Tag: writing

The Circle

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

“Are you okay? You look like something is bothering you.”
“Hakim, do you ever think about home? Do you miss home?”
“Yeah, I think about home, why?”
“For a long time now I’ve been having these dreams. I’m losing sleep because
of nightmares.”
Hakim’s eyes get cloudy while he browns the prawns in a pan. He turns and
looks deeply into Talal’s eyes and asks, “Why do you have nightmares? What
kind of nightmares?”
“Things from back home in Falluja, the war, the destruction,
things like that. I have nightmares about my parents when they died in front of
our house, their bodies badly burned. I see them in my dreams all the time.”
Hakim becomes agitated when he hears Talal’s description of his dead
parents. He finishes cooking the prawns and checks the rice in the cooker; it will
be ready in a few minutes. He knows very well about nightmares—he has his
share of them. He has had his own nightmares for a long time now, and hasn’t
said anything to anybody, not yet. Not even to Talal, who opens the discussion
about nightmares as if they were his monopoly. He knows too well the
devastating images from home, during those dark days of the war. He has seen
himself under the rubble of his house, covered by pieces of cement blocks and
broken furniture, the night when the American bombs fell from the sky like lava
from heaven and destroyed most of Baghdad. He takes his wine glass and raises it
to Talal’s glass.
“Don’t worry, bro. Don’t let these nightmares control your life. Here’s to
you!”
Talal doesn’t answer. Instead, he goes to the fridge and takes out the lettuce
for the salad. He starts to cut the lettuce, “I see the images of my parents over and
over in my head, as if they are in front of me, like the day it happened.”
“Tell me how your parents died, Talal.”
“It was that offensive; I think it was 2004, at the beginning of the war, when
the Americans fought against Falluja, against what they used to call insurgents.
Do you remember?”
“Yeah, those were the days of hell. I remember well. I was with Uncle Ibrahim
during that time. By then, our house was already destroyed.”
“Well, in our case the Americans tried white phosphorous against the
insurgents. They used chemicals that burned the bodies like fire. That is how my
parents died, because they didn’t leave their house. So much damage was done to
the people who stayed behind instead of leaving as they were advised to. People’s
flesh got burned up right on the spot. That’s how my mom and dad died. We
were a couple of kilometers away at my grandfather’s house,

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186524

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

“Like physical punishment?” Ken asked.
“Yes, but of a horrible kind.”
“Well, I decided to take them on and use myself as the whipping boy.”
“That’s one of the things that interests me about your story and about
you,” Patrick said. “Are you sure you aren’t an Indian? That’s the kind of
thing we do.”
“No, it was just a way of achieving a goal I wanted. It was a mixture
of vengeance and proving myself smarter. What were the other horrible
things that were done to you?”
Patrick looked away. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”
On his trips with Patrick, Ken discovered a new world, so far removed
from the one he had grown up in, it might have been on a different planet.
I began to have the sense that I had left the shadow of my own people
and of my own world. I was not in that world and I was not in this world
and that has been a familiar place my whole life. In fact when I look at the
paintings that I make, they are actually portraits of that. I’m incredibly interested
in the places in between. I remember painting an old barn when I
was going through the barn phase, as everyone does. I noticed at one point
that the barn itself was not it. The barn was there so that I could paint the
cracks in it. I began to get the idea that time is short and the journey is long
and there is only one way to go in the journey. Imagine a giant sitting on a
beach surrounded by huge boulders and he has picked up two of them and
he’s banging them together. Every time he bangs them together a grain of
sand is created. If he goes on for long enough, at some point, there will be
a beach. That concept pleased me no end – that there was no quick way of
creating a beach. Consequently, there could be no quick way of getting anything.
Whatever it is that I was doing was going to take a very long time and
that was okay. There was something very pleasing about the fact that it was
going to take a very long time. The times in my life when I have been in some
form of contentment are when I have been immersed in a project, the end of
which I cannot see. And my mind stops worrying or considering what I will
do next. I have paddled from one giant project to the next.
He absorbed Patrick’s stories and tried to fit them into a logical context.
There had to be a reason for the actions the Europeans had taken.
One day while they were motoring on the river he asked Patrick, “Why
do you think the newcomers tried to deal with the native population this
way? The residential schools seem to be a complexly bizarre notion. We
know that if you say to someone, ‘This is my castle and you can’t come in’,
they’re going to bash the door down to gain entrance.”
“Yes. It’s bizarre,” Patrick said.
“When you force people to do anything – well we know what the reaction
to that is going to be.”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073573

Arrows

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

We threw together in a childish competition
that entertained not only us but also the lads kneeling in groups of
four holystoning the deck.
“Hey!” I turned and saw the weather-worn face of Pedro Mendez,
the ubiquitous bosun, obscured by the sun at its zenith, as he
glowered down at us from the quarterdeck. Already, everyone
knew better than to provoke him.
“Ballast is for ballast,” he snapped. He marched toward us, bare
feet turning inwards, glared at the bucket, snatched the stone from
my hand and shoved the bucket at Bartolomé’s page, a boy
nicknamed the Canary for his constant whistling. As the bosun
returned to his duties, my fellow passenger chortled, half-covering
his mouth with his hand. He took a big step back and bowed with
one hand on his belly, the other on his back.
“Gregorio de la Parra, at your service.”
I had seen Gregorio a couple of times before but had never talked
to him. To my surprise, I quite liked him. He was different from the
man who stood apart with a haughtiness around his jaw and neck
that went all too well with his inquisitive brown eyes.
“What did you do back in Spain?” I asked.
“I studied Canon Law in the University-College of Santa María de
Jesus in Seville,” he said. “But my godfather, who lives in Havana,
wanted me to join the next expedition to the land of the Caracas
Indians.”
“Why, God must have something in store for us, my friend!” I
said, “I was sent to join the same expedition!”
I assumed we might become friends but instead he briefly
frowned and looked me over as though for the first time.
“Did you finish your studies, then?” I asked, changing the subject
but keeping the smile in place. He pulled at his leather doublet to
make it fit more comfortably.
“No,” he muttered, straightening his back and looking away.
“Are you planning to finish them?”
I was mystified by his sudden solemnity. His eyes took on a
piercing intensity.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

Jazz with Ella

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

Natasha’s face broke into a smile as she followed the unruly man’s path. Her eyes pierced Jennifer. “Welcome to Moscow. Here is one of our efficient Soviet comrades at your service.”
Irony or not? Jennifer wasn’t quite sure. This woman would be the group’s constant companion for the whole three weeks. Jennifer suddenly found herself a little shy. What should she say to her?
“Did you have a pleasant flight?” Natasha asked in faintly accented English, one eyebrow rising and falling in interrogation.
“No, actually the last stretch was rough! We flew through a storm.”
The eyebrow went up again and Natasha frowned. “Statistically, you were safe,” she said. “Only safe landings have been recorded at this airport for the past 15 years.”
Jennifer stifled the urge to ask about the unrecorded flights, and she and Natasha stood in silence until the others began to trickle through the gate.
★
The highway into Moscow was wide with very few cars, some antiquated buses that belched black soot and many putty-coloured military vehicles, each displaying a stencilled number. Massive concrete bus shelters lined the curb, their panels dwarfing the few pedestrians. There were no houses. On the outskirts of town a sea of apartment buildings loomed, blocks of boxy housing, surrounded by paving stones between which weeds sprouted. Above, clotheslines were strung across the many balconies. At street level, the store windows displayed no colourful signs, no advertising, and not many goods behind the glass panels. Over each storefront was written a single word describing the store’s contents: Footwear, Produce, Dairy. As their bus left the suburbs and entered the city, they saw their first statue on a street corner. Almost two storeys high, it could easily be identified as Vladimir Ilyich Lenin by the pointed beard and round, smooth head.
“King Fred,” giggled Len Whalen, one of the undergrads. Natasha’s gaze soon silenced him.
Several of the group brought out their cameras, but Natasha called out, “No photos yet, please. Save your film for Red Square, coming up on your right.” The famous square flashed past in a blur—the Kremlin walls, the mausoleum, the striped onion domes of St. Basil’s Cathedral.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246

He Rode Tall

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

“Joel,” Mr. Lee replied calmly. “I met with our client’s entire
management team at the terminal yesterday and they are fully
behind the decision. In fact, they were very critical of me for not
acting on this earlier, but I thought I would just give you one
more chance. I know you are capable of so much more. It is so
frustrating watching you waste your talent and poison yourself
the way that you do.”
“Bloody hell, you bastard. What are you talking about? Just
because you don’t know how to have a little fun once in a while
doesn’t mean that other people can’t have a good laugh now and
again.”
“Joel, I can see that this conversation isn’t getting us anywhere,”
interrupted Mr. Lee. “But why should I expect it to be
any different than any of our other conversations? Everyone I talk
to on this addiction problem of yours tell me that you won’t be
ready to make the changes you need to make until you hit your
bottom. I just hope it doesn’t take you much longer to hit your
bottom. There might not be much left. Could you please give me
your key to the office and your security pass?”
“Screw you!” screamed Joel as he slammed his office key and
security pass on the desk in front of him. “You are going to be
very sorry. You’ll see. You will be crawling to me asking for me to
come back and clean up after the kid. There is no way I’ll ever
work for this damn rotten company ever again after the way
they’ve treated me. You’ll all be sorry,” he blurted to anyone who
cared to listen as he strode across the office, opened the door, and
walked into the sweltering heat of the day.
If Joel was feeling pretty rough at the start of the day, he certainly
wasn’t feeling any better now.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897955

Still Waters

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

Millie grew quiet, apparently deep in thought. Tyne glanced at her
and wondered if, after all, she should enlist her aunt’s help. It was
an accepted fact in the family that Millie was the only one to whom
Jeff Milligan paid any attention. But would he listen, even to Millie,
when it came to his daughter’s friendship with a man of another
faith? “You know, Aunt Millie,” she said suddenly, “Dad would love
to see me dating Larry Warner again.”
“Of course he would, good Catholic boy that Larry is.”
“But he was never too happy when Larry and I were dating.”
“Your father,” Millie said dryly, “would not be happy if you dated
Prince Charming. Even if the prince happened to be of the Roman faith.”
Tyne gave her aunt a curious look. “You’re of the Roman faith,
Aunt Millie. How come you’re not as strict about such things as my
parents are? Is it because Uncle Emory was a Protestant?”
“Your Uncle Emory was neither Protestant nor anything else. That
was the heartache of it for me.”
Tyne nodded. “And yet, you married him.”
“I know, dear, because I loved him. And, I might add, I married
him against your dad’s wishes.”
“But Dad’s younger than you. What right had he to tell you what
to do?”
“When our father died, Jeff as the eldest son, became the head of
the family.”
“Archaic practice,” Tyne muttered.
“Nevertheless, my dear, that’s the truth of it. And I’m not so sure
it was all wrong. It kept some order in families, and provided stability
for women who had no education, and no hope of supporting
themselves adequately.” Millie sighed and took a sip from her glass.
“Our mother, at least, welcomed Jeff ’s guidance and support. Poor
darling Mum was never strong, and knew nothing but housekeeping
and raising children.”
“But you would have been strong enough to take over the family,
Aunt Millie,” Tyne said quietly. “I can’t see you needing guidance
from anyone.”
Millie laughed. “Am I so obviously a Tartar then?”
Tyne blushed and began to protest, but Millie waved her hand.
“No no, I’m joking, child. I know what you say is true.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763068

Swamped

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

He switched over to the local news: a serious accident on the road
down to the Second Narrows Bridge. He had better take Lions Gate
Bridge this morning. The pileup on the approach to Second Narrows
would make it impossible for traffic to resume for at least two hours,
according to the news anchor.
The phone rang. It was Herb on the other end. After the briefest
of greetings, he brought up today’s buy order. He told him that a man
he knew, someone who seemed to have good connections in Europe
and other places, had assured him this was a good one, Platinum
Properties Inc, to play with for the next few months. Eteo listened to
Herbert Swanson attentively, but when he expressed some skepticism,
Herb said he would pass by the office around ten to talk about
it. He smiled. Herb always had a link to someone with information,
and in the Vancouver Stock Exchange in those days, with its mining
fliers and dubious promoters, information was of great value. Even
if the information was often questionable at best, decisions were
based on it, and today’s bet that Herb had placed on this new company,
Platinum Properties, wasn’t any different from many others. For
years, Herb had worked his way around each and every regulation in
order to survive the debacle called investing in V.S.E. listed companies.
In most cases, they lacked anything of substance, yet they could
fly high for a few days, even a few months, before sinking into nothingness
or simply going out of fashion. Sometimes they were still at
the reorganizing stage, a lengthy process that provided a second
chance for companies that had been unsuccessful in proving the
value of their first mining asset and raising funds on that basis. This
involved a reverse split of their shares, or consolidation, in other
words, issuing new shares to raise new capital. It was usually an opportunity
to turn their focus to a new asset, sometimes even to
change course and concentrate on a new line of business. When a
company was in that reorganizing stage, it wasn’t unusual for it to
take a good twelve months to achieve its goal, and investors who
didn’t like to wait that long rarely invested in such a company.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08WP3LMPX

The Circle

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

IT’S A CLOUDY TUESDAY morning in Washington D.C. as Matthew Roberts
arrives at his office. The night shift has gone home and he hears the sound of
vacuum cleaners as they do their work. Matthew is early as usual. He had no
reason to remain in bed longer. Where was his Emily to warm him? However, he
likes to be in the office before the others to get organized, which gives him an
advantage for addressing the day’s challenges.
This morning he has to work on the Balkan file, a review he promised Bevan
he’d look into but never found the time for. For a long time now, the attention of
the United States has been focused on that side of the globe, and more so since
the collapse of the Soviet Union, especially since the administration felt they
were losing some of their grip there. After the Bosnia fiasco and the Croatian
genocide they turned their attention to the country of The Former Republic of
Macedonia (FYROM) a small country wanting to call itself Macedonia against
the wishes of Greece and her northern province, Macedonia. FYROM’s
ambitions of joining the European Union, has changed the dynamics by sending
soldiers to Iraq, along with the United States, thus vying for clout when standing
up to Greece. Similarly, Turkey has ambitions of joining the European Union
with the support of the U.S., although the Europeans view the Turks with a
different eye.
Matthew’s attention today is on this file, and he has to come up with
solutions to suit the government’s goals before turning it over to his superior
Bevan Longhorn. A marine and one-star admiral, Bevan oversees the work of
120 people in the office, although Matthew and two mid-level supervisors take
on the majority of his responsibilities. This leaves ‘the old man’, as they call him,
with time on his hands to enjoy the odd game of golf.
Mathew reads his messages from the receptionist’s desk, takes the file from
his briefcase, and spends the next two hours working on it.
At 9:15 the receptionist calls to tell him Bevan Longhorn wants to see him.
“Right now?”
“Yes, right now.”
He wonders to himself, what now?, gets his notepad, and walks into the
boss’s office.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186524

Water in the Wilderness

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

As she entered, she could see the night staff hurrying along the corridor which stretched out before her. They were in the midst of morning care, preparing the patients for breakfast. She picked up her pace as she headed to an alcove to leave her handbag and retrieve her nurses’ cap.
After pinning the cap in place in front of the one small mirror in the cubbyhole that passed as a staff cloakroom, she returned to the corridor and hurried to the nurses’ station where report would be given to the day staff in less than five minutes. She saw Inge Larson, the matron, walking towards her with a grim look on her usually pleasant features.
“Mrs. Cresswell,” Miss Larson said quietly when she reached Tyne, “I would like to see you in my office. Never mind report. You can catch up later.” She turned and led the way.
Tyne’s heartbeat quickened as she followed. What have I done wrong? Did I do something on my last night shift? Frantically, she tried to recall exactly what she had done that night, and which patients had been ill enough to require extra attention. Had she messed up? She remembered that she had been preoccupied with thoughts of Morley alone with the children, and Bobby’s fretting at bedtime. She also remembered she couldn’t wait to get off duty so that she could go home.
“Please close the door, Tyne, and sit down,” the matron said as she seated herself at her desk.
Tyne found some reassurance in the friendly tone, and the fact that Miss Larson had called her by her first name. She sat in a chair facing the desk, and waited.
Inge Larson placed her arms on the desk top and folded her hands which Tyne could see were not entirely relaxed. “Tyne, I have bad news, shocking news really.” She took a deep breath and let it out on a long sigh. “Lydia Conrad died last night.”
Tyne did not know how long she sat in stunned silence, staring at the woman who seemed to recede into a fog in front of her eyes. Finally, she choked out the words, “Why? How? What happened? Oh, dear God, no.”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/192676319X

Jazz with Ella

On By vequinoxIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Excerpt

Jennifer swallowed her protest and asked instead, “Is it my teaching ability that’s a problem?”
“Honestly speaking, Mrs. White, though you lack the rigor necessary for academic research, your teaching ability is sound. Hoefert said as much to me just today.”
Chopyk fiddled with his glasses for a few seconds. He was a small man, not quite her lanky height and seemed dwarfed behind the antique oak desk. She willed herself to wait patiently.
“How shall I put it? I’m a bachelor, as I think you know, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in marriage vows.” Already she had an uneasy feeling where this monologue was heading. “Since the advent of the pill,” he shot her a quick look, “young women, even married women, have so much more freedom.”
“Well, we’re not kept chained in the kitchen,” she responded pertly.
He appeared not to have heard her but went on, eyes on the ceiling. “Just, please—if you’re going to share leadership of this trip—remember you are a mature woman and a professional academic.”
Mature woman? She was about to turn 30. She wasn’t ready for the old folks’ home yet. “I would always act with professionalism, if that’s what you mean…Has there been some suggestion that I haven’t?”
“It pains me to mention this”—though he didn’t look pained—“but word of your marriage break-up and consequent separation has circulated within the department with some vigour.”
“That’s my personal business,” she murmured.
“Not if we’re travelling together with a gaggle of adolescent students. Do you understand? You must be an example to them.”
At least the interview had cleared the air on that score. After that, while trip preparations got under way, there had been an uneasy truce between them, and she found she was looking forward to the opportunity to teach as much as she was looking forward to the Soviet Union.
★
As the plane bucked and rolled, Jennifer’s ears popped, and she recalled reading how dangerous it was for a plane to land during an electrical storm. Where were the emergency exits? One passenger, a sombre man who had embarked at Paris, appeared to be praying. Paul had closed his eyes though she was comforted to see that he was still smiling.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246