Amy Sedgemore
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Egypt. December 20th, 2010. Flashbacks, of another kind.

12/21/2014

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       So, I know I owe two more installments of my Pedstruck '99 story, and I will - three more are coming to you soon, I promise. October through to December, is not my most favourite time of year: too many anniversaries of heavy-hearted times. As I was remembering the events of when I was struck by a car in November 1999, soon the anniversary of another accident crept closer and closer. This is usually about the time my PTSD reinforces the protective bubbles around me, my thoughts and my heart, for this accident had much more of a devastating outcome. (***Disclaimer:This is my true experience exactly as it happened, some details may be difficult).
       This time, I wasn't the one being struck by the car. This time, I was inside one.
       On December 20th, 2010, four of us cruise ship crew members, headed out with the intentions to catch the crew bus to the mall for lunch. WHAT? Are we crazy? It's Egypt, right? There are a million things to see and do here? Yes, all true. However some days schedule only permits limited time ashore, hence the idea for a jaunt to the mall for lunch! Fuddruckers anyone? (Yes, there's one in Alexandria and it's exactly as awesome as all the rest!).
       So, we missed the bus by mere moments. We decide, as we are pinched for time, to hire a cab. to the mall instead. 
       Only, we never make it to the mall. 
       Have you watched one of those viral traffic videos online? The ones where it shows cars, trucks, scooters, bicycles, animals, people all crossing from every which direction at the same time without any type of traffic lights or signalling at all? If you have, then you'll have an idea of how the roads are in Alexandria. We had past across the overpass from the Port and were making our way toward the mall. We came into a section of road where there literally were about 6 roads merging into one. Without any lines on the road, no lights to guide who starts and stops when. Let me tell you, people are not slowly, cautiously puttering along with concern. Nope. They are driving at steady speeds: no start/stop with breaking. And there are absolutely NO crosswalks of any kind (Luxor is a different story...).
       The next few moments pass as if scenes from a tragic movie played in slow motion.
       We're driving along, weaving here and there, I'm literally clutched, white-knuckled, onto the driver's seat as I was sitting right behind him. Out of the corner of our eye, a ways away, there is a woman and two children standing on the side of the road. No way would our North American minds imagine she was going attempt to cross this chaos!
       Much the way my mind glosses over details of when I was struck by a car, to protect my sanity I gather...is the same as it does in this situation as well. Though, something's, no amount of glossing will cover. Even as I remember the details, tears prickle my eyes, and a pain pinches my heart. 
       She went for it. One child she carried in her arm, while holding the others' hand. We shook our heads in disbelief, breathe caught in our chest, hearts frozen as we watched. For a brief moment of hope, it seemed as though she'd make it. 
       I won't go into detail too much. I'll just say that my heart still breaks for the loss of lives that day.
The Chaos that ensued afterwards only served to add fuel to the fire, as we were soon surrounded by closer to a hundred angry Egyptian men, pushing on the cab, yanking open the doors, yelling at us in Arabic as if we did this on purpose. We made it out of the cab, and hovered with our backs against the wall of an eatery, panicked. No one spoke English. Except the broken bits of our cab driver, who was trying to get us to go back in the cab. Which we outright refused, despite his insistence. 
      A person of the restaurant offered us water and tried his best to calm everyone. He even called his friend cab driver to help us. Only THIS cab driver actually wanted US to walk across the 6 lanes of traffic to where his cab was parked. Hell NO was that happening. We stayed put. And eventually he brought the cab to us. Only how do you explain to someone who doesn't speak English how to get to the port? It actually came down to drawing on a paper, a couple wrong directions (and ALMOST another close call with an accident!), before we made it home (Our home away from home, the Norwegian Jade).
       It wasn't until I made it back to the privacy of my cabin that the emotions that were held inside broke the surface. Heartbroken, overwhelmed, in utter shock. I remember calling my mom. I needed to hear her voice. She told me later that she could hardly make out what I was saying, but she knew it was bad. She urged me to come home. But I couldn't.
      I had to put on a strong suit. I was the Supervisor of the Youth Program on board, during the Christmas cruise. There was no time for replacements. SomeHOW, I had to look into the faces of hundreds of kids on board, and their families, and not think of the two little ones and their mom who didn't make it home that day. It was one of the most difficult weeks of my life to date. I came home, mid February, with delayed P.T.S.D. My family doctor actually sent me for an emergency appointment with how emotional I was in his office at the mere opening question "Nice to see you Amanda, how have you been?" It's four years later, and I am still not the same Amanda I was before that accident occurred.
       I'm sharing this story now, in memory of that family and the heartache that their loved ones must go through each year on this anniversary. And also to share an example of P.T.S.D that didn't stem from serving time in military. I do think a lot of people still only attribute one to the other. I want to help spread the word for those of us who also cope with P.T.S.D on a daily basis, in hopes to strengthen the awareness & support. And ALSO so that we remember to be grateful for the things we take for granted. Traffic rules/regulations, safe crosswalks, and even Emergency response systems that arrive within minutes as opposed to those countries, like Egypt, that don't have these life saving luxuries.
       I'd love to hear your experiences, and thoughts on these subjects, please drop a comment or two for me :) With love to all of you and your loved ones. Give them all a huge hug for me. xoxo Amanda

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 Pedstruck '99 - 15 years later - Part Two

11/24/2014

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The next five days went by in a blur. I don't remember much if it now and I didn't then either. That's because I was in an out of surgery and in and out of consciousness too.
     From the impact of the car, both my tibia and fibula were damaged. Both bones of my right shin were broken, and it two ways. A oblique break: means the bone was completely broken on an angle, which is very unstable (in the degree of breaks). And then a comminuted break, which means they were shattered too. What did this mean for me?
     First and foremost, it meant that I needed immediate surgery to secure the tibia. This required a titanium rod to be placed in my tibia and secured with some screws. I'm not going to go into detail about that procedure but I do know that I am thrilled that I wasn't awake to experience or remember any of it. 
     So the reason I don't remember those first five days is...after that first surgery to place the titanium rod in, there was a complication. I spiked an intense fever. Which, though I don't remember much in those days, I actually remember this. And that's because I remember being soo hot, like melting hot, but the nurse saying I wasn't - that according to my temperature I was, in fact, freezing. When they touched my skin, it was ice cold. (Later in my hospital stay I stole a peek at my chart and saw the temperature line. It had completely skyrocketed, and then plummeted and then skyrocketed again during this time period).
     Why? Not only was my body reacting to the trauma of this rod intrusion, it was also resisting his foreign object. Hence the fever. It is Acute Compartment Syndrome, and required immediate surgery to get control of the swelling. If left untreated in an urgent manner, this could have caused the nerves and blood vessels to die and would have resulted in amputation - and in the worse cases - death.
     I am grateful every day that I was the 1 in 4, to have KEPT my leg (3 our of every 4 people with this complication aren't so lucky and end up losing their limb). Four surgeries in five days, is the reason I don't really remember much of them. They gave me four long scars on my right leg - but I rock them proudly. (On the left of my calf is similar to the one on the right side, it's not visible in the photo). They are daily reminders of how I beat the odds - what's not to be grateful for?
I hope you've enjoyed part two of my experience of being struck by a car. If you have stories and experiences to share, I would love to hear them! Please leave them in the comments and check back next week for part three!

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15 years ago - #Pedstruck '99 - Part #1

11/16/2014

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          Has it been that long already? Fifteen years have passed since I was struck by a car: an impact that has changed my life forever.
          Sometimes I can remember it so vividly it feels like a few short years ago. Close to midnight, on a cold and dreary November night, I returned a couple movies to Video Update and them made my way home. Suddenly, there were bright, blinding headlights. The next thing I remember I'm on the cold, damp cement, trying to move, in an attempt to pull myself out of the way of traffic. The moments flicker by as if watching a scene through a viewfinder: moments of clarity, and moments of darkness.
          Initially, I was yelling for help, that my leg was in paid and that was why I was trying to drag myself out of the way. The next  thing I know, I'm lying on my back nearer the side of the road, and a woman is standing over me, asking me questions like, do I remember my name? And is there someone I can call? I still remember blinking against the rain falling onto my face and in my eye as I manage to give her my home number, in hopes of at least reaching my roommate. The next time I come to, there is a blue tarp hoisted above me to block the pouring rain, I don't know where it came from, but more people are around me. And then I'm in an ambulance. I'm repeatedly yelling about the pain in my leg as by this point it's quite severe. I can still remember the ambulance attendant who was in the back with me, tell me to stop yelling about the pain, that they couldn't administer anything to help until we reach the hospital. "Well, then you may as well ignore me," I told her, "See how quiet and calm you'd be if you were me." She didn't say anything else to me for the remainder of the ride, not that I remember anyway.
          The next thing I know, I'm in a room with glaringly bright lights hanging overhead. There's a doctor with dark brown hair and a thick mustache leaning over me, trying to get my attention. He introduces himself as Dr. Gordon Pate, and asks for my name, if I knew the day of the week and the date, those sort of things. Then, he tells me I'm not going to like this part very much. I didn't know what he was referring to, since he is holding a face cloth above my face as he says so. I can recall with acute details when he put the hot cloth on my face. All the while wondering, what the big deal was. And then he proceeds to move the face cloth as if to clean my face. A thousand sharp piercing cuts all at once, all across my face. I swear I could see little flashes of lights for every one of those sharp pricks. For each one was from teeny, tiny, nearly invisible, shards of glass. From the wind-shield, as Dr. Pate informed me.
          And then I could remember it exactly. I remember taking a step or two as I started to cross the street and suddenly seeing bright headlights. Startled, I turned around and tried to get out of the way. But it was too late. The car struck me on my right side. I went up on the hood, hit the windshield, that's when I acquired the minute fragments of glass. The driver must have slammed on the brakes at this point, because soon I'm flying through the air (up out of my shoes I later learned), and land on the front, right side of my head.
          "You're going to need surgery". Dr. Pate tells me and wheels me into the hallway until an operation room is available. While in the hallway, two officers stop by. "It was you? Little olè you? That Saturn looked like it hit a deer!?"
          That's the last thing I remember before they rolled me in for surgery.
I hope you've enjoyed the first part to my story of being hit by a car, Check back next week for Part Two!
Until then, have a wonderful week and stay warm!



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My first Perfect Score! A Vote Of Confidence!

11/8/2014

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(I have no idea what happened to my previous post which published as blank, nor why Weebly is making this all in caps (without my caplock being that way), but here we go again)...

From a month or two dwelling in editing squalor, I think I may have received the vote of confidence I needed. Over the past year, I have entered approximately 5 writing contests. While the hope is to place as a finalist, aspiring authors also obtain invaluable feedback for their submitted works. Included in the 'you didn't quite cut it kid' email, are usually three score card from the judges. Up until now, I have consistently received a similar spread. One super high score with glowing remarks (an 'A' or 'A+' from percentage). One great score with positive feedback and constructive criticism (a 'b'). And finally, one not so favourable score (a 'C' and even one D!). Overall, I have felt these have been a great representation of the variety of readers in general: to each their own, right? (Though I still maintain that the lowest of the grades and with the poorest comments/feedback just didn't *get* my story telling voice and I got the sense that they preferred traditional/classic style of romance).
Well folks, I just got All A's baby! 63/70, 62/70 and...wait for it...70/70!!
And while I didn't place as a finalist, it was rewarding. September, I received an honourable mention and now this? It's clear proof in the numbers that I've been steadily improving over the last year. I feel that if I keep doing what I'm doing, I will reach my goal of becoming a published author! It's only a matter of time!
For now, I am going to let these positive scores and comments boost my writing...er, editing spirit, and propel me closer to that finish line. I guess it's a good thing its nanowrimo, which I have personalized into a Nanorevmo - Revisions month. :)
Here's the positive comments that made my last few months and truly reaffirmed my aspirations!
Tumble Into Me. 70/70
"This is the only perfect score I gave. I loved every moment of it, and I totally want to fall in love with Liam. You’ve a great voice. I kept reading and wanted more. Good luck with the submissions. I know this manuscript will sell."
(from a published author).
*sigh* :)

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Remembering Dorothy: My Mom, My Superhero

10/23/2014

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       October 18, 2014 marked the two year anniversary of losing my mom. Whilst I will always be heavy hearted with losing my mother, I found it surprising that in comparison to last year's anniversary, I wasn't nearly as inconsolable. Last October, I found myself mostly dwelling on the immense gaping hole left in her absence, on how alone I am without her and how bad I needed her to be here: I grieved not only losing her here with me, her support, love and guidance, but also all the future moments we'd never get to share. I was completely gutted by the fact that, every holiday will never be the same without her. Empty. Growing up, when my older sister was no longer living at home, or when she had moved overseas for example, many holidays were celebrated just the two of us. Now, what did I have to be thankful for, without her? How could I be joyous and triumphant ,in her absence? Birthdays? Mother's Day? Sheer torture and utterly impossible! That may seem pigeon-minded however grief took the reigns on my sense reason and quite frankly, blind-sided me.

          As my mother and I both shared a passion for writing, the idea of hopefully achieving my dreams of becoming published...and not being able to share that with her...really hurt. It was suffocating at times, immobilizing at others. The instinctual fire that I must do this - in her memory - and not give up until I break through that ribbon and cross that finish line - became overshadowed by the deep ache my heart.

          All of that is still the same, though this anniversary seemed shockingly...bearable.

          Instead of dwelling on all the loss and pain, emptiness and heartache, regret and anger, I found my thoughts and memories leading me to feelings of happiness. Though finding it increasingly more difficult to sleep the closer October 18th crept, it was fond memories of my childhood that kept me up at nights. And though tears prickled at the back of my eyes, a smile would tug on the corner of my mouth. Instead of missing all the moments that have not yet and will not happen, I remembered moments of my childhood that warm my heart.

          Like the times during winter, back in the mid-eighties, when we'd come in from playing in the snow to hot cocoa and a heated electric blanket waiting to warm us up. Or how, while working in a print shop as a book binder (leather book covers etc), she'd bring home umpteen colouring sheets and activity pages. This one time, she surprised my sister and I, when we returned from James Bay Community school; in the middle of the living room was a large cardboard box. What could be inside but two itty bitty kittens which were soon named Ginger and Rascal.
          One year for Christmas she made a pair of knitted/crocheted cats. They were a mom and kitten and fastened together with Velcro or a button. I loved it so much and still wish I had them to this day. We moved so much that the cherished items from my childhood only exist in my memory.
          I really loved the walks along Dallas Road beach in Victoria. We'd collect shells and weathered sea glass, as well as perfectly shaped rocks that would soon be painted as lady bugs or butterflies or mice. I remember also going blackberry picking. How she would distinctly remind us not to eat any of them until we got home so we could wash them. And then on the way home, she'd ask me if I ate any, even though the evidence was all over my face and hands. 
          I remember with extreme clarity, the super human strength she exhibited in 2000, just after I was hit by a car and was in a wheelchair with both legs raised out in front of me. Following an appointment at the orthopaedic surgeon's office on the top of a ridiculous hill (I will never understand how out of ALL places, they chose there for a medical office), we had to make it all the way down to the bus which goes along the bottom of a long and dangerously steep hill (New Westminster is known for these). Her iron grip saved me from flying down the hill and into traffic. And even though her death lock grip inflicted pain in her arms and hands for the days following...she never complained. 

          And, that even during the difficult times, such as times when we'd wait in line at the food bank or welfare office, or those spent at a woman's shelter, she always tried to make it as things we're okay. That we weren't struggling as bad as we were. She taught me to appreciate what you have in life, no matter how little. To remember that there are people out there who have it worse - the truly homeless, the hungry or the unwell. No matter how little we had, she'd always help a neighbour in need and truly, always had a way of making the best of any situation. I'd like to think I got a little of that from her, though on my grey-ist of days it may not be as apparent.


          So whenever I find my heart aching and memories straying, I'm going to look at this photo and remember my mother for the compassionate and caring, strong, independent woman, mother, super-hero she truly was.

          With all my heart, I love you Mom!
***I've posted one of my Mom's poems on the poetry page, hope you have a read. Hope to get a chance to upload a few more in the coming days.

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What A Fibro Flare-Up Feels Like.

9/27/2014

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                                                           What a Fibro Flare-up feels like.

                I have more diagnosed medical conditions than I can count on two hands. A handful of them have symptoms that I deal with on a daily basis: Asthma, G.E.R.D/Hiatus Hernia/Schiatzki’s Ring, HFI (I will go into further details on a future post), endometriosis and fibromyalgia. This week though, I experienced the worse Fibromyalgia flare-up to date. It’s one of those scenarios where when I didn’t think it could get any worse, it proved me wrong.

                Many of you have probably had one of those brutal flus that knock you out for the count for the better part of week (at least); you know the one where your whole body aches so much and you’re nauseous, feverish and weak. A fibro flare-up, at least for me, has that kind of pain. A deep in your bones, furious pain that is generally resistant against pain remedies. This current flare-up is so fierce I had burning, tingling pain from the tips of my fingers, shoulders, along my back, into my hips and down to the balls of my feet. Even the action of carrying a mug of tea across the room was painful. There were a couple evenings when the pain seemed to burrow deep into my hands and forearms, and using them for any movements inflicted lasting, gnawing pain.

                Of course, with the flu, rest is needed and sleep is <for the most part> easier to come by because of the fatigue. With fibromyalgia, no matter how extremely fatigued I feel, despite feeling as though I could sleep for days, it’s next to impossible. This is mainly because it’s the evening and late hours of the night when the symptoms amplify. It takes me hours to fall asleep on evenings where my symptoms are subdued. During a flare-up? I’m likely to start dozing off when the sun starts to rise. Quite the vicious cycle because really, how am I to have the energy to tackle chores, jobs…life, if I am walking around half dazed?

                Not only is the lack of sleep to blame here but also the treacherous Fibro Fog that takes ‘Dazed and Confused’ to a whole new level. Completely unfocused, forgetful, disinterested…blank. The fog combined with the fatigue is enough to diminish my creative flow or simply that zest, and leaves me feeling as though I’m simply going through the motions instead of having the energy and drive to accomplish all I hope to each day, week and month.

                Of course there’s also the fever and sensory sensitivity, neither of which are any kind of fun.  

                As you can imagine, with the pain, fatigue and the fog – a serious triple threat: Fibromyalgia affects every aspect of my life. Work: most days I manage to do what it takes to get through hour by hour, shift by shift, day by day. Many Fibro suffers can no longer work; I am fortunate to still have a job and am grateful that my job is not physically strenuous. As it stands, this current flare up has me worried as it’s the first one that has caused me to miss a few days of work. Naturally, I am concerned. Are things progressing/worsening with my Fibromyalgia symptoms? If so, what then?

                I can’t worry about what may happen in the future. All I can do is take each day as it comes and do the best I can. As many of us face our own daily battles, I leave you with this S.C. Lourie quote: Sometimes, just getting up and facing another day is courage enough.

                                                Be well, friends. Gentle Fibro Hugs to all of you.


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one step forward, two steps back.

9/23/2014

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     Likely apparent by my lack of presence here or on twitter (where I often chirp about writing accomplishments, curiosities etc. There has not been any lately - hence the absence): it's been a slow moving summer with regards to progress of any kind with my writing. Surprisingly, not because of the weather. To be honest, even that would serve as a decent reason, considering Vancouver has just experienced one of the best summers in a long, long time; definitely one of the driest. The beautiful, warm sunny days haven't been to blame for my word drought, though the major brick wall I arrived at during my editing proved to be nearly unsurpassable. I couldn't wander around it, I couldn't dig my way under it, nor could I scale it and jump over it. I was officially stuck.

     With the hopes of becoming unstuck, this past weekend I spent an afternoon surrounded by the talented writer's of RWA-GVC (Romance Writer's of America Greater Vancouver Chapter) who shared their experiences and advice regarding these setbacks. The meeting included many useful and informative workshops, for me the most useful (given my current state of limbo) was that given by Kate Austin on the 'ABCs of Revisions'. I found comfort in knowing that I haven't completely embarked on an impossible journey. Just because my feet seem to be stuck in concrete at the moment, doesn't mean I am forever stopped in my tracks along this road to publication.

     During Kate's workshop, I breathed a sigh of relief. Many writer's, even published ones, reach moments during editing that cause persuasive doubt.

     I reached a moment like this, with editing Tumble Into Me. While working in the much needed transitions between my scenes, I have woven in way more words than are ever needed into this or any other contemporary romance. Knowing this caused further dread with regards to editing because it was suddenly appearing endless. I could no longer see the light at the end of the tunnel. Soon I felt like I was doing this for nothing; that no matter how much time I put toward editing, I would never reach the finish line, and that thought is what stopped my progress for taking even one more step towards it.

     Now I am starting to envision that path again. It is much longer and windier than I have previously thought BUT now I think I know what I have to do to move forward. I need to start back at the beginning. Scene by scene, chapter by chapter, I need to remove most of what I have added during this editing pass. The story never needed more scenes, nor did it require more characters; it needs complete transitions in order for Tumble Into Me to flow properly for future readers. I'd do well to remember this!

     I also have to remind myself to take time during editing to keep my muse inspired by continuing to write creatively and read for pleasure: both to keep the inspiration and motivation alive. So while I am about to retrace my steps, I am eager to restart from the beginning with these and the ABCs of revisions at hand. Wish me luck! :)

    







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absorbing (& Dissecting) the results from my first writing contest

8/28/2014

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           At the end of June and into early July, I entered my first two contests for writing romance. Today I received the results back from one of them. To make a long story short, I didn't score as a finalist. The information stung a little, I won't lie. Thankfully, even though contestants generally enter competitions to win, this is one kind of contest where losing isn't a complete loss nor indicative of an utter failure. 

          In an event of a dismal loss, I was counting on some direct, constructive feedback from the judges as my consolation prize. The judges, comprised of a group of agents, editors and published authors, complete a detailed score-card that gives a breakdown of categories such as characters, setting, voice, conflict, mechanics, and so on. Included in my 'thanks for trying' email, are three of the judges score cards for my entry: then known Going for Gold (now as Tumble Into Me). 

          The results of my three score cards, each marked out of 100 possible points, vary quite interestingly. Two of the judges comments are similar, while the results of the third one differs and is less positive. Upon scrolling down my entry towards the scorecard, I have one of those 'can't look' moments. As in, since I didn't qualify for the next round, I was anticipating depressing scores. Surprisingly, before I reached the results of my first scoring, the judge left some comments and some tips: really positive comments I might add (which I'll circle back to in a moment). In any case, I found myself immediately relieved and willing to face the scores. 

          From the results, my strengths are character (18/20), dialogue (14/15 - with remarks about watching out for dialogue tags) and setting (9/10) - these are areas I do feel comfortable and somewhat confident in so I found this reassuring. I received average results on conflict (7/10). I'm really pleased to have scored 16/20 on style/voice and that the judge felt that my writer's voice was 'unique, enjoyable and flows smoothly at a good pace', that she'd like to see more emotional responses, and to be careful of the occasional 'head-hopping'. Lower points were given for opening/hook (something I'm continuing working to improve) with a score of 3/5. Mechanics, which includes grammar, punctuation and POV received the lowest at 2/5. While this is surprising to me: I've never received negative marks on grammar and punctuation, it's generally a strong suit of mine, this does remind me of areas to be mindful of. Out of a possible 100 points, this judge gave me 78! Phew! Not as bad as I feared. Then again, I am not sure if that is considered quite low in the scheme of the contest results, but it's a number I can swallow. 
     *NOTE: I really enjoyed the story. It’s a lovely premise and I’d love to read more and find out about Julia and Liam. Your dialogue is snappy and fits the country. Good job. I really like Liam – a lot. He’s the sort of kind, caring, hot, hunk of a guy we’d all like to fall in love with. They both have enough secrets that it makes the reader curious and dying to learn more about how they’ve come to be together in this far away land. You’re right, there is definitely something hot about a Scottish accent. Good luck with your story.

          The second score was even better! I earned 83/100! I got flying colours on character (20/20) &  dialogue (15/15) and for style/voice I achieved 19/20! I couldn't happier! Some of the other scoring are alike but the mechanics one - the one about grammar and punctuation and POV and previously earned the surprising 2/5... I earned 5/5! On one hand, I am feel redeemed, that I do have a relatively clear understanding about grammar and punctuation and that my POVs are clear. Like everyone, I'm not perfect, run-on sentences sneak in here or there, as well as a purposeful fragment of a sentence (to help establish perhaps the characters internal response, or mood or such). As I am in an editing draft, any areas where the POV seems unclear, I do take time to go through entire scenes or chapters if needed and make sure the switch is clear. 

          On the other hand, now that I have two different points and comments on the mechanics portion, how can I tell which one I should...heed? Not only that, these two judges had exactly the opposite to say about the storyline/plot: one saying how they love how 'they both have enough secrets to keep the reader curious and leaves them dying to know why/how they come together in this far away land'. The 2nd judge asked 'why is she in Scotland to begin with? Might be nice to indicate this from the start'. This is a purposeful decision on my part and I feel the first judge/reader has the response I would hope for - they are intrigued, curious and want to know more. Again, I am left with two opposing reactions ( which realistically would be what different readers may have). What better way than to see 'where the majority is', then to see what the third judge had to say?

          As mentioned, my third and final score card had a less than favourable score (imho); possibly because I was feeling content and encouraged with the scoring of the first two. The comments are exactly what an aspiring author wants and needs: praise for areas that work great and what areas need extra attention (and in some cases suggestions of where to look for examples of how to improve these). My third score was a whopping, wait for it - 59! Where both previous judges scored similarly, this judge rated the same category drastically lower, ending with comment that 'overall the entry was average.' Don't get me wrong, this judge did also include constructive comments highlighting points she liked and suggested areas to look at for improvements. All of which I will take in to serious consideration. I want my story to succeed, and to do that I need to accept areas of weakness in order to learn what it takes to improve them!
          I know this is the first of many forms of feedback I will get going forward. Readers may or may not like my story, judges may or may not get it, and agents may or may not want it. This is the first in receiving this type of feedback on my story. All I can do is learn from the comments and hopefully find a way to determine which comments/suggestions to work on and which to let slide - as I've found out before, contradicting feedback is enough to make my head spin. If any writer's out there have developed a way to weed through the positives and negatives and select what truly will work to improve the novel, and how to avoid listening to feedback that may not be right for YOUR project, please, please...share!


























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I am NoT An Editor.

8/14/2014

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          I am a avid reader and a romance writer, but one thing that is becoming abundantly clear as I continue down this Road to Publication, is I am not an editor.
          This is something I am learning the more I work at this 'aspiring author' dream of mine.
          What's interesting to me about this particular realization is that, an editor was something I had on the list of interesting and possible careers choices while growing up. I always have loved reading and often, easily zero in on errors in already published works, and would think to myself: I could do that job. It's not that I can't edit. I enjoy the editing, as I am writing the story and rewrite and improve on the interactions, details and pace of my scenes.
          Perhaps if my interest is primarily editing, then it wouldn't feel like such a tediously monumental and endless task. As I try to edit the first draft of my current manuscript, Tumble Into Me, I find myself really begrudging this task as it pulls me away from what I really love: writing. I feel as though precious time I could be spend meeting new characters and developing their stories, is drained by the necessary time spent editing, and re-editing this draft.
          What's most frustrating is, the further along I get in the editing process of this novel, the more words I've added, while I work in much needed transitions (the bain of my 'editorial' existence). When all is said and done, I will need to do another edit of this draft, to scale back down all this extra girth. The idea of getting though to the end of this editing pass, only to have to start back into it, leaves me grimacing. I'm not sure I can withstand another jaunt through that jungle. "Suck it up" right? If I want to turn 'aspiring author' into 'published author' - I have to do what I gotta do, I know that. It's just, when something begins to feel forced, the interest tends to wander and what could wind up suffering is the end result of the project itself. I don't want that.
          Another realization has come out of this editing process, and that is, as a hopeful soon-to-be-published author *fingers crossed*, there are many avenues a writer might choose from, to share their words with the world: some may choose self-publishing, perhaps as online formats, others might choose indie publishers or aim for the big publishing houses. One thing is very clear to me: I don't think I would make it far as a self-published author. Why? Because of how much more editing is required. It's true that some people self-published imperfect, error-laden works, we've all seen them in one format or another, and while that's okay for them, it wouldn't be okay for me; and by no means am I a perfectionist!
          I am a reader, first and foremost, and as a reader, I know when I stumble across typos and obvious grammatical no-nos, it snags my attention, even if momentarily. But it is noticed. It briefly takes my attention from the story line and I wouldn't want that for my readers. I much rather them stay captivated with the story, and not distracted by errors which were overlooked.
          What this means is, when the time comes to query (soon, very soon!) and hopefully connect with someone interested in my romance stories, I will hope to establish a great author/agent relationship as well as, wait for it...an editor! That sounds like a dream team to me. 

          What are some of your experiences or realizations of editing, perhaps tips to overcome the tediousness of it and somehow reach the end, I'd love to hear them all!

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My First Bicycle!

8/2/2014

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                I’m thirty four years old and I have just purchased my first, shiny new bicycle – ever. Let me clarify: yes, I have ridden a bike before, usually by borrowing a friends or perhaps utilizing a rental shop. Twice in my thirty four years, I even had use of a bike for a few months, but I won’t quite say owned; let me explain. The first one, was over a summer way back in fourth grade, My dad brought me a bike to ride for the summer while I'd at least be in the same province. It was green and sparkly and yes, had tassels from the handles: I loved it to pieces. I didn’t get to keep it, as was the fate of most of my belongings growing up.

                That’s what happens when you move across country twice a year, every year, until sixth grade. I have actually been to fourteen schools in total, and I am not part of a military family. After an unfortunate subway accident, my mom’s mom had to move into an assisted living home, near Scarborough, Ontario. My mother hated the winters in Ontario – period. Despite the fact that I was born in Scarborough on the wicked wintery December 31st, ever since I was perhaps two and a half, we had never experienced another Ontario winter. We ditched the East for beautiful British Columbia.

                See, herein lies the makings of a rather mobile childhood. For the next nine years, objects, places, and people were sadly, all temporary. That included the best of childhood friends and unpackable prize possessions such as a shiny green bike.

                The next time I had a bicycle to use somewhat regularly, wasn’t until my high school years, around the end of ninth grade and into the summer towards tenth. It was belonged to my moms boyfriend who told me it had been sitting unused in his garage forever. Yes, it was a boys bike and it was too big for me, but that didn’t stop me. I rode it anyway, because I love riding bikes. I'd ride from Metrotown in Burnaby, down to Canada Games Pool in New Westminster and back. I’d ride through Central park and along the nice bike trails beneath the Skytrain. All the while enjoying rolling through the city with the breeze in my hair. Up until the unfortunate day it was stolen. Not going to lie, I was pretty upset and angry over the loss of that bike, despite its ill fittings. I was too busy enjoying the ride to let size matter.

                Financial restrictions prevented me from getting a new one or even a used one for that matter. If we couldn't afford a two bedroom apartment, or a car or a phone (at times we were using a payphone), we certainly couldn't afford to get me a bicycle. After I graduated high school - Class of '97 thank you very much - I worked four different jobs at once, barely came up for air! I began saving up for a trip to Australia and for post-secondary school. I was busy as hell, but things were good. Until I got hit by a car, ‘Pedstruck’ as they call it. Pretty badly too. I was off work for ten months recovering from a seriously broken right leg, as well as damaged (snapped) Medial Collateral Ligaments, twisted Anterior Cruciate and more.

                During physical therapy, there are sports and activities that doctors recommend for low impact exercise, like swimming. Cycling is not one of them.  

                Today, however, I purchased MY first ever, brand new, comfort ride bicycle, Sanctuary 7 by Schwinn. It's Mine! And it is beautiful – I already had a few compliments on my way home - and it is a comfortable ride. After one ‘test ride’ though, as I brought my bicycle home, I sit on my sofa typing this and already I feel the aggravation of the ligaments in my right knee. Vaguely I can hear the voice of my physiotherapist and doctors advising against cycling, and can't stop the frown. I want be able to experience the enjoyment of cycling again. Hopefully if I am mindful and don’t overdo it, I will be able to minimize any pains and strains. As I have no intentions of scaling mountains, but wish to cycle the sea wall and along city trails, to get outdoors more and more active too. I am hoping there will be no regrets. Here’s hoping!


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    Stargazer. Daydreamer. Aspiring Romance Writer.

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