/iB1awLp6dhA/s320/vampire+baby+selfportrait.jpg" width="296" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wear a cape made by my foster mother, Theodora Rex.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
My name is Gaius Julius Rex and this is my first blog ever. (I taught myself to read and write shortly after <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5820716563419082736#editor/target=post;postID=4030008378620192000;onPublishedMenu=overviewstats;onClosedMenu=overviewstats;postNum=2;src=postname" target="_blank">my fictional birth in April</a>.) (I am not lying.)<br />
<br />
I had intended to provide a treatise on the early Greek roots of rhetoric, but the human blogger Lucianne Poole insisted on something short and journalistic. I am unfamiliar with this style of writing, having started my education with the classics. The human has proposed a "question and answer" format. I have reluctantly agreed and hereby present a series of questions and answers:<br />
<br />
1) Do you sleep like the undead?<br />
Yes.<br />
<br />
2) What part of a chocolate Easter bunny do you eat first?<br />
The head.<br />
<br />
3) Do you fly?<br />
No.<br />
<br />
4) Do you drink blood?<br />
My lawyer has advised me not to answer this question.<br />
<br />
5) What do you do for fun?<br />
When I'm not playing Monopoly and trampolining, I ride up and down Las Olas Boulevard (in my hometown of Fort Lauderdale) on my tricycle looking for Monopoly players and professional trampoliners. My foster mother, aka Theodora Rex, aka T. Rex, says this is unsavoury. I asked her what "unsavoury" meant. She said sleazy. I asked her what "sleazy" meant, but she did not reply.<br />
<br />
6) What do you want to be when you grow up?<br />
a) professional Monopoly player<br />
b) the first to trampoline to the moon (this means building a special trampoline to catapult me into space) <br />
<br />
This is the end of my blog. <br />
<br />
<em>The human, Lucianne Poole, advised me to invite comments and questions, but I'm not sure how this works or if I really want to do this.</em>Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-85750030914191769242013-05-15T06:46:00.000-07:002013-05-15T06:53:32.663-07:00Vampire baby speaksBy Lucianne Poole<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aFBrWOa8Wdw/UZJL6eiY7II/AAAAAAAAANM/lI4X1NSxtbE/s1600/vampire+baby+sleeping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Sketch of a traditional crib crossed out and a stone sarcophagus with a check mark" border="0" height="173" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aFBrWOa8Wdw/UZJL6eiY7II/AAAAAAAAANM/lI4X1NSxtbE/s400/vampire+baby+sleeping.jpg" title="Vampire baby speaks" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Suitable vampire baby sleeping arrangements.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
"I'd like to set the record straight," declared vampire baby in his first wide-ranging interview, which he would only grant on the condition that I, who gave him fictional life, play a game of Monopoly (U.K. version) with him. <br />
<br />
The newborn became a local cause célèbre after being found on a Fort Lauderdale beach following a <a href="http://thewadingpoole.blogspot.ca/2013/04/vampire-spring-break-baby.html" target="_blank">Vampire spring break</a>.<br />
<br />
<strong>A regular bouncing baby</strong><br />
<br />
"I mean, I'm no different to any other kid," confided the six-week-old who looks more like a four-year-old. "I eat, sleep, speak several languages and trampoline with world champions. I don't know why reporters are lined up at my foster parents' door," he complained while gnawing on the custom-made marble game pieces.<br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>The name game</strong><br />
<br />
"Apart from the ridiculous name I've been given, I'm perfectly normal. But seriously, who calls their son Gaius Julius?" <br />
<br />
Vampire baby paused to swig from a bottle containing an unidentified red fluid, and then asked me what I thought of the name Jay. <br />
<br />
<strong>Meet the parents</strong><br />
<br />
"Don't get me wrong. My foster parents, Tiny [Justinian Rex] and T. Rex [Theodora Rex], have been great. They even sent home to the family crypt in Italy for my very own child-sized sarcophagus. I have to say, though, T. Rex has this crazy grip like a WWE wrestler."<br />
<br />
<strong>Trouble in paradise</strong><br />
<br />
The interview took a slight downturn when I bought up the two most expensive Monopoly properties. Gaius Julius' face turned a violent shade of purple and his eyes took on a murderous light. <br />
<br />
He pounced, razor-sharp teeth bared. Fortunately, a long-fingered elegant hand clamped around his throat before he could reach me.<br />
<br />
"Nap time!" trilled Theodora. <br />
<br />
Neither of us argued with her.<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>Any questions for vampire baby? Leave them here. </em><em>He is mildly curious about humans and may condescend to answer them (or not). I apologise in advance for his bad manners.</em>Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-40300083786201920002013-04-23T16:15:00.001-07:002013-05-16T09:22:21.169-07:00Vampire spring break: the babyBy Lucianne Poole<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lyAEjEr6Gl0/UXCTJcjmtgI/AAAAAAAAAMc/e838Tj5jb28/s1600/vampire+spring+break+-+the+baby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Sketch of a baby on a sunny beach." border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lyAEjEr6Gl0/UXCTJcjmtgI/AAAAAAAAAMc/e838Tj5jb28/s1600/vampire+spring+break+-+the+baby.jpg" title="Vampire spring break: the baby" /></a></div>
The inevitable happened. <br />
<br />
Just as I predicted, a holiday romance flourished and died while my fictional characters were on spring break. A beautiful, albeit monster, baby was born and abandoned on the beach by its flighty parents. <br />
<br />
Fortunately, a childless retired couple fostered the vampire baby. The kindly Italians, who retired a few years ago to Fort Lauderdale, persuaded the community that they could manage the baby's voracious needs (authorities were reluctant to link a number of animal corpses on the beach to the baby's presence). <br />
<br />
The foster parents are Justinian and Theodora Rex (affectionately known as Tiny and T. Rex). They are partial to mosaics and mini golf. Tiny is on the local hospital's board of directors, while T. Rex runs a few children's charities.<br />
<br />
On a happy note, the baby (after a single month of gestation) is now learning Mandarin and Arabic (he thrives on challenge) and is taking trampolining classes (he likes to bounce).<br />
<br />
<em>Feel free to leave any advice to the adoptive parents of a vampire baby. </em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>Meanwhile, future postings will be rather randomly scheduled (eg. once per month perhaps) due to the self-appointed monitoring involved in fictional fosterings. Thanks for your understanding. </em>Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-71017721575576847312013-02-27T05:16:00.003-08:002013-02-27T05:16:29.032-08:00Vampire spring breakBy Lucianne Poole<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-n_xo1eyExOU/USx04-G7B9I/AAAAAAAAAMM/jC-g8VF9AkE/s1600/IMG_1256.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="A photo of umbrellas and deck chairs on the beach in Rimini, Italy." border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-n_xo1eyExOU/USx04-G7B9I/AAAAAAAAAMM/jC-g8VF9AkE/s640/IMG_1256.JPG" title="A vampire spring break" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See if you can spot an ancient Egyptian on the beach in Rimini, Italy, one of Europe's most famous seasides. By L. Poole.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's almost that time of year again: spring break. <br />
<br />
I wasn't planning to but I've generously succumbed to my characters' demands for a spring break. Apparently, <a href="http://thewadingpoole.blogspot.ca/2012_11_01_archive.html" target="_blank">vampires</a> and <a href="http://thewadingpoole.blogspot.ca/2013/01/writing-contest-mania-preview-of-novel.html" target="_blank">ancient Egyptians</a> get the winter blahs, too. <br />
<br />
Assuming I will have to resolve any trouble (such as centuries-old feuds and holiday romances) they get into, I anticipate being off-line for a while.<br />
<br />
So, thanks for reading my humble offerings, and I should materialize back here sometime in April.<br />
<br />
<em>Where do you (or the monsters in your life) go for spring break?</em>Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-27914183469673165802013-02-20T05:24:00.000-08:002013-02-20T05:24:01.736-08:00Nine rules of reincarnationBy Lucianne Poole<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dkEAexCfgeo/UP8Htj2vg3I/AAAAAAAAAK4/FTapMkRihAM/s1600/The+Obsession+Begins+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="A sketch of a stylized eye (called a wedjet eye) used by ancient Egyptians to ward off evil." border="0" height="195" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dkEAexCfgeo/UP8Htj2vg3I/AAAAAAAAAK4/FTapMkRihAM/s200/The+Obsession+Begins+2.jpg" title="Nine rules of reincarnation" width="200" /></a><br />
<em>Here's a list of reincarnation "rules" that I gleaned from various sources while researching for my urban fantasy novel,</em> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5820716563419082736#editor/target=post;postID=318425037724041093" target="_blank">The Obsession Begins.</a><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>According to The Concise Oxford Dictionary, to <strong>reincarnate</strong> (verb) means to bring the soul of (person) into another body after death.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>In particular, my novel relates to rule number nine: sometimes it's better to avoid people from your previous lives!</em><br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Every reincarnation gets you a new physical self, but your subconcious awareness contains knowledge of your soul and past life memories. <em>From </em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Discovering-Your-Past-Lives-Reincarnation/dp/0809245469" target="_blank"><em>Discovering Your Past Lives by Gloria Chadwick</em></a></li>
<li>Often a person will resemble their former self, especially the eyes or the expression in the eyes. <em>From </em><a href="http://books.google.ca/books/about/Old_Souls.html?id=bbrRLqPtPtoC&redir_esc=y" target="_blank"><em>Old Souls: Scientific Evidence for Past Lives by Tom Shroder</em></a></li>
<li>A birthmark could signify injuries or means of death from a prior life. <em>From </em><a href="http://books.google.ca/books/about/Old_Souls.html?id=bbrRLqPtPtoC&redir_esc=y" target="_blank"><em>Old Souls: Scientific Evidence for Past Lives by Tom Shroder</em></a></li>
<li>We all have abilities far beyond what we use. <em>From </em><a href="http://www.brianweiss.com/about-the-books/many-lives-many-masters/" target="_blank"><em>Many Lives, Many Masters by Brian L. Weiss</em></a></li>
<li>Check your vices (eg. greed, lust, etc) in the present life or you'll carry them over to another life. <em>From </em><a href="http://www.brianweiss.com/about-the-books/many-lives-many-masters/" target="_blank"><em>Many Lives, Many Masters by Brian L. Weiss</em></a></li>
<li>With each life you go through and don't fulfill your debts, the next one will be harder. If you fulfill your debts, your next life will be easier. <em>From </em><a href="http://www.brianweiss.com/about-the-books/many-lives-many-masters/" target="_blank"><em>Many Lives, Many Masters by Brian L. Weiss</em></a></li>
<li>When you have a problem with people or relationships, it is almost always due to negative karma you created in a past life. <em>From </em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Discovering-Your-Past-Lives-Reincarnation/dp/0809245469" target="_blank"><em>Discovering Your Past Lives by Gloria Chadwick</em></a></li>
<li>What you do to another person in a past life and in your present life, will come back to you until it is resolved. <em>From </em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Discovering-Your-Past-Lives-Reincarnation/dp/0809245469" target="_blank"><em>Discovering Your Past Lives by Gloria Chadwick</em></a></li>
<li>You may sometimes recognize someone from the past, but it can be a bad person, someone to avoid. <em>From </em><em><a href="http://books.google.ca/books?id=sXcDGEwwZfAC&printsec=frontcover&dq=Past+Lives,+Future+Healing+by+Sylvia+Browne&hl=en&sa=X&ei=2TUjUYD_M5Hy0wH58YHQBg&ved=0CDcQ6AEwAA" target="_blank">Past Lives, Future Healing by Sylvia Browne</a></em></li>
</ol>
<i><br /></i>
<i>What or who were you in a past life? Feel free to be perfectly honest or outrageous (as the mood takes you).</i>Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-80235678157263432152013-02-13T01:36:00.000-08:002013-02-13T01:36:04.131-08:00A Little RomanceBy Lucianne Poole<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Kpo2bUndhc8/URteM731LXI/AAAAAAAAAL4/LGgrtRcdKsM/s1600/Maria's+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Kpo2bUndhc8/URteM731LXI/AAAAAAAAAL4/LGgrtRcdKsM/s320/Maria's+photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Everyone wants to be loved, especially on Valentine's Day. That's when the illusion of love becomes particularly beguiling.<br />
<br />
Ottawa photographer <a href="http://instagram.com/p/VHn2YLB91u/" target="_blank">Maria Vartanova</a> beautifully captures young love in this photo, but is it fact or fiction?<br />
<br />
In fact, it's a scene from Arthur Miller's <em>All My Sons</em>. The play was performed at the <a href="http://www.ottawalittletheatre.com/" target="_blank">Ottawa Little Theatre</a> in January 2013 as part of its 100th season. <br />
<br />
So if you are without a valentine on Valentine's Day, don't despair: call a loved one eg. your mom and be grateful for real love!<br />
<br />
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Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-73030878090932613722013-02-06T04:59:00.000-08:002013-02-06T04:59:51.494-08:00My anticlimactic bike accidentBy Lucianne Poole<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zpA-NaHwF-A/URGGUZDaQ9I/AAAAAAAAALY/rnl5wJaVqdg/s1600/The+anticlimactic+bike+accident.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Sketch of a 10-speed bike" border="0" height="205" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zpA-NaHwF-A/URGGUZDaQ9I/AAAAAAAAALY/rnl5wJaVqdg/s320/The+anticlimactic+bike+accident.jpg" title="My anticlimactic bike accident" width="320" /></a></div>
<em>I wrote this prose poem years ago when I was stuck in the humbling limbo that finds new and unemployed university graduates living with their parents in the 'burbs.</em> <br />
<br />
I fell off my bike today<br />
On my parent's driveway.<br />
I grazed my knee.<br />
The flesh unbroken <br />
but angry red.<br />
My mother picked up my bike<br />
and pumped up the tires.<br />
I got back on <br />
and peddled tentatively.<br />
It was easier to balance.<br />
I am 23.<br />
<br />
<em>Have you ever been involved in a mildly humiliating bike accident?</em>Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-55271743372202387042013-01-30T01:35:00.000-08:002013-01-30T01:35:06.535-08:0011 signs that your colleague is a vampire<div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;">
<img alt="Sketch of a vampire by Ceskino," border="0" height="192" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XMPaotZybqg/UQhWGSuKLtI/AAAAAAAAALI/HM7XU_Y8K5E/s200/Little-vampire-by-Ceskino-Wikimedia-Commons-GNU-License-300x292.png" title="11 signs that your colleague is a vampire" width="200" /></div>
By Lucianne Poole<br />
<br />
<em>In keeping with my vampire book, </em><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5820716563419082736#editor/target=post;postID=1716532902508347968" target="_blank"><em>The Shadow Service</em></a><em> (a tale of vampires working in Canada's federal government), I'm providing a public service (you're welcome) by sharing these signs that you may be working with a vampire:</em><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XMPaotZybqg/UQhWGSuKLtI/AAAAAAAAALI/HM7XU_Y8K5E/s1600/Little-vampire-by-Ceskino-Wikimedia-Commons-GNU-License-300x292.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XMPaotZybqg/UQhWGSuKLtI/AAAAAAAAALI/HM7XU_Y8K5E/s1600/Little-vampire-by-Ceskino-Wikimedia-Commons-GNU-License-300x292.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XMPaotZybqg/UQhWGSuKLtI/AAAAAAAAALI/HM7XU_Y8K5E/s1600/Little-vampire-by-Ceskino-Wikimedia-Commons-GNU-License-300x292.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
</a><ol>
<li>Over-enthusiasm about office skating parties or other events in which bloodshed may be likely. </li>
<li>Unusual habits such as hanging upside down in storage closets.</li>
<li>General dislike of Middle Eastern food and any other cuisine containing copious amounts of garlic.</li>
<li>Compulsive use of breath mints to hide bad breath.</li>
<li>Preference for archaic swear words, possibly in dead languages eg. "Thou knave!" or "God's wounds!"</li>
<li>Empty blood packs in the kitchen garbage.</li>
<li>High number of absentee staff (i.e. they're too weak or too dead from having their blood sucked).</li>
<li>Multiple invitations for a "bite to eat".</li>
<li>Glazed expression and salivation at close proximity when you wake up from your post-lunch nap.</li>
<li>Use of telepathic communication instead of email (this also explains your mysterious headaches).</li>
<li>Long incisors, which may or may not be hidden by expensive dental work.</li>
</ol>
<em>Disclaimer: If your suspected colleague only meets one of the above criteria, it's unlikely he/she is undead. However, if your colleague meets all the above criteria, that's a different story (good luck).</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>Why do you suspect your co-worker of being a vampire? Feel free to share suspicious traits.</em>Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-3184250377240410932013-01-23T06:45:00.003-08:002013-01-23T06:45:30.098-08:00Writing Contest Mania . . . a preview of the novel By Lucianne Poole<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dkEAexCfgeo/UP8Htj2vg3I/AAAAAAAAAK4/FTapMkRihAM/s1600/The+Obsession+Begins+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="A sketch of a wedjat eye, a stylized design of an eye that the ancient Egyptians used to ward of evil." border="0" height="195" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dkEAexCfgeo/UP8Htj2vg3I/AAAAAAAAAK4/FTapMkRihAM/s200/The+Obsession+Begins+2.jpg" title="Writing Contest Mania - a preview of the novel" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ancient Egyptians used the wedjat eye to ward off evil.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<em>You may (or may not) have wondered about the novel I've been blathering about in regards to the <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5820716563419082736#editor/target=post;postID=8611085101368552514" target="_blank">Writing Contest Mania</a> posts. So, here's an excerpt. </em><br />
<br />
<em>The genre is urban fantasy (or paranormal) and blends historical fiction and romance. It's a dark tale of reincarnation and obsession that begins in ancient Egypt and continues in modern-day New York City.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<h1 style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
</h1>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
</div>
<h1 style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"><em><span style="font-size: small;">1862 B.C.<o:p></o:p></span></em></span></h1>
<span lang="EN-US"><em><span style="font-size: small;"><strong>Itjtawy, capital of the Two Kingdoms<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> (ancient Egypt) </span><o:p></o:p></strong></span></em></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">Threads of smoke
curled from under the closed double doors. Screams of terror filled the air and
running feet shook the floor.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anhai flinched as the queen seized her arm.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">“This is your
only chance,” the queen hissed, her <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;"><span style="background-color: white;">hennaed fingertips</span></span> biting into Anhai's flesh. They stood alone inside
a chamber off the harem hall. “The palace is in an uproar. You should be able
to slip away unnoticed, but if anyone catches you, I swear by Isis, I will kill
you myself.” She abruptly released Anhai, making the girl stumble.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">
Anhai regained her balance and bowed gracefully, her ragged appearance at odds with
her noble bearing.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">"Fool! You
must cower like a slave if the disguise is to work," the queen snapped.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">“May the goddess
reward you for your kindness, Your Majesty,” the girl replied tremulously. Rising,
she pulled her filthy shawl closer to hide her face and the gold amulet that
hung from her neck. It was a wedjat eye to ward off evil – the only piece of jewelry
she dared to keep, needed to keep.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">The queen’s
cat-like eyes glinted. "Now, get out!" </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">Hatred contorted
the queen's delicate features, giving them a feral quality. Perhaps t</span><span lang="EN-US">he rumours
about the beast and her royal highness were true. Still, Anhai hesitated.
The road ahead could bring death, but . . . n</span><span lang="EN-US">o, better to risk her life than return to his bed.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><em>To be continued . . .</em> </span><br />
<br />
<em>Let me know what you think, and what genres of novel you read (eg. thriller, mystery, romance, etc.).</em>Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-54825476409355968932013-01-16T05:12:00.000-08:002013-01-16T05:12:35.625-08:00Lost and found list<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">By Lucianne Poole</span></div>
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zbPzbS53qS0/UPXaXs5QN5I/AAAAAAAAAKY/YAzSX43kzfQ/s1600/LostandFound.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="A sketch of a box containing a passport, a bone and a cat. "Lost and Found by Lucianne Poole" is written on the side of the box." border="0" height="219" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zbPzbS53qS0/UPXaXs5QN5I/AAAAAAAAAKY/YAzSX43kzfQ/s1600/LostandFound.jpg" title="Lost and found list" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: left;">
<em><span lang="EN-US">Here is an incomplete list of items I found (and left!) in a box next to a Staples photocopier on March 30, 2006. </span><span lang="EN-US">Think of this list as a cautionary tale ie. check the photocopier when you're done.</span></em></div>
<ol>
<li><span lang="EN-US">One maroon passport printed in Arabic<o:p></o:p></span> </li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">One marriage certificate, dated 2005 (<a href="http://prince-edward-county.com/picton/" target="_blank">Picton</a>, Ontario)<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">One wedding photograph<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">One list of frequently asked questions about evolution downloaded from the Internet<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">One mental health assessment </span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">One worn paperback entitled <i><a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Feel-Fear-Do-It-Anyway/dp/0449902927" target="_blank">Feel the Fear and Do it Anyways</a></i> by <a href="http://www.susanjeffers.com/home/index.cfm?CFID=2212992&CFTOKEN=19523123" target="_blank">Susan Jeffers</a>, PhD<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">One handwritten bill for a $245.00 lock from Avenue Lock on Bank Street<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">One certificate for 100 shares in 11351320 Ontario Limited, dated November 19, 1999. <o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">One T4 slip for the 2005 tax year<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">One collection of recipes, including one for Scottish raisin scones, handwritten in a journal printed with a <em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Lord_of_the_Rings" target="_blank">Lord of the Rings</a></em> motif and entitled <i><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/3678412-a-hobbit-s-journal-from-the-collection-of-sam-gamgee" target="_blank">A Hobbit’s Travels</a></i>.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US">One current Ontario drivers license<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ol>
A note was attached to the box: “Originals should be discarded after two months”.<br />
<br />
<em>I submitted this list to </em><a href="http://www.geist.com/" target="_blank">Geist</a> <em>magazine, which publishes such ephemera, but they never replied. </em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>Have you ever found anything interesting in a photocopier?</em>Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-51366639076817512762013-01-09T04:18:00.003-08:002013-01-09T04:18:40.463-08:00Writing contest mania - what happened!By Lucianne Poole<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IslkSjn-pl4/ULkeUHtdd7I/AAAAAAAAAIg/79d1ZzL0e90/s1600/WritingContestManiaContinues2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="A sketch of a woman with glasses writing with a quill pen: Writing contest mania continues by Lucianne Poole." border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IslkSjn-pl4/ULkeUHtdd7I/AAAAAAAAAIg/79d1ZzL0e90/s320/WritingContestManiaContinues2012.jpg" title="Writing contest mania - what happened!" width="253" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last-minute artwork by Lucianne Poole.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Have you ever been brutally disappointed?<br />
<br />
I had hoped to start this post by saying something like "I won!" or "I have an agent!", but, as usual, life is neither so predictable nor cooperative.<br />
<br />
<strong>It started with a writing contest</strong><br />
<br />
You may remember, I entered a popular online writing contest in November 2012 called <a href="http://misssnarksfirstvictim.blogspot.ca/2012/09/our-third-annual-bakers-dozen-agent.html" target="_blank">The Baker's Dozen Agent Auction</a> organized by <a href="http://misssnarksfirstvictim.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">Miss Snark's First Victim</a>. I was ecstatic when I became a finalist.<br />
<br />
<strong>Agent interest followed</strong><br />
<br />
The ecstasy continued when a well-known New York City agent bid on my entry, asking to see the first 20 pages. Interestingly enough, the same agent rejected the same novel two years ago, after I sent her a query letter.<br />
<br />
<strong>Back to the drawing board</strong><br />
<br />
Unfortunately, history repeated itself when she decided again she didn't want to represent me, but she offered some useful feedback. More importantly, I got about 15 comments from the general public on my submission: the 65-word description and the first 250 words. <br />
<br />
<strong>Feedback is gold</strong><br />
<br />
So why my keen interest in the public's comments? Because they may buy my novels one day.<br />
<br />
Also, the description and first paragraphs are the most important. Think of how you choose a book. Chances are someone may have recommended one, or you've read a short description of the novel that's sparked your interest. You may even have read the first paragraph or so. If you're still interested, you'll buy the book or read it.<br />
<br />
So I've tweaked my description and first 250 words based on the feedback. Thanks to anyone who visited the contest online and left a comment (real or imaginary).<br />
<br />
<strong>Vampires on the horizon</strong><br />
<br />
Meanwhile, I've finished writing my vampire novella (I posted an excerpt called the <a href="http://thewadingpoole.blogspot.ca/2012/11/the-dark-office.html" target="_blank">Dark Office</a> in November). I'm pleased to say that my mom read the whole thing in 45 minutes and liked it! This is saying something as she speed-reads two novels a day and skips the boring bits. A few others have kindly agreed to read the vampire story, then I'm going to pitch it directly to a publisher, and see what happens.<br />
<br />
<strong>A New Year's wish</strong><br />
And to my readers; "fangs" for reading my blog. May your hopes and dreams come true in 2013!Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-30002588042338357232012-12-19T02:58:00.000-08:002013-02-19T00:10:12.776-08:00Bog people invade CanadaBy Lucianne Poole<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wIhfiWYp1Go/UNBtnvHO2RI/AAAAAAAAAKA/62gR9X0NgsY/s1600/yde+girl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="A photo of the reconstructed face of Yde Girl, a 16-year-old redhead whose body was preserved in a bog 2,000 years." border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wIhfiWYp1Go/UNBtnvHO2RI/AAAAAAAAAKA/62gR9X0NgsY/s1600/yde+girl.jpg" title="Dutch mummies invade Canada" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yde Girl, a 2000-year-old found in a bog.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<em>I pitched this story about 10 years ago to the</em> <a href="http://www.nationalpost.com/index.html" target="_blank">National Post</a><em>, but they turned it down. I first got interested in the subject of mummies after interviewing author Heather Pringle about her excellent book,</em> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Mummy-Congress-Obsession-Everlasting/dp/B0046HAKNK" target="_blank">The Mummy Congress</a><em>.</em><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;">The bog people are coming.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;">No, it's not a bad movie, but rather the culmination
of years of archaeological research and an international (dare I say it?) love
affair with human corpses found in European bogs. <a href="http://www.bogpeople.org/bog_uk/index.html" target="_blank"><em>The Mysterious Bog People</em></a>, an
exhibition at the <a href="http://www.civilization.ca/home" target="_blank">Canadian Museum of Civilization</a>, features bodies mummified in
peat bogs – wet, dead vegetative matter.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<strong>Yde Girl</strong><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;">In fact, you may be familiar with the exhibition’s
poster girl, a 2000-year-old red head known as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yde_Girl" target="_blank">Yde (pronounced Yidda) Girl</a>. Her
international popularity generated books, songs, poems, stories <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>and two TV documentaries.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;">In 1897, two Dutch peat cutters dragged her leathery,
withered corpse from a small bog in the northern Netherlands. A seven-foot-long
banded wrapped three times around her neck indicated an untimely end. Yde Girl
ended up in the <a href="http://www.drentsmuseum.nl/" target="_blank">Drents Museum</a> in Assen, which now has one of the largest bog
body collections in Europe. She was pretty much forgotten until almost a
century later when she sparked the curiosity of an archaeologist interested in
“bog bodies”. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<strong>Who are the bog bodies?</strong><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;">When Dr. Wijnand van der Sanden, a specialist in Iron
Age Dutch villages, arrived at the Drents Museum in 1987, he realized that
although the human remains on display drew a lot of interest from the public,
very little was actually known about the bodies. Who were they, where did they
come from, when did they die and above all, how did they end up in the bogs?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;">“When I joined the museum in ‘87, I soon found out
that Dutch bog bodies had never been studied in a thorough way,” says the
matter-of-fact van der Sanden, 49, one of the world’s five bog body
researchers. “I very quickly took interest in bog bodies, also in response to
the public’s questions. I couldn’t answer their questions.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<strong>Digging up answers</strong><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;">Van der Sanden, who became fascinated with bog bodies
as a teenager after reading <em>The Bog People</em> by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Glob" target="_blank">P.V. Glob</a>, started doing research
on bog bodies. He called human geneticists, blood-typing specialists, textile
experts, anthropologists, pathologists and forensic experts. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;">They learned that
Yde Girl had died as about age 16. She had been wearing a woolen cloak and the
band knotted around her neck was probably a waistband. A sliding knot had been
tied beneath her left year and tightened until she asphyxiated. Her hair had
been cut off on the right side of her head, and she had possibly been stabbed
under the collarbone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<strong>Bringing Yde Girl back to life</strong><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;">Eager to learn as much as he could about the only bog
body at the Drents Museum with a head, van der Sanden contacted
British medical artist Richard Neave about reconstructing Yde Girl’s head.
Neave also reconstructed the head of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lindow_Man" target="_blank">Lindow Man</a>, an Iron Age Briton found in a
British bog in 1984. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;">“I also thought it would be a good way to make bog
bodies more relative to visitors,” says van der Sanden, who left the Drents
Museum five years ago to continue his bog body research as the county
archaeologist for the Dutch province of Drenthe. “If you look at the remains,
it is very difficult to imagine once-living people.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;">He was right, Yde Girl was a huge hit. International interest
in her and bog bodies climaxed with the release of two films (one by the
Discovery Channel in 1997 and the other in 1998 by the BBC) and an exhibition
of bog mummies from the Drents Museum.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<strong>A case of human sacrifice</strong><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;">Van der Sanden says it was quite likely that Yde Girl
was sacrificed to the bogs: “The bodies are a part of the bigger picture of
sacrifice, and the exhibition tries to show that.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;">Van der Sanden explains that in prehistoric times,
northwestern Europe became increasingly wet and peat began to form, eventually
the areas were covered by bogs. People living on the high dry land between the
bogs believed that the dangerous, foggy areas were inhabited by gods and
spirits who controlled daily life. To keep on good terms with the gods, people
deposited offerings in the bog. Written evidence from the medieval period, as
well as the writings of Romans, including Tacitus, support the human sacrifice
theory.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;">“Yde Girl is a part of a pattern of human sacrifice,
but why sacrifice her?”</span><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt;">asks van der Sanden “I don’t know. That goes for all
bog bodies.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
The Mysterious Bog People <em>exhibition</em> <em>closed in 2005 after appearing in five countries, but you can still view it </em><a href="http://www.bogpeople.org/bog_uk/index.html" target="_blank"><em>online.</em></a> <em>Yde Girl is now back home at the Drents Museum if you feel like paying your respects.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>This will be my last post for 2012. Back in January. Happy holidays and see you next year!</em><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"><o:p><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-26507353774350331342012-12-12T05:03:00.001-08:002012-12-12T05:03:24.411-08:00Home for the holidays . . . after a few centuries<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span>
<br />
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;">By Lucianne Poole<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VEq2Ev821kg/UMYV_7Q-QwI/AAAAAAAAAI0/kKQjVzRbWow/s1600/IMG_1152.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="A photo showing a bridge and clouds reflected in the Arno River in Florence, Italy." border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VEq2Ev821kg/UMYV_7Q-QwI/AAAAAAAAAI0/kKQjVzRbWow/s320/IMG_1152.JPG" title="Home for the holidays...after a few centuries" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Arno River, Florence, much like it was in the 16th century.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<em>Here's a feature about a centuries-old Italian art mystery. </em><em>I wrote it in 2010 and sold it to the <a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/" target="_blank">Globe and Mail</a>, but they never got round to publishing it. So here it is for the first time!</em><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 12pt;">
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;">A mysterious couple with a Canadian connection have been
reunited in Italy after a 200-year separation. </span></div>
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;">You can find the aristocratic man
and his pale wife side-by-side in an art exhibition in their home town of
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Florence" target="_blank">Florence</a>. The 450-year-old portraits are considered masterpieces by Italian <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/zino/hd_zino.htm" target="_blank">Mannerist</a> painter <a href="http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/artists/bronzino" target="_blank">Bronzino</a>. It is the first time the elegant paintings have
appeared together since the 1824 sale of one of them, the Portrait of a Lady.</span><br />
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;">This historic occasion has revived
a centuries-old question: who are the man and the woman? <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<strong>A banker and his wife</strong><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 12pt;">
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;">Their identities have been long debated. <a href="http://www.gallery.ca/english/index.html"><span style="color: blue;">The National Gallery of Canada</span></a>,
which bought the Portrait of a Man in 1930 from a Berlin art dealer, recently identified
the man as <a href="http://www.gallery.ca/en/see/collections/artwork.php?mkey=10046" target="_blank">Pierantonio Bandini</a>, a wealthy and influential banker born in
Florence in 1514. According to the gallery, the woman in the Italian-owned Portrait
of a Lady is Bandini's wife Cassandra de' Cavalcanti. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<strong>The Medici theory</strong><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 12pt;">
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;">Other experts say that the couple are <a href="http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/139151/Cosimo-I" target="_blank">Duke Cosimo I de' Medici</a> and his wife, the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eleanor_of_Toledo" target="_blank">Duchess Eleonora di Toledo</a>, who ruled 16th-century
Florence. In 2004, <a href="http://artibusethistoriae.org/chapter493.html" target="_blank">Janet Cox-Rearick, an American academic, and Mary Westerman Bulgarella</a>, a textile and costume conservator based in Italy, linked the
pattern on the couple's clothing to that worn by the duke and duchess' son. As
court painter to the Medici, Bronzino painted official portraits of Cosimo I,
his family and the Florentine nobility. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<strong>What Vasari said</strong><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 12pt;">
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;"><a href="http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/623661/Giorgio-Vasari" target="_blank">Giorgio Vasari</a>, Bronzino's contemporary and famous for his
biographies of Italian artists, noted that Bronzino painted portraits of
Bandini and his wife. But these paintings were believed lost. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;">Then Catherine
Johnston started researching for an essay on the Portrait of a Man, now named
Pierantonio Bandini in the National Gallery of Canada's collection.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;">"I started
researching the Bronzino in 2004, and I thought everything was known,"
says Johnston, now retired as curator of European Art. "I was reading
Vasari again and again, and finally I thought of Pierantonio Bandini and the
missing portraits. 'Could it be them?'" <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<strong>Portrait listing found</strong><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 12pt;">
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;">At that time, an Italian researcher discovered a listing for
the 1904 sale of the Portrait of a Man from Palazzo Giugni in Florence. The
palace was once home to Cassandra Bandini, granddaughter and principal heir to
Pierantonio Bandini. She married into the Giugni family, bringing her
belongings and, plausibly, Bronzino's portraits.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 12pt;">
<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt;">Johnston acknowledges that her identification of Bandini and
his wife is not universally accepted. Nonetheless, she continues to research
the paintings, even travelling to Florence to see them at their temporary home
in <a href="http://www.palazzostrozzi.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Palazzo Strozzi</span></a>, close to the
magnificent Renaissance palaces where the Bandinis and the Medici once lived. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<strong>What do you think?</strong><br />
<br />
Do you think the National Art Gallery correctly identified the sitters in the paintings or are they actually of Medici and his wife? Have your say by leaving a comment below.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<i>This exhibition,<a href="http://www.palazzostrozzi.org/SezioneBronzino.jsp?idSezione=621" target="_blank"> </a></i><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><a href="http://www.palazzostrozzi.org/SezioneBronzino.jsp?idSezione=621" target="_blank">Bronzino. Artist and Poet at the Court of the Medici</a><i>, ended in 2011. But you can still visit it<a href="http://www.palazzostrozzi.org/SezioneBronzino.jsp?idSezione=621" target="_blank"> online</a> (see room VIII), buy the <a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Bronzino-Painter-Poet-Court-Medici/dp/8874611544" target="_blank">catalogue</a> and <a href="http://www.palazzostrozzi.org/SezioneBronzino.jsp?titolo=ROOM+VIII&idSezione=789" target="_blank">see the paintings</a> in person: Pierantonio Bandini at the National Gallery of Canada and Portrait of a Lady in Turin, Italy at <a href="http://www.museitorino.it/galleriasabauda/index.html" target="_blank">Galleria Sabauda</a>. </i></span></div>
Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-87858023393663305292012-12-01T05:01:00.000-08:002012-12-01T05:01:46.628-08:00Writing contest mania continuesBy Lucianne Poole<br />
<br />
<em>Have your say in the novel-writing contest I entered!</em><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IslkSjn-pl4/ULkeUHtdd7I/AAAAAAAAAIg/79d1ZzL0e90/s1600/WritingContestManiaContinues2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="A sketch of a woman writing with an old-fashioned quill pen and ink." border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IslkSjn-pl4/ULkeUHtdd7I/AAAAAAAAAIg/79d1ZzL0e90/s320/WritingContestManiaContinues2012.jpg" title="Writing contest mania continues" width="253" /></a></div>
With your help, I may inch closer to landing an agent for my novel.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://misssnarksfirstvictim.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">Miss Snark's First Victim</a>'s Baker's Dozen novel writing contest is now open to critiques. This means you can have your say in the contest I mentioned in an earlier <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5820716563419082736#editor/target=post;postID=8611085101368552514" target="_blank">post</a>, and in which I was chosen as a finalist. Yay!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://misssnarksfirstvictim.blogspot.ca/p/bakers-dozen-success-stories.html" target="_blank">Past winners</a> have gone on to successful careers as novelists (hopefully, I'll be among the ranks).<br />
<br />
How does this writing contest work? On Dec. 4, 2012, 15 <a href="http://misssnarksfirstvictim.blogspot.ca/2012/10/the-2012-bakers-dozen-all-star-agent.html" target="_blank">agents</a> will place bids on the <a href="http://misssnarksfirstvictim.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">finalists' entries</a> (short description and first 250 words), with
requested material going to the highest bidder. <br />
<br />
Critiquing opened Nov. 30, 2012 and continues til Dec. 5, 2012. If you're interested, please provide feedback on any of the 60 entries (two categories).<br />
<br />
These contests help "new" writers like me to find out if they are on the right track (whether we "win" an agent or not) and what you, the reader, are looking for. The genres range from young adult (YA) to women's fiction, romance and thrillers. <br />
<br />
At 250 words, they are quick reads and, as finalists, these entries have all been pre-screened. So they are good to amazing. The entries are also anonymous, so I won't tell you which is mine, except to give you two hints: all entries are numbered and mine is between 1 and 12. and it is not paranormal romance!<br />
<br />
If you would like to provide critique, here are some <a href="http://www.misssnarksfirstvictim.blogspot.ca/2012/11/bakers-dozen-critiquing-guidelines.html" target="_blank">guidelines</a> from Miss Snark's First Victim:<br />
<ul>
<li>Please use a screen name instead of "Anonymous". Using a screen name does not require that you have a Blogger account, or any other account. Simply choose the "Name/URL" option for signing in, and type whatever screen name you'd like to use. The URL part isn't necessary.</li>
<li>Your critique should focus on the actual writing. </li>
<li>As always, a mixture of tact and honesty is the best approach.</li>
<li>Please DO NOT CRITIQUE during the auction (Tuesday, Dec. 4, 11 a.m. EST to Wednesday, Dec. 5, 11 a.m. EST). </li>
</ul>
<a href="http://misssnarksfirstvictim.blogspot.ca/2012/10/14-agents-are-ready-to-outbid-each.html" target="_blank">schedule</a>:<br />
<div>
Nov. 30: 60 winning entries posted on Miss Snark's First Victim</div>
<br />
<div>
Dec. 4: auction is LIVE at 11 a.m. EDT (agents will place bids)</div>
<br />
<div>
Dec. 5: auction closes at 11 a.m. EDT and critiquing continues</div>
<br />
<div>
Dec. 6: winners announced<br />
<br />
Ready to critique? Go to the excellent blog of <a href="http://misssnarksfirstvictim.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">Miss Snark's First Victim</a>.<br />
<br />
How do you feel about critiquing? Ever done it before? Tell me about yourself. Please comment below.<br />
<br />
<em>Since I've blogged twice this week (phew!), there will be no blog for Wednesday, Dec. 5, 2012.</em></div>
Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-17165329025083479682012-11-23T06:56:00.001-08:002013-02-04T16:08:23.287-08:00The Shadow ServiceBy Lucianne Poole<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d6TYsiRnyGs/ULDFj-ItNiI/AAAAAAAAAII/fSEZFLEHJ7Q/s1600/Little-vampire-by-Ceskino-Wikimedia-Commons-GNU-License-300x292.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="A black and white image of a fanged vampire wearing a cape and bow tie." border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d6TYsiRnyGs/ULDFj-ItNiI/AAAAAAAAAII/fSEZFLEHJ7Q/s1600/Little-vampire-by-Ceskino-Wikimedia-Commons-GNU-License-300x292.png" title="The Dark Office" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Little-vampire-by-Ceskino</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<em>Here's an updated excerpt from the vampire novel I've been tinkering with. <span style="font-family: inherit;">Thanks</span> to <span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://sherrysoule.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">Sherry Soule</a></span></span> for her valuable feedback and also to the participants of <a href="http://crowleykt.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">K.T. Crowley's January Test Run</a>. </em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>In this scene, we meet the protagonist, a well-behaved vampire who works for the Government of Canada.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<em>They have
sent another one</em><span lang="EN-US">. Antonio glanced at the warning
from the deputy minister and absent-mindedly shredded the note with his pale
fingers. </span></div>
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">He sighed
and dropped the feathery strips of paper into his waste paper basket. A sliver of paper remained speared upon a long, talon-like fingernail. Antonio made a
mental note to pare his nails before he went out for the night.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was only 10 a.m., but you would never know it. The windowless
office was cast in perpetual gloom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
weak light from the solitary desk lamp and soft glow of his computer screen
provided enough light to reveal walls as bare as a monk’s cell. It would seem
old habits were hard to break. Except for the framed photo on his bookcase, the
Persian carpet blanketing the floor was his only concession to adornment. In
fact, the rug proved quite useful; it hid the green carpeting that spread
across government office floors like creeping mold. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Antonio scanned the staff meeting agenda on the
desk before him. He straightened his tie and smoothed back his hair. With the
grace of an athlete, he rose from his desk and stretched his limbs luxuriously.
</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was time to meet his latest adversary.</span></span><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>What do you think of this rewrite? Fangs, in advance, for the comments.</em><br />
<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"></span><br />Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-4856399140366024582012-11-20T13:49:00.000-08:002012-11-20T13:49:09.872-08:00Near Smiths Falls<em>An ode to an Eastern Ontario winter</em><br />
By Lucianne Poole<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t73PAA6blAk/UKv43E3RJyI/AAAAAAAAAH4/rC3WOqFaUSY/s1600/NearSmithsFalls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="A sketch of a Via Rail train car going past three cows in a frozen field." border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t73PAA6blAk/UKv43E3RJyI/AAAAAAAAAH4/rC3WOqFaUSY/s320/NearSmithsFalls.jpg" title="Near Smiths Falls" width="306" /></a></div>
The train plows through fresh snow.<br />
<br />
Like a cloud of icing sugar, it blows past my window.<br />
<br />
Pine boughs dusted white,<br />
<br />
And bare maples blur against the blue sky.<br />
<br />
The train rattles along the icy track.<br />
<br />
Cows look up from across a fence.<br />
<br />
They've seen it all before.<br />
<br />
<em></em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>Having said I've written few poems, I keep digging them up on scraps of paper. This has proven useful because as I'm reading my old stories, I'm realizing they need work - alot of it! - before I foist them upon you. </em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>I wrote this short prose poem one cold February on a <a href="http://www.viarail.ca/en">Via Rail</a> train between <a href="http://www.ottawa.ca/">Ottawa</a> and <a href="http://www.toronto.ca/">Toronto</a>. It's a striking route, particularly in winter, that takes you across frozen fields and forests and through picturesque towns like <a href="http://www.smithsfalls.ca/">Smiths Falls</a>, Ontario. And, of course, past blasé livestock.</em>Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-86110851013685525142012-11-14T04:12:00.000-08:002012-11-14T04:12:34.148-08:00Contest ManiaBy Lucianne Poole<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HOnSM0iE2H8/UKLPm6AJukI/AAAAAAAAAHc/tjoNTrtUL4w/s1600/IMG_0970.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="A photo showing tree-covered mountains and blue lakes, as seen from the top of Bald Mountain, Vermont." border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HOnSM0iE2H8/UKLPm6AJukI/AAAAAAAAAHc/tjoNTrtUL4w/s320/IMG_0970.JPG" title="Contest Mania" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>On top of the world, in this case Bald Mountain, Vermont.</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<em></em><br />
<em>I interrupt the weekly story with a news flash. Apologies for bitter disappointment and general outrage.</em><br />
<br />
I almost had a heart attack this past Monday morning. I received an email with this subject line: Congratulations! <br />
<br />
Naturally, I thought it was spam, a mistake or perhaps a cruel joke. After all, it's been years (literally) of rejections or just no responses from agents regarding my novel.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The message read that I had been chosen as one of 25 finalists in a novel-writing contest.<br />
<br />
I had entered my paranormal novel in a respected, NYC-based contest. Of course, I nurtured some vestige of hope. But, based on past results ie. 24 rejections, hope was at the molecular level. So, I was ecstatic to hear that mine (ie. the first 250 words) was one of those chosen out of 130 submissions. Now I just have to wait another three weeks to find out if an agent's interested in my work.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, a big thanks to all of my friends and family members who have read and critiqued said novel. And also thanks to you, readers of my blog. I'm very encouraged by your interest in my work.<br />
<br />
Back to contests and awards: I used to enter short story contests all the time but gave up a few years ago. This was because: <br />
<br />
a) I never won; <br />
b) the judges never chose stories like mine; and <br />
c) I decided to spend the time on my novel. <br />
<br />
On the other hand, if you win a contest, it can be a huge boost especially if you are a "new" writer. And you might even get published! Canadian author <a href="http://www.vincentlam.ca/about.php" target="_blank">Vincent Lam</a>, whose first book of short stories won the <a href="http://www.scotiabankgillerprize.ca/" target="_blank">Giller prize</a>, recently weighed in on the value of awards in the <a href="http://www.ottawacitizen.com/news/Spreading+rewards/7530663/story.html" target="_blank">Ottawa Citizen</a>.<br />
<br />
But as you writers out there know, there are also pitfalls to entering contests. You should know what you're getting into. The <a href="http://www.sfwa.org/" target="_blank">Science Fiction Writers of America</a> (SFWA) covers this subject well in the <a href="http://www.sfwa.org/for-authors/writer-beware/contests/" target="_blank">contests and awards</a> section of its Writer Beware.<br />
<br />
What do you think of writing contests and awards? Share your comment below.<br />
<br />
<em>Back to our normal or paranormal programming next week, when I may (or may not) have come back to earth.</em><br />
<br />Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-78068476675532199782012-11-07T05:01:00.000-08:002012-11-07T05:01:33.787-08:00FloatingBy Lucianne Poole<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oVApkcIBzwo/UJl4TdkWKNI/AAAAAAAAAHM/Z1ypSfhv2hM/s1600/Floating2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="A drawing of a view from a window showing a lake, where a woman in a red bathing suit floats and a sail boat and fish go by." border="0" height="264" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oVApkcIBzwo/UJl4TdkWKNI/AAAAAAAAAHM/Z1ypSfhv2hM/s320/Floating2.jpg" title="Floating" width="320" /></a></div>
I can see my mum's white legs <br />
<br />
through the water.<br />
<br />
A bird's eye view <br />
<br />
from the window above.<br />
<br />
The lake is still, flat like a mill pond.<br />
<br />
The morning is young,<br />
<br />
and she slips through the water <br />
<br />
like a pale shadow.<br />
<br />
<em></em><br />
<em>After the melodramatic</em> <a href="http://thewadingpoole.blogspot.ca/2012/10/bad-laundry-part-1.html" target="_blank">Bad Laundry</a><em>, I thought a short prose poem might fit the bill. I wrote this on a scrap of paper about 10 years ago after a trip to Vermont with my folks. I like it because it catches one of those peaceful moments that are so fleeting. I never submitted it anywhere.</em>Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-3994147472565522452012-10-31T06:27:00.000-07:002012-10-31T06:27:56.447-07:00Bad Laundry: Part 3<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K_y093P8GIY/UJA6Iltx1EI/AAAAAAAAAGw/dBM9UanK9Xc/s1600/Bad_Laundry_art.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="A drawing of a beat up old dryer with graffiti on it and "Bad Laundry" scrawled across the front." border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K_y093P8GIY/UJA6Iltx1EI/AAAAAAAAAGw/dBM9UanK9Xc/s320/Bad_Laundry_art.jpg" title="Bad Laundry: Part 3" width="250" /></a></div>
<em>The conclusion of a three-part spooky story in time for Halloween. If you missed the first two parts of the story, scroll down to find them below this post.</em><br />
<br />
By Lucianne Poole<br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">Three wild-eyed men stormed in. I knew at that moment I was done
for. They stood between the only exit and me. Trapped, I froze like a doe in
the headlights, hoping not to be noticed. I could only stare in dismay – they
had no laundry bags. </span><span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">It could only mean one thing.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">The first man, in his late 20s, obviously provided the muscle for
the group’s nefarious purposes. His large biceps were tattooed with
evil-looking barbed wire. He also had a shaved head and an ugly scar running
down the right side of it. No doubt it was easier to carry out orders with less
brain.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">The second man was about the same age, but taller and thinner with
dark hair. He was compulsively grabbing at clothes left on the table adjacent
to the door. I earmarked him as the probable toilet-seat stealer. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">As the marauders paused to rip open dryer doors and rifle contents,
I could see the third man, obviously their ringleader. He was in his 50s and
had the long ponytail and Birkenstocks of an aging hippie. He carefully picked
his way over the hidden crater. This was, no doubt, one of his haunts. Framed by
rounded-wire glasses, his eyes searched the room and lit upon me. </span><span lang="EN-US">He hesitated.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">“We just got a call from our roommate,” he said to me. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">I </span><span lang="EN-US">thought I heard a
note of apology in his voice. No doubt it was a trick. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">“He’s in Cuba, but he
forgot to pick up his laundry before he left last week.” <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">As if to confirm the fact, scar-head said: “These dryers are giving
off residual warmth; they’ve recently been used. Therefore, this can’t be
Clive’s stuff.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">“You could ask the attendant in the car wash,” I squeaked, playing
along with the charade to gain precious time. “He supervises this place.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">The ringleader nodded and ordered a retreat. The trio filed out. I
sprang to my feet and ran to my washers. My heart sank when I realized they
were still on “rinse”. My eyes darted to the door, now unobstructed, and back
to the washers, now juddering alarmingly as if protesting my imminent escape.
And then it hit me. I realized that freedom could only come at a high price: no
underwear, not to mention my new pair of designer jeans.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">Five minutes later the doors of the laundromat swung open again. The
swearing attendant entered swearing and wielding a full garbage bag. The three
“roommates” followed hot on his heels. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">“People leave their f***in' stuff all the time,” the attendant said,
unceremoniously dumping the bag on the table. “What I want to know is, what are
they f***in' wearing?” <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">The roommate with the dark hair and fleet fingers sorted through the
clothes. Every now and then, he would hold up an item and say things like: “Would Clive
wear something like this? Are these his colours?” <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">The men soon realized that they had no clue what Clive wore, nor did
they care. But when the dark-haired man retrieved a white lacey bra, the words
died on their lips.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">“Well, I guess
that can’t be Clive’s!” scar-head said with a forced laugh. But his eyes said
he sure as hell hoped it wasn’t his roommate’s.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">The roommates admitted defeat and, empty-handed, they began to file
out of the laundromat. </span><span lang="EN-US">The dark-haired one suddenly stopped in his tracks.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">“Wait a second, I have to use the washroom.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US">End<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
Bad Laundry <em>is the true story about my strangest trip to my local laundromat in <a href="http://ottawa.ca/" target="_blank">Ottawa</a>, ON, Canada.</em> <em>It</em> <em>was also the last creative writing piece I submitted for publication. </em><a href="http://www.geist.com/" target="_blank">Geist</a><em> (to which I sent most stories, although I guess I shouldn't have put all my eggs in one basket) rejected</em> Bad Laundry <em>in 2009: ".. the story is focused more on the narrator's anxiety than on the story that is unfolding in front of her." </em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>After that rejection, I decided to channel my efforts into writing (and re-writing) my paranormal novel. I've entered the novel into a NYC-based contest this week, so we'll see if the efforts paid off!</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>Meanwhile, let me know what you think of the story and the original art.</em>Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-68023830763525035372012-10-24T10:18:00.000-07:002012-10-24T10:18:26.558-07:00Bad Laundry: Part 2<em>A three-part spooky story in time for Halloween. If you missed the first part of the story, scroll down to find it below this post.</em><br />
<br />
By Lucianne Poole<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3Vj5mx4L3pY/UIfn9n-C49I/AAAAAAAAAGY/Zk8w8gKUmzY/s1600/IMG_1523.jpg+cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Photo of a window showing peeling letters spelling "laundromat"." border="0" height="181" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3Vj5mx4L3pY/UIfn9n-C49I/AAAAAAAAAGY/Zk8w8gKUmzY/s320/IMG_1523.jpg+cropped.jpg" title="Bad Laundry: Part 2" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A sinister message is scratched above one dryer: "Eats loonies".</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">“F***in' pigs!”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">Startled back to
the reality of my impending doom, I was disappointed to see it was only the
surprisingly well-groomed attendant, who also operated the gas station next
door. Fortunately, my overloaded washers escaped his notice; his eyes were on
the floor.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">“I clean this
place every f***in' day and they leave their crap everywhere,” he said as he
furiously grabbed litter off the floor.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">Who are they? I
wanted to ask. But instead, made reckless by the full moon, I ventured: “Maybe
you could put a garbage can in here?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">“It’s over
there,” he said sullenly, pointing to the garbage can next to the door. “They
stole the other f***in' one from under the table. They steal everything,” he
paused and narrowed his eyes at me, as if he had something else to say but
wasn’t sure if I could handle it. I must have passed the test because he
uttered darkly: “You know why the washroom is always locked?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">“No,” I replied,
thinking of people at the laundromat I had never seen again, their bodies
stacked neatly in various states of decay.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">“Because someone
stole the f***in' toilet seat and the light switch. F***in' f***ers.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">“That’s not
stealing, that’s mental illness.” I leaned against one of the tables for
support. It was disturbing to think that someone was out there stealing toilet
seats from places like this.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">“You’ve got that
right,” he snorted. He dumped the detritus from the floor into the garbage can
and threw open the first washer. Grabbing armfuls of dirt-grey carwash rags, he
threw them into a dryer and slammed the door. Without another word, he stalked
out of the laundromat.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">I perched on one
of the tables, careful to avoid a bluish stain. I was trying to envision the
type of person to steal a toilet seat from a filthy laundromat, when the door
flew open again.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">Three wild-eyed
men stormed in. I knew at that moment I was done for. They stood between the
only exit and me. Trapped, I froze like a doe in the headlights, hoping not to
be noticed. I could only stare in dismay – they had no laundry bags. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">It could
only mean one thing.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<em>To be concluded next week....</em>Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820716563419082736.post-57923084343557199272012-10-17T10:23:00.001-07:002012-10-23T05:12:03.505-07:00Bad Laundry: Part 1<em>A three-part spooky story in time for Halloween</em><br />
By Lucianne Poole<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UVESyWkerlY/UH8573z8h-I/AAAAAAAAAF8/lFK_zR9yTXU/s1600/IMG_1523.jpg+cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="181" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UVESyWkerlY/UH8573z8h-I/AAAAAAAAAF8/lFK_zR9yTXU/s320/IMG_1523.jpg+cropped.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Sometimes it's safer to be outside rather than inside a laundromat.</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span><br /></div>
<span lang="EN-US">“So you go to the gross one.”</span><span lang="EN-US"> </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">“It’s closer to my apartment, and it’s cheaper,” I replied
defensively.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">“All the weirdoes go to <i>that</i> laundromat.”</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">My friend was right. The place was the worst one I’d ever been to.
It was filthy, the washers and dryers constantly broke down, and it was full of
stray socks and suspicious characters. It was a blight on the scrubbed face of
<a href="http://ottawa.ca/" target="_blank">Ottawa</a>.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">I knew I was asking for trouble when I went to the bad laundromat on
a full moon. Everyone knows all the crazies come out on the full moon, but I
had no choice; I was out of underwear. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">Armed with a fearsome bag of laundry, which –<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realized with
dismay –<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>could only be used as a weapon when full, I made the 20-minute walk
to my probable doom. The birds were singing and the daisies were nodding in the
late afternoon sun. I was soon lulled into a false sense of security. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">I swung open the door of the laundromat and was enveloped by a humid
sub-tropical climate created by 10 washers, five industrialized dryers and no
ventilation. I proceeded with care along the eight-foot-lint-covered black mat;
it had been thrown down the previous month to cover a small crater in front of
the first washer.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">During months of rinse
cycles and spin dries, I had watched in fascination as this pit formed. Like
some geological phenomenon, the end of a ridge stretching from the door had
slowly collapsed into a 30-centimetre wide gap. Once I peered down the hole,
expecting to find an ancient crypt, but it was only a shallow hole full of
rubble and used fabric softener sheets.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">Other litter – empty chip bags, candy wrappers, and used fabric
softening sheets –<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>was strewn across
the floor. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">Despite its state of disrepair and lack of air circulation – which
depended on if the door was open or closed – the laundromat always smelled
pretty good in a downy fresh way. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US">I threw down my duffle bag and separated my whites from darks. With
the speed of a pro, I crammed three loads of laundry into the two best washers
– they didn’t break down as often as the others. </span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US"></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US">I was almost finished
overloading – tossing in my last pair of underwear – when the laundromat door flew open.</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><em>To be continued next week. . .</em> </span>Lucianne Poolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10687732495236270127noreply@blogger.com0