Friday, July 30, 2010

Where have I been?

It's been a while since my last post. My life is about to radically change in just a months time. It's so exciting I'm finding it hard to focus on anything. It's also a bit scary. The scary part just hit me yesterday. I'll inform you guys about it when I feel the time is right. Just know I'm still alive. ;) Stella out!!

Monday, July 19, 2010

And the verdict is...

My tentative first chapter is up for review on the blog Flogging the Quill. The blog is run by Ray Rhamey, a writer and editor that focuses on the hook of the first page of a novel. The first page and the first chapter really have to reel in the reader and get them addicted to the story. He posts the first page of a writer's novel and Ray says what he thinks and gets others (writers and such) to vote whether or not they would turn the page. To see my post on this site click here. A writer friend of mine had suggested the changes Ray recommended. Good on ya, Jean. ;) Back to the drawing board it is. Ray's comments meant a lot. Maybe he's just really nice, though. Either way...I'm reminded that while writers are wonderful at giving critiques of other's works, there is also no pleasing them. The comments on the blog are a good example of that. Stella

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Onward I Trudge

I'm still working through revisions and it blows my mind how far I've come in being able to spot my own mistakes. However, I'm even further boggled by my inability to catch the rest of my mistakes. Mistakes that my wonderful writer friends point out to me. Mistakes that have me wondering if I should get my eyes checked, for surely I must have been blind to miss them in the first place. It is so easy to critique someone else's work and find these mistakes. If only I could find them in my own work as easily. I found this video about the importance of proofreading. It's hilarious. Enjoy!

Thursday, July 8, 2010

On a sad note

Today, July 8, is four years since my father died. That day changed everything. I had been so absorbed in my job I did little else. That was very unusual for me. I had many hobbies but had not spent time doing them in years. After my father died I found joy in nothing. Nothing had any flavour anymore. Could I push the joy back into my life? I wondered. I started painting again. The first piece sits unfinished in my library/office/studio. I couldn't finish it. The urge to write again came to me. I wrote my dads story. But, I couldn't finish that either. The books I read began chipping away at my sadness like miners in a dark cave. A story began to build in my mind. Never being able to stop thinking about it I started writing it down. I began painting again. Now that I've found the joy again I don't want to lose it. My dad taught me that, among many other things. I wrote a story story about my dad years ago. Click here if you'd like to read it. It was one of the first things I had written in years, and it shows. Lets all do what we love everyday, and tell the people we love how important they are.

Monday, July 5, 2010

The Broken Presumption

I have had my hopes of finding a good Canadian mid-grade fiction author dashed before. I'm very tough on Canadian writers, tougher than I should be. Kelley Armstrong killed my hope with her final book of her dark powers trilogy, The Reckoning. Click here to see review. I'd lost all hope in Canadian authors yet again until I came across a book in an airport book shop.

What Amazon says:

Destroying a deadly prince, in a violent court far from her home, was not what Alina expected when she was chosen to serve on the Isle of the Weavers.

Fifteen-year-old Alina comes from a long line of women who have gone to serve on the Isle of the Weavers, and she has always dreamed of doing the same. Her older sister is going to inherit the farm. She hasn't found any boy in the village that she's attracted to, like her other sister. And she loves her 10-year-old brother, but he's getting to be a pain to look after all the time. Still, a girl must be chosen to be a weaver, and Alina's already older than others were when they were called.

Then the weavers come. Her dreams come true, and she's taken to the Isle of Weaving, where the destiny of the world is born. Alina enters a long period of mental/spiritual training to prepare her to be a weaver. But she struggles with her trademark impatience.To the amusement of her trainers, she's anxious to begin weaving after only a few months training.

Then Alina is asked to take spools of thread to the weaving room, and she gets her first glimpse of the awesome tapestry, with its multitude of threads, and colours, and shifting patterns. Left alone for a minute, she discovers a red thread - red like her own hair - which is short and broken, and she impulsively takes a strand of her hair and ties the red thread to a tawny thread nearby. Immediately, thousands of other threads in the tapestry break.What has she done? The tapestry reflects what goes on in the world, as well as affecting events. By reconnecting a thread that was meant to be broken, she has caused the end of thousands of other threads/lives. She must undo what she has done and the story begins.

Get lost in a magical time where adventure and danger abound and the strength of our heroine, Alina, is put to the test.

I was so happy to read a story that didn't involve: vampires, werewolves, shape-shifters, angels, or demons.

The author, Linda Smith, passed away suddenly in her home in 2007. She died before this, her last book, could be published. The Broken Thread has gone on to win many awards. Click here to go to her site.

I read this book in one sitting and was glad I didn't have to fetch my foam missile gun. Thank you, Linda, for making me believe in Canadian authors again.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Happy birthday, Canada! You're 143 years old and have over 34 million roommates.

Here's a little something I wrote over a year ago for Canada Day:

This day holds a cornucopia of images and memories in my mind. Most of those memories call back to my childhood. Summer times spent camping at the lake, spreading blankets on carpet like grass to watch in wonder as the evening’s focus ended underneath the sky. The sky, which entertained me as televisions did others.

The annual fireworks display was the main event of the entire day for me. The parades were fun, remarkable and festive. But year after year, no matter where our family was we would gather with the sea of mounting aficionados to marvel at the nocturnal show. I clutched mini Canadian flags in my tiny hands covered in matching temporary tattoos. I waited in anticipation for the first lone bang that signaled the start of the show. I folded my legs underneath me and watched.

Multi coloured sequins were dashed against the black abyss of night sky. The shimmering pinpoints of light brightened the many upturned faces captivated by the spectacle. Arcs of fire blazed in an orchestra of life; random, burning, intense, fleeting, fiery, wonderful, and deliberate life. Silence encapsulated the thousands of enthralled spectators inside one sentiment, awe. No one presumed to move a muscle as the radiant vision performed for all, no one dared shatter the magic.

The show ended, as eventually all must. Some would scoff at the mediocrity of the display. How government funding must have been cut this year. They would tell of how grand the display had been in years past, for in our memories we hold the standard against which we see the world. The magic had ended and all had returned to their own realities. For some, the cynicism was a safety net against their tainted veracities.

I would wait with my family as the flock of people scattered like seagulls. I stared at the star speckled sky willing the magic to stay longer. The twilight calm punctuated the crescendo of enchantment for me. So quickly the delight ended, but long after, the emotion stayed. To be remembered on this patriotic day as one of the many things we should all be thankful for.

Happy Canada Day everyone!

All stories and poems posted are
Copyright © 2009 by Stella Telleria
All rights reserved.