A Fantastic Event Shared With Wonderful Authors

Glitches & Ghosts in the Attic Aside – The Feedback Has Been Awesome!

Congratulations everyone for making part 2 of JUZDIZRTS An Author Event a truly successful endeavor.  We had a fabulously diverse audience of all ages to match the magnanimous authors for which the event celebrated.

With a turnout of 35+ listeners for the readings and the high-energy conversation that followed during the meet & greet we couldn’t have asked for a better day.

As photos trickle in from various participants and audience members I look forward to posting a collage of the readings for your purview.

I hope to see each and every one of you again next year as the JUZDIZRTS Author Event prepares to partner with the WCYR (Writer’s Community of York Region) and a new book-related venue.

Good luck and happy reading/writing to all!

Melissa Moores, Event Director


JUZDIZRTS @ Covernotes in Newmarket!

Saturday August 17th from 1-3pm


The Newmarket JUZDIZRTS Author Event is less than 24hrs away.  You have had an opportunity to read about each author here on the official blog website and read an excerpt of their writing.  Now is the time to show your support in person if you live locally to the event.  We can’t wait to meet each and every person who has been following our progress these last few months. 

Should you be unable to attend due to time or distance, know that we carry your dedication with us in our hearts as we make tomorrow and event to remember.

Here is the official line up for the hour of readings:

V. M. Gopaul (Thriller) – 10 min.

Adrienne Clarke (Fantasy) – 10 min.

Murielle Bollen (Travel) – 10 min.

S. D. Livingson (Children’s Mystery) – 10 min.

Isobel Warren (Historical) – 10 min.

Sue Battle (Contemporary) – 5 min.

Erika Willaert (Science Fiction) – 5 min.

Our free door-prize draw allows each attendee one free ticket with a minimal donation request of $1 for additional tickets.  The draw is sponsored by Covernotes Tea & Coffee House and The Writer’s Community of York Region along with each participating author.

Don’t forget to stay for a chance to meet and talk with the authors immediately after the readings.

See you tomorrow!

Excerpt From Erika Willaert’s Sci-Fi Short Story Titania

A fabulously fulfilling friandise

Excerpt from Erika Willaert’s Science Fiction Short Story Titania from the WORDPLAY 2013 Anthology:WORDPLAY Cover

Part Four: Insight

             The Scripts feel delicate in my hands, fragile keys to a future I have held in my mind’s eye for a lifetime. Now that the power of choice is within my grasp, it singes my flesh like a burning coal I wield mercilessly in my palm, leaving scorched question marks on my skin. The folds within beckon my desire to know, at all costs, what my ultimate task shall be. I am bound by law to the words contained in the scroll; my fear of the unknown has grown to become unbearable at this point. Quivering slightly, I stare in disbelief as I smooth the creases with the rough tips of my fingers, my mouth agape.

            Empty. A blank page. Nothing.

            A silent scream tears from my throat. How could this be?

            If I speak, I risk revealing the tremor that erodes the last shred of hope I carry to answer your calling. I can still feel my brother’s breath against the delicate curve of my ear as he urged, “Promise me this: do as she commands. You will know she is the one. Do not question; simply allow.”

            It is you he made me promise to obey, and it is to you whom I must now admit defeat.

            “Mother. I have failed you.”

            “It is I who failed you, Nova.”

            I startle. “How do you know my birth name?”

            “Because I am the one who gave it to you.”

            “But my brother told me – “

            “That I was gone before we named you? That I have no right to speak it? Be that as it may, I still carry the guilt of naming you.”

            “Guilt?” I wear my confusion like a cloak, hooded and suspicious. My faith is beginning to slip from my grasp, doubt threatening to overtake me. I take a step back. My guard rears up in a protective shield around my heart.

            “Show yourself.”

            A mild chuckle rumbles through the trees. “Indeed. Very well, my daughter. If you insist; as you wish.”

            A shimmer of light flickers momentarily in the darkness. Blinking, I raise my sightline until it is level with the slope of the landscape.

* * *

Don’t miss hearing Erika read at the JUzDIzRTS Author Event Saturday August 17th starting at 1pm!

Excerpt From Isobel Warren’s Novel In Them Days

Delight in this decadent indulgence

Excerpt from Isobel Warren’s historically accurate contemporary novel In Them Days:In Them Days

In his dream, Adam was four years old again. He was crying and covered in blood.

Uncle Joseph stood over him, looking annoyed. “What have ya done to yerself, laddie? Ya should know better than to climb on that wire fence?”

Adam didn’t try to answer – there would have been no point. Uncle Joe believed that children should be seen but not heard so even when he asked a question like that, he would not permit an answer.

“Get on up to the house,” he ordered. “Get yer Auntie to look after ya and clean ya up. And mind ya stay off that wire fence like I told ya time and time again.”

In his dream, Adam staggered a bit as he headed up the path to the house. Blood was pouring down his leg and into his sock and boot. When he had fallen, he had not only gashed his leg but smacked his head on the hard ground. Blood was everywhere. When he swiped at his tears, his hands came away bloodied. He was scared.

Aunt Sarah, busy with the baking, didn’t look up when he came into the kitchen. Then she heard his sobs and turned to look at him. Her floury hands flew into the air. “Heavens above, Adam, what have ya done to yourself? Come over here into the light so I can see ya. No, you’re messin’ up the floor – go back to the summer kitchen and stay quiet.”

Adam stood miserable and sobbing in the chilly summer kitchen. He was very cold and feeling dizzy. His head had begun to ache and his leg was hurting fiercely.

“What happened to ya,” Auntie demanded. “You’ve surely made a mess of yourself.”

“I climbed up the fence,” Adam sobbed. “And my coat caught on a wire and I fell.”

“How often have I told ya not to climb fences,” Auntie scolded. “You’re a very wicked boy. Now look at the mess you’ve made of your clothes and boots. And the mess on the floor and all the extra work…”

Her voice trailed off as she realized the depth of the leg injury. She spread some sugar bags on the couch and lifted him by his armpits to lie there. Then she bound up the leg wound and turned her attention to his head. His forehead was bruised but his cheek was cut and bleeding. She made a pad of cloth and ordered him to hold it firmly over the wound.

“Now stop that crying,” she snapped. “It does ya no good. Lie still so’s not to make more bleeding.”

“I want my mommy,” Adam sobbed.

Auntie’s eyes hardened and her mouth formed a straight angry line. “You’re a nasty ungrateful boy,” she flared. “Ya know very well that yer ma didn’t want ya then and doesn’t want ya now. Uncle and I took ya in and we care for ya and give ya everything you need. Instead of complaining, ya should be thankful for your blessings.”

She left him there, shivering and still bloodied, and stormed back to her baking.

His teeth chattered, from cold and fear. His head throbbed. But he lay still for a long time, cowed by Auntie’s wrath and longing for his mother. He hadn’t seen her since coming to live with Auntie and Uncle but he still remembered her plump warmth, her strong arms holding him, her hand brushing back his hair and wiping away tears.

The dream seemed to fade yet he couldn’t wake up. He struggled to find consciousness but it eluded him. The pain in his head was brutal, just like the one so many years before, the one in his dream. He felt lost and he tried to call out for help.

Immediately his mother was beside him, her cool hand on his cheek, speaking gently.

“Adam my dearest, you’re awake at last,” Julie said. “Don’t try to talk, dear, and don’t move. Just lie still if you can. I’m right here beside you.”

Adam opened his eyes. Just for an instant, he was disappointed. This was not his mother. And then he recognized Julie, her loving smile, her soft voice, her gentle touch and a wave of gratitude washed over him, so powerful that he wanted to weep.

* * *

Don’t miss hearing Isobel read at the JUzDIzRTS Author Event Saturday August 17th starting at 1pm!

Excerpt From Murielle Bollen’s Travel Novel Tasting Life Around the World

A palpable piquette to ponder over

Excerpt from Murielle Bollen’s True Life Travel Novel Tasting Life Around the World:Tasting Life Around the Word

I have always loved going to the Belgian Coast. The sea to me represents freedom, ultimate freedom, something I have been looking for all my life. I always get a little closer to it when I am surrounded by the sound of waves, when I can feel the breeze or even the stormy wind blowing in my face, bringing that invigorating scent of the ocean.  As a child I would never say I was going to the coast, I was always going to the sea. Maybe a coincidence, maybe karma, but my name, Murielle, in its Celtic origin, actually means “Bright as the Sea”. It took me a long time, but I have finally discovered that I am carrying my freedom with me all the time, it is nowhere to be found, it was there all along and it will be there, always. I have very fond memories of the coast, since this is where my grandparents had a cottage and where my favorite aunt used to live for a while. As a child I would go and visit with her for a couple of weeks a few times a year. She would be the aunt watching TV with me, cuddled up on the coach, suddenly getting up to make us fried potato slices with mayonnaise (so greasy, so decadent, so yummy). She had no car, so we had to walk everywhere. Going for groceries was quite an undertaking, she with the stroller (my cousin was about 6 months old and the cutest baby ever) and me by the hand, bags everywhere. To soften the experience, she would buy me one of my favorite comic books almost every time we passed the book store. I can still feel the anticipation when we would near the store, wondering whether I would get a book this time… Good times.

We leave the coast to find the pale green, flat pastures of Flanders, bordered by proud poplars, a ribbon of liquid silver flowing through historic cities like Bruges, Ghent and Antwerp, carrying the history of hundreds of years, the memories of thousands of people to the depths of the North Sea. Seeing this flat, wide open landscape as a child on my way to “the sea” would make me exclaim each and every single time “I think I can see the sea now, we are very close!”

We make our way further east to the lush, deep green forests of the Eastern region, interspersed with deep purple fields of heather and embellished by the proud bronze of the statue of Ambiorix in the Roman city of Tongres. Rolling hills gently leading us through fields of pink and white blossoming fruit trees to the majestic black green pine forests, the brown-reddish rocks and crystal clear streams of the Ardennes. There is a story on the Ardennes, of course food related, that I really want to share with you. One year we decided with a whole group of friends to celebrate Christmas in a small village in the Ardennes. There was about ten of us and we stayed in a lovely wooden chalet that one of our friends had managed to get through a friend of his parents. The Christmas tree was beautifully decorated and there was a huge fireplace with comfortable coaches all around. Cozy and warm. We brought loads of food and ate to the point that we would get up in the middle of the night to discover that everybody was hanging on the sofas, moaning that they had too much to eat (and drink probably!). In spite of that we found that we could not celebrate Christmas without a Christmas Cake (a tradition in Belgium, called “Kerststronk,” a cake shaped like a log of wood, coated in crème au beurre and decorated with sugary leaves of holly and a marzipan plaque that said “Merry Christmas”). Nobody had remembered to bring one, so my husband and a friend set out on a quest to find one on Christmas Eve. They drove for miles and miles and finally came home with a glorious Christmas Cake. Since the fridge was so full with the rest of the food (in those days we did not have those gigantic fridges!), we decided to put the cake out on the porch so it would stay cool and fresh. On Christmas Day we would then enjoy this delicious cake, or so we thought. The next morning we woke up and discovered that the cake we had made so much fuss about, had simply been eaten by some animal visiting our porch at night. Not a single crumb was left…

Indeed a country of multiple colours, tastes and memories!

* * *

Don’t miss hearing Murielle read at the JUzDIzRTS Author Event Saturday August 17th starting at 1pm!

Excerpt From Adrienne Clarke’s Fantasy Novel To Dance In Liradon

A Salivating selection to supplant your usual spread

Excerpt from Adrienne Clarke’s Fantasy Novel To Dance In Liradon:To Dance In Liradon - cover

Brigid allowed herself to be dragged to the edge of the circle before she raised her right foot and kicked backwards as hard as she could. Midir released his hold long enough for her to remove the horseshoe from her bodice. When he tried to seize her again, she shoved him away, the object gripped firmly in her hand.

Midir stumbled backwards, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. A desperate, keening sound rose up from the circle before it broke apart and every Faerie man and woman rushed towards her. Long slender arms grabbed hold of each of her limbs, and Brigid felt certain they intended to tear her to pieces. A violet-eyed woman sat on top of Brigid’s chest, crushing the air from her lungs. Brigid watched the beauty leak from her face until it was a hollow masque of rage.

“Release her!” the Faerie Queen screamed.

Whining like disappointed children, the Faerie reluctantly retreated, and Brigid rose shakily to her feet.

The Faerie Queen’s eyes flashed cruelly. “If you want him, come and claim him!”

* * *

Don’t miss hearing Adrienne read at the JUzDIzRTS Author Event Saturday August 17th starting at 1pm!