Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 31, 2021

It's here!! Save on your pre-order of 'STICKS and STONES: Ten Canadian Short Stories' by MLHolton

Excited to announce the completion of a new short story collection - STICKS and STONES. Ten Canadian short stories have been compiled for your reading pleasure! Save by pre-ordering now! Formal Release and Launch is on October 16th when I am having my OPEN STUDIO as part of Canada Culture Days, 2021. Get it now! :) - Here's a teaser trailer ... Enjoy! And, please, leave your after-the-fact reviews on Amazon. - mlholton  

LINK > STICKS and STONES: Ten Canadian Short Stories 

Alternate links: APPLE BOOKS  or BARNES & NOBLE

Tuesday, April 27, 2021

MLHolton in new 'Storytime for Grownups' Anthology


Thrilled to be included in the inaugural ‘Storytime for #Grownups Anthology: Series One & Two’, a #Paperback, published on April 17, 2021, edited by Jacqueline Belle 
 
JB: “This all started as something fun to do during covid-19 isolation & to promote positive mental health; especially for those isolated alone... it turned into so much more ... ‘Storytime for Grownups’ showcases indie & traditionally published #authors of various genre & #writing styles from around the world. It’s a wonderfully dynamic group of authors from different backgrounds, experience & abilities. 
 
‘Storytime for Grownups’ is a complimentary Twitter & YouTube-based narrated video project co-produced by Jacqueline Belle Poems and Guru Art Lifestyle. 
 
#Paperback includes short stories & poems by authors: Barbara Avon, Jacqueline Belle, Cheryl Burman, Kathleen Cranidge, Stoney deGeyter, David DeWinter, Jon Hart, Margaret Lindsay Holton, Karen Honnor, Jane Jago, Julie Kusma, Melinda Lucas, Sallie Moffitt, Val Ormrod, Bella Rayne, Romston, Carol Sheppard, Shylovedheart, Doug Stuber, Melony Teague, Duncan Wilson, Albert van der Steeg, and W Rix Victory II.” 
 
 
‘Storytime for Grownups’ BOOK LINK: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09328MCMV 
 
(SAMPLE of 3 MLH YOUTUBE VIDEO LINKS): The Frozen Goose, written by MLHolton, narrated by Jacqueline Belle > https://youtu.be/sDMTk62UD68 
 
Companion Playlist for entire ‘Storytime for Grownups’on Youtube > https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLaacYUCB9SHJqIL6rWRlleejs_WHW0U-d

 

Friday, March 20, 2020

The Writer's AIM - by M.L.Holton

'Protect Your Spirit', by MLHolton, 1991
There is a certain inevitability that a writer will have a reading critic who hates your work.

I encountered this last year when I learned that an assigned book reviewer for a local newspaper was intending to publish a disappointing '3-STAR' review of my latest novel.

It would have been the first '3-STAR' review after numerous '4 to 5 STAR' reviews from destinations as far flung as the UK, Germany and California.

Naturally, it was upsetting. It hurt.

I could not understand why the author would bother writing a review if she didn't like the book. So, naturally, I asked her why she did.

She responded quickly saying that it was no reflection on me as the author, but rather, a response to the work. (---huh?) When I queried further, she got defensive and said that she writes reviews for her audience not mine. (---huh? That was an odd thing to say. What became apparent was a telling lack of the 'meeting-of-the-minds'. We were not going to 'click', then or ever.

But my writer's mind could not let it go ... I wanted to understand WHY there was no bend in her opinion. Yes, I understand her opinion is her prerogative. But equally, there seemed no desire on her part to understand how and why I had written this work. There seemed no basic interest to empathize  - and this lack of empathy raised more questions than it answered ...

The bigger issue soon became, for me, about a writer's insatiable desire to be liked. Writers want our words to resonate with our readers. We want them to 'get it': to affirm our perspective, to applaud our insights and efforts. At a very primal human level, we want them to 'like', not only our work, but us.  

Well, clearly, Life just doesn't work that way. Critics critique: good or bad.
What's more, I know I have my own prejudices and blind spots too.

I do not, as example, care for 'horror'. - (There's quite enough of that in 'real life' : why would anyone want to amplify that in books or film?) - Because of this dislike, I know I could never write a unbiased review of a work of horror. I know my antipathy would reflect back badly in any review. So, I just wouldn't bother. I also know I am in the minority about the love of this genre. There are far more horror fans than there are historical fiction fans out there now. This fact invariably leads to the notion of 'popularity' and that quickly leads to the question of Why a Writer Writes ...

Am I writing to be popular? No. That's not my aim.
Am I writing to be understood? This is the most likely.

Novel writing, in particular, allows long-form exposition. It allows authors a chance to draw a large picture for readers of a constructed reality where characters act out their vices and virtues within fixed perimeters. The twists and turns of plot make sense within that invented world. As writers, we are offering a 'whole package' to readers of our personal vision, unique to our own experience and times. Our finished works represent our singular voice.

Writers generally aim for a kind of universality as chroniclers of the human condition. - As example, most writers compose with 'a sense of knowing' of familial relationships. They write with first-hand knowledge of the dynamics between mothers, fathers, daughters, brothers, siblings, sons and grand-parents. We expect readers to resonate with these depictions - not only because they are commonplace - (everyone has a mother and father) - but because #families represent the common human framework from which all human life has emerged ... until very recently.

Emotional Empathy Shift - Example
Have you noticed this SHIFT too? 

There seems a growing propensity amongst a certain crowd to identify with fake 'super-humans' and #scifi #dystopian plots filled with #alien and #horrific characters.

They're not as interested in the earth-bound interactions of our common human family as they are in the antics of their own disenfranchised peers. The reasons for this jarring and fanciful Emotional Empathy SHIFT are manifold and not really the point of this post.

Even so, this observation does explain, to some degree, the 'off-reading' between the above noted book reviewer and myself. We will not, and perhaps fundamentally, cannot, see 'eye-to-eye'. We may be from the same typographical region of Southern Ontario in Canada. I know that we drink the same tap water from the Great Lake and breathe the same air - but we, as humans, are not 'like-minded'.

At core, the element that seems to distinguish our preferred 'likes' and 'dislikes' seems to be our age. We are separated by decades of generational 'screen' influence and life perspective. Her current lived 'reality' is not my 'reality', anymore than my current lived 'reality' is hers. Call it #AGEISM if you will.

And yet, this is the point where I start to realize and recognize that perhaps my writing ambition has, indeed, failed. If I have been able to conjure a believable fictional world filled with engaging characters that she could empathize with, then my writing craft would be as universal as I had aimed and hoped.

Or, perhaps it's just a lot simpler than that. - I hate horror and nonsensical alienating tropes and she doesn't like my way of writing. We are who we are - at this time and in this place - and that's that.

On a lighter note, I did just receive another 5-star review for TRILLIUM .... this time from the southeastern shore of Ireland by delightful, family-loving, Irish novelist, Mary Crowley.

So, all's good. Life really does go on - as we like it, or not.

---

Apropos the above, some #writers and #readers may find this link useful ... > https://selfpublishingadvice.org/finding-the-right-readers-for-your-book/


Monday, July 22, 2019

Another RAVE Book Review of TRILLIUM

Wow. It is always gratifying - but also very humbling - when a book reviewer assesses the merits of one's work.  Rachel More, writing for Hamilton's Arts & Letters Magazine had some thought-filled things to say recently about TRILLIUM ...

' Margaret Lindsay Holton’s TRILLIUM 

Trillium by Margaret Lindsay Holton is a book that is steeped in both geography and history. A very specific, very localized geography and history. Trillium chronicles the history of the Niagara Peninsula and European settlement and development here.

From the first sentence - “Clinging tightly to the huge boulder half way down the falls Tom watched the water cascade past him into the churning gorge below” - it is clear that landscape and natural power loom large (oftentimes literally) over the lives of Holton’s characters. And well it should.

The founding myth of settler Canada is that of a country literally hewn from forest and granite and transformed into a paradise – one of the ‘breadbaskets of the world’ and a fertile and productive region for wine. That this is a myth cannot be overstated. The last 10 years have seen a radical shift in how we talk about the colonial period and the white men and women who came here from Europe and transmogrified the land to suit themselves at the expense of the non-white men and women who were already here. In a post-Truth and Reconciliation society perhaps Holton’s most surprising literary choice is the lack of racial tension which characterizes the opening section of Trillium.

Young Tom Hartford, a British soldier in what would come to be known (to Anglo-Canadians at least) as the French & Indian War, is a model 18th-century man. His best friend is the Iroquois trader Maakadegaagwan, known as Maaka, and the most problematic thought that Tom has is that he would prefer to marry a white woman “He would prefer to take a wife from his own kind, preferably with a woman who could read and write and teach their children.” Later, when Maaka’s customs make Tom’s new (Scottish) wife uncomfortable, Tom assures her that “Maaka was the best there ever could be”. He continues to defend his friendship with Maaka in the face of increasing community pressure to segregate from the indigenous people. Eventually though, Maaka stops coming around and Tom cheerfully accepts this as he cheerfully accepts almost everything else that happens.

But just as Canadian history doesn’t end with the English victory at the Plains of Abraham, Trillium doesn’t end with Tom Hartford peacefully living out his days on his Twenty Mile Creek peach farm.

Holton’s mandate is wide-ranging and no sooner has the story of Tom Hartford, the first, drawn to a close than she introduces us to another young man, aspiring to a better life, awestruck by the majesty of his new country.

Francesco Di Angelo arrives in Hamilton from Sicily by merchant steamer in 1835. His first view of the city highlights a rapidly-changing Canada, juxtaposing “the bustling shoreline” with the “escarpment-protected port at the end of this long freshwater open lake”.

The meaning is clear: this is a natural setting for the ingenuity and industry of human beings and the land will reward those who adapt to and exploit it most judiciously. Francesco is one of those who will profit by the land, at least in this era, because his love of growing things makes him a natural fit as a picker on the Hartford farm (now owned by Tom’s grandson, Tom Hartford III). “To him this wasn’t work, it was play. It was soil. It was home. His hands became chaffed from dirt and his fingernails became permanently blackened with grit. He dug in deeper. He didn’t mind. He could feel the sun on his back and hear the birds in the orchards. He could literally see the fruit of his own labour. In September, he ate two perfect peaches from the first tree he had picked.” Despite his lack of English, Franco is embraced by the thoroughly Anglo Hartfords in the first of many intersections between characters throughout the centuries.

Holton’s book does indeed span centuries. Words like ‘panoramic’ or ‘multi-generational’ or even ‘saga’ would apply. It is to her credit that she has looked at the history and demographics of wine country and seen fertile ground (pun intended) for the kind of sprawling family-history story made famous by authors like Isabel Allende and Gabriel Garcia Marquez; though Holton’s novel doesn’t feature the kind of precious magical realism that also typifies those writers. Instead, her magic is more prosaic, but no less effective.

The opening section of Trillium, “Seeds”, introduces both Tom, the first, and Franco Di Angelo as well as a third young man with big dreams. Paddy O’Sullivan’s ambitions lead him down a far different path than either of the others, with him becoming a ‘swell’ and most likely a petty criminal as well as a shrewd and corrupt businessman (he will eventually become involved with Hartford Fruit Farm through a shady land deal that sees Tom’s descendants leasing land that Paddy has acquired).

Tom, Franco, and Paddy are the seeds that Holton grows her story from and, like grapevines, that story grows strong and wild. The Hartford, Di Angelo, and O’Sullivan family’s fates are inextricably intertwined all the way up to the end of the 20th century and the novel does not lack for dramatic events.

In fact, all of the plot described so far covers less than a quarter of Trillium. The magic is that Holton never confuses the reader (even with multiple characters named, say, Tom Hartford) and she never loses the sense of the terrain being a character as much as any of the humans.

As I wrote in the beginning of this review, this is a novel in which history and geography are the twin engines driving the story forward. Trillium could not be set anywhere but the Niagara peninsula. This specificity is a strength, as is Holton’s gift for capturing each historical period in detail without losing sense of the larger whole.

As Trillium so aptly demonstrates even familiar territory can contain multitudes worth examining. Her Southern Ontario tale is full of intriguing characters with stories to tell and they are lucky to be the products of a well-seasoned teller of tales. TRILLIUM is well worth the attention of anyone who lives in the Niagara peninsula - and anyone who doesn’t but still likes quality historical fiction.'

--- Book Review by Rachel More, for H&L Magazine. Published July 20th, 2019.

Wonderful, no? 

However, More's review is not without some criticism from me ... I believe she failed to 'round out' the manner in which I did include the current plight of the indigenous people in Canada. She failed to mention how I tied up the beginning of the novel to the end with the re-introduction of a 'snapshot' of the general perspective, circa 2001, from both the native and non-native points of view. I did this in a subtle way, (as an internet-exploring activity played out in a house full of university students), to remind the readers that 'settler' history - Canadian history - is, in fact, built on top of the pre-existing human history within North America ... In other words, contrary to her critique, I was very aware from the onset that, (even though this work is NOT a novel about the native tribes of Canada), I could not ignore the 'framework' of history that has shaped our young nation and its people.

I also think her opening assumption that all interactions between colonialists and the native peoples would have been necessarily fractious is off-the-mark. Historically, that is simply not the case. (The continental fur trade would never have happened if it had been.) More to the point, and worthy of greater thought and deliberation, is the whole IDEA of 'land ownership' that lies, like the good soil beneath our feet, beneath this tale ...

Land ownership remains the greatest bone of contention between the government of Canada and the First Nations tribal groups. Dominion of the land - including all rights and access above-and-below ground - will continue to be one of on-going strife between the two competing governing cultures if some sort of genuine and acceptable agreement cannot be achieved. There is no question that the historical wounds are deep and the generational scars omnipresent. But, obviously, no progress can or will be made as long as this on-going issue remains framed as one between 'winners and losers', or 'the dominant and the subordinate'.

If PEACE is desired, a new linguistic paradigm is very much needed.

For my point of view, and for what it is worth, nothing is ever really just 'black or white' in love or war - and that includes humanity's multifaceted evolution and diverse multicultural history. If we are to survive at all as a species on this planet, we have ALL got to rethink a LOT about our engagement with the natural world as well as our interactions with all species on this amazing twirling globe.

PICK UP YOUR COPY of TRILLIUM on Amazon CANADA here.

Thursday, May 30, 2019

TRILLIUM by MLHolton tells tale set in Niagara region


A great shout-out by Luke Edwards, in Niagara This Week, covering points Grimsby to Fort Erie ... 
Yes, my latest novel started over a decade ago ... I just couldn't find the 'key' to get into it. 
The moment came when I was thinking about the various media innovations that have changed our lives .. 
Consider how news in Canada was initially sent by courier, then available via printed broadsheets, 
then newspapers, then radio, then black & white television, then colour television - 
and now, today, the internet. All this happened within a span of 250 years. A spit in the bucket.  
That's how I got into my new story ... HOW NEWS TRAVELS ... 
Dive into the on-line version of this profile  HERE. 
 

Third page in Fort Erie Edition

Three-quarter page  in Grimsby edition

Monday, May 27, 2019

Local Author Fair - Margaret Lindsay Holton

TRILLIUM by Margaret Lindsay Holton
Latest shipment of my new novel, TRILLIUM, has just arrived for the Local Author Fair to be held at the Central Branch of the Burlington Public Library on ---
> SATURDAY, June 22 <
> from 10am to 2pm <
Come On Out & MEET a diverse group of local authors who write in a variety of different voices - Mystery, Romance, Crime, Horror, Comedy, Historical Fiction ? -- You bet!

Plenty is planned for the 4 hour LOCAL AUTHOR FAIR: - short readings, autographed books, selfies with authors - FOR KEEN READERS YOUNG & OLD ALIKE!
Street View of Burlington Public Library - Central Branch, 2331 New Street, Downtown Burlington
SAMPLE of LOCAL AUTHORS ATTENDING for ADULT Readers: -

Saturday, June 22nd, 10-2pm
Git yer #CANLIT on!
TRILLIUM by Margaret Lindsay Holton
 
Be sure to swing by & pick up your First Edition copy of TRILLIUM
 - the new historical fiction by award-winning Canadian artist and author -
 Margaret Lindsay Holton

 "Highly recommend! Could not put this book down ... First rate story!


Canadian Artist and Author, MLHolton at Burlington Public Library, Local Author Fair, June 2019. Copyright Notice: MLHolton

And, AS ALWAYS, the obligatory 'commemorative shot' - 
EYES CLOSED! Ha!

Wednesday, May 15, 2019

Humber School for Writers Grad, Margaret Lindsay Holton

    


For the FULL INTERVIEW  -  that includes a timely digression on the designing and making of 'The Four Canadian Fireside Chairs' as seen below - 
The article also mentions a few of the book projects I've done over the years ...  Note, links wont work on the screengrab below. - If looking for my most recent title, TRILLIUM, go to Amazon:  https://amzn.to/2q0iEeL /  - Older commercial titles can be found via my Amazon author page. Other MLH art & poetry book projects can be found HERE.
 
Finally, minor point, it is not clear in the article that I was a 'Graduate' student at the Humber School for Writers. I had already finished my Bachelor of Arts years before at the University of Toronto. I was most fortunate to receive the President's Scholarship to understudy in the 'Graduate Creative Writing Program' with 2x Giller prize winner, M.G.Vassanji.

Noteworthy nugget for die-hard Canadian literary historians - I still have all his notes!  

Monday, March 25, 2019

Margaret Lindsay Holton - Artist & Author of TRILLIUM


Happy to share this recent on-line interview with IdeaMensch about my arts practice:
 how I do what I do and why I do it. Candid and straight-forward, I tell it like it is ... 

Excerpts follow: 

Margaret Lindsay Holton is a senior Canadian artist and an award-winning fiction author from the Golden Horseshoe region of Southern Ontario, Canada. She has recently released her third novel, TRILLIUM. Appointed an ‘Alumni of Influence' by University College at the University of Toronto in 2018, she is also an out-spoken activist. Lindsay readily stands up to protect further industrial degradation of our shared environment. She writes – “We must be Nature’s Caretakers, not just Nature’s Takers.” Lindsay maintains her vibrant arts studio on the Hamilton Beach strip on the shores of Lake Ontario.

 

Where did the idea for your company come from?

I knew, very early on, before leaving University, that I wanted my own arts-based business. MLH Productions represents my name (MLH) and what I do (produce creative works.) Acorn Press Canada happened a decade later when I noticed that the Canadian publishing industry was being swallowed up and re-jigged by American and global concerns. I was adamant that I wanted my ‘world view’ expressed as a ‘Canadian’ not as an American or as a globalist. My mantra for that venture: ‘From little acorns mighty oaks grow.’ ...

 

What advice would you give your younger self?

Take better physical care of my Self. Our bodies are amazing ‘tools’ and ‘temples’. When we abuse ourselves, through drugs or alcohol or physical injury, we throw away the incredible possibilities that this ‘vessel’ has given each and every one of us. I was rather rough on my ‘younger’ self. Luckily, the body has amazing restorative powers too. We can and should take better care of our physical selves.

 

Tell us something that’s true that almost nobody agrees with you on.

Much of what passes for art these days is crap. Just because someone is ‘creative’ and can shape colourful clay balls into blobby figurines does not make them an ‘artist’. Being an artist demands much more then a boozy weekend paint party or a year or two of production. Being an artist is an ‘all or nothing’ kind of endeavor. Meaning, my Life is that of a full-time Artist. It’s what I’ve done and will continue to do until I’m dead. Poseurs and amateurs may grab at the ring. They may even become ‘influencers’ or revered social tarts. But a genuine artist seldom seeks fame, glamour or monetary gain. Those aren’t the real challenges. The very real and very serious challenge is the daily improvement of one’s abilities. Get better at what you are compelled to do every day. That’s it.

 

As an artspreneur, what is the one thing you do over and over and recommend everyone else do?

Sleep. Seriously, good sleep can make or break your productive day. Go to bed at a reasonable hour and get up early. Set the routine, establish it as a habit, then follow it religiously. Periodic glitches are allowable, but I guarantee, you’ll want the benefits of a good nights rest again before too long.

What is one business idea that you’re willing to give away to our readers?

Every person in the business of business should watch Kate Raworth’s TED TALK on a sustainable economy … Take it from there. ...

 

What is your favorite quote?

Helen Keller was prone to saying remarkable things. I particularly like this quotable quote: “Toleration is the greatest gift of the mind; it requires the same effort of the brain that it takes to balance oneself on a bicycle.”



TRILLIUM by MLHolton now on AMAZON 

Thursday, March 21, 2019

The Act & Art of Writing - SPEECH - M.L.Holton, March, 2019


'THE ACT & ART OF WRITING' by M.L.Holton  
Pre-Recorded on Soundcloud
 WAAH 'Speaker's Series', Art Gallery of Hamilton, March, 2019 
New novel, TRILLIUM, e-book or paperback, on AMAZON.CA 
 ('The Frozen Goose', written, produced & directed, by MLHolton)

 Now available too, on Speakola
an eclectic collection of speeches throughout the ages.
One of my favourites, under the Arts/Culture banner, 
is a timely speech by UrsulaLeGuin ... 

Tuesday, January 8, 2019

Another Great Book Review for TRILLIUM by M.L.Holton

Reviewer writes: "I cannot recommend this book enough!" 

Yes! Thrilled by another excellent '4 out of 5 star review' for TRILLIUM. Set in the beautiful Niagara peninsula over a timeframe of 250 years from 1750s to 2000s, three very distinct families make a go of it.

The e-book of TRILLIUM is now available on Amazon.CA or on Books2Read (for alternate e-book formats). NB: US exchange rate in effect for US-based purchases.

Also, happy to report that the 'Artist 1st Edition' is no longer available. Updated print editions can be found on Amazon as a trade paperback, with 340 pages and the same cover design.

Finally, very pleased to be reviewed by fellow readers on GOODREADS

 I'm also working on an author's page over there, so please be sure to connect and/or follow along!

On & UP!

Monday, November 12, 2018

'Meet & Greet' Golden Horseshoe Artist, MLHolton

All welcome: Come One, Come All!
Informal 'Meet & Greet' at A Different Drummer Books
in beautiful downtown Burlington. Friday, Dec 7th, 7-8pm. 
See you there!
TRILLIUM now on AMAZON  
 
UPDATE: Super fun to catch up with old & new friends at the book signing.
CLASSIC photo of MLH taken by Ian at Different Drummer ... Eyes Closed As Per Usual!

Thursday, October 4, 2018

TRILLIUM - A new Canadian Novel by MLHOLTON




This epic family saga begins after three diverse men arrive to the North American continent. Set in the Golden Horseshoe region of Canada, one arrives by foot at the Niagara frontier in the 1750s. Another arrives by ship from the island of Sicily to the burgeoning Hamilton port in the mid 1850s. The last arrives from Dublin just before the outbreak of WW1.

Over 250 years the Hartford, Di Angelo and O'Sullivan clans hunker down into the wine-making district of Niagara. Nothing remains sacred as opportunists pursue lust, land and loot. Ancient taboos are broken - and all hell breaks loose ... 

Wine enters the picture too - lots and lots of wonderful, lip-smacking wine.

Canadian artist, Margaret Lindsay Holton, aka MLH, explores changing manners and mores in this tell-all romp. Part poet, part mid-wife, part futurist, part sage, word-smith Holton creates an unforgettable and imaginative portrait of Canadian living.

Author of two other novels 'Economic Sex' (1985) and the award-winning 'The Gilded Beaver' (1999), MLHolton has also crafted short stories and poetry. 

After writing and directing, 'The Frozen Goose' (25 min DVD, 2016), she produced a spoken-word & electro-pop album 'CANADADA:TAKE TWO' (2017) to mark Canada's sesquicentennial. Her earlier poetry books, 'Bush Chord' (2006) and 'On Top of Mount Nemo' (2002) as well as her five photography books can be found on her website. 



*E-pub Edition releases January 2019* 
Amazon paperback now on AMAZON.CA

Facebook fan page: TrilliumNovel Twitter: @trilliumthenovel 

 ---

First PRINT review / Dec Issue - The Bay Observer, 2018

2ND Excellent Book Review via Thomas Anderson of Literary Titan, January 2018.
**** 4 out of 5 stars ****
"I cannot recommend this book enough."

Wednesday, March 29, 2017

'Bush Chord', new choral work, by Canadian composer, Tobin Stokes, based on poem by Canadian artist, M.L.Holton

Excited to announce the official premiere of the new choral work based on one of my poems, 'Bush Chord', by Canadian composer, Tobin Stokes, commissioned by Vox Humana Chamber Choir, from British Columbia, Canada.

Happening June 2nd, 2017 (Ticket info below.)

What was the inspiration behind "the national anthems?" 

From the program notes, by Vox Humana Chamber Choir's musical director, David Lang: 

"Every country has a history – how it came to be, how its wars were won or lost, how strong its people are, or how proud, or how sad. We group ourselves into nations, but it has never really been clear to me what that means, or what we get out of it. Are we grouped together because we believe something together and are proud of associating with others who believe the same way? 

 Or are we grouped together because our ancestors found themselves pushed onto a piece of land by people who didn’t want them on theirs? It seems that all nations have some bright periods and some dark periods in their past. 

Building a national myth out of our bright memories probably creates a different character than if we build one out of the dark.
 
I had the idea that if I looked carefully at every national anthem I might be able to identify something that everyone in the world could agree on. If I could take just one hopeful sentence from the national anthem of every nation in the world I might be able to make a kind of meta-anthem of the things that we all share. I started combing through the anthems, pulling out from each the sentence that seemed to me the most committed. What I found, to my shock and surprise, was that within almost every anthem is a bloody, war-like, tragic core, in which we cover up our deep fears of losing our freedoms with waves of aggression and bravado.

At first I didn’t know what to do with this text. I didn’t want to make a piece that was aggressive, or angry, or ironic. Instead, I read and re-read the meta-anthem I had made until another thought became clear to me.

Hiding in every national anthem is the recognition that we are insecure about our freedoms, that freedom is fragile, and delicate, and easy to lose. Maybe an anthem is a memory informing a kind of prayer, a heartfelt plea: 'There was a time when we were forced to live in chains. Please don’t make us live in chains again.' " - David Lang.

Am super excited to see what Tobin Stokes will create with my poem - 

BUSH CHORD

pine poplar willow and punk wood
spit and spark
while bone hard elm birch apple and oak
hum harmonious
fine hard woods - good wood to burn
these wonder instruments pressure whistle
chattering, cheering, cackling
crackling within a hesitant cyclone of light
flickering flames
of sublime delight, warming slow, they give us life

parse this minor miracle of mega bio-physics
of holy fire drawn down
from primal sun
through leaves to rugged root shoots far flung
look here now
to this instant, brilliant burn
an intense unrehearsed liquid fire
a sound symphony of sun struck lyres
complete and sacred
a rare but common gift

the honey musk smell of jumbled bush wood
burns deep into primal memory
     (remember those crisp sun-filled fall days
     of cutting, gathering, splitting, stacking,
     carrying, piling, drying, and cursing
     those back breaking loads?)

to get to this
this calm clear moment
listen

listen
to these bush chords
please
Have seen the preliminary score, but cant wait to HEAR it!
If in British Columbia in June, please do drop in for a unique choral experience! 

**Read more MLH poetry on excellent Canpoetry website**
(hosted by University of Toronto.)



p.s. NICE to be included in such august company!  
...  Margaret Atwood opera, another project by Stokes from three years ago  ... :) 


UPDATE. APRIL 4th, 2017: Just received the first draft of the score for this work ... WOW. 
Samples below ... 


UPDATE:  Complete sidebar, but of interest to some, perhaps: The National Parks Service of the United States of America used this poem, BUSH CHORD, in an educational park guide, without authorization by me. After I notified them of this 'copyright issue', they said they wouldn't use it anymore ... Kindly note, there was NO chit-chat about financial compensation for prior use  ... (ha! at least my NAME was on the poem! ) ... and it REMAINS on the internet Forever ...  For anyone who CARES, this is 100% WHY talented 'artists starve'. People STEAL/"borrow" other people's work for their own USE and GAIN.  Call it for what it is - THEFT and it's 100% WRONG -  See: 'Life in an Ecosystem' NPS/Gov, PAGE 28 .

Tuesday, March 7, 2017

Granny Paints: New Short Story - by Margaret Lindsay Holton


Northern Friend. - Photo by Donald Marsh.
Author's preamble: I have a collection of short stories that I dip into from time to time, to consider my own evolving points of view, my progress and my craft. This little gem of a story is based on a period of time I spent with Winifred Marsh, (wife of Donald Marsh, an Anglican missionary assigned to Eskimo Point during the 1930s, who later became 'Bishop of the Arctic'.)  I was helping her collate his early photographs of northern peoples and their region .

During those long pleasant days, I discovered Winifred to be a kind, thoughtful, charming, sturdy, insightful and inspiring little woman.  For my contributing efforts, she gave me several of Donald's images, (sample shown.)  I cherish them to this day.  Her 'story' - re-written into this quasi-fictionalized account - has greater resonance as I grow older.  Elders - from any culture - are one of our most precious natural resources ... RESPECT.  

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Granny Paints
           She had said dinner at 5 pm.
           At 82 years of age, she could call dinner at any time she liked, so I had said, ok.
           I arrived a little early, as usual, around 4:30, with the mandatory strawberry and rhubarb pie carefully tucked into my bulging carry bag. I had also picked up a half-pint of Haagan Das vanilla ice cream. I rang the doorbell and waited. She took a long time to answer.
           Her voice squeaked from the other side, “Just a minute.”
           Five minutes passed before I heard the latch turn, and she said, “OK! Give the door a push.”
          
            Ah Winifred. To see you thus. Bent over double, world weary and worn, but ever always, beaming from eye to eye with your impish generous grin. We greet warmly and I see that your eyes are clear and bright today. Winifred. Winnie. Win. I evoke your name to remind myself that these crystal moments are the best gifts.
           You are weak. I can see that every movement is a struggle for you. You are using both your canes today. Our eyes acknowledge the gnawing of age but we both put on a brave face. We joke. We tease each other. You are too weak to make the dinner, but this too is understood and also unspoken. I order you to sit down while I rummage in the kitchen for this and that. I move briskly, efficiently, and make periodic dramatic gestures to entertain you. To please your good eyes. You, lover of Life, remark on my new hairdo and shimmering silk blouse. I push buttons on the microwave and remark how one must tackle high-tech fearlessly. You smile. And we both remember stories from your youth: those years in the North, without stove, sink or refrigerator.
           On the counter I see that you have managed to prepare a small salad of sliced avocados, tomatoes, cucumbers, green peppers, carrots with an assorted mixture of salad greens. I know that it may have taken you over an hour to prepare. You would have had to remove the vegetables from the fridge, wash them, cut them, pull down the serving dish, and then arrange the items artistically.
           You did this for me.
           As we sat down to dine at the table by the window, I leaned over and put a cushion behind your back for comfort. You rubbed your legs and said the arthritis was worse than ever. We chatted amicably about nothing. And when I rose to get the pie and ice-cream for dessert, you are childishly happy and whisper conspiratorially as you pick up your fork, “I’m not supposed to have pie…” Our old secret. Later, you insist I have a small tumbler of brandy. You don’t drink, never have. I retrieve the bottle from under the cupboard and pour myself a stiff one, then lean back, and listen, as you tell me yet another tale of our family history.
           You are telling me a new story about Eskimo Point up on Hudson Bay. How my father, and your only son, Donald, had found the old bull seal while out trapping with my grandfather, and your husband, Archie. You remembered the day like it was yesterday. And in the telling your hands drift to the tabletop to fidget with the white tablecloth.

           The sky had been uncommonly bright and clear that day, the blue so remarkably blue that you had spontaneously dubbed it a colour from your paint box ‘Robin Eggshell Blue’.
            Archie had been out walking and checking the trap-line on the bluff with his son Donald tagging along. The North Sea was quiet with a gentle north-eastern breeze lapping the shore. The beach pebbles glistened like forgotten pearls fallen from Sedna’s throat. The lime-green sea grass flickered rhythmically imitating flapping bed linen.
           Archie was bent over a trap, busy, while Donald was idling about, twisting a braid of sea grass, when they first heard it. The breezy blissful scene was pierced by a startled screeching scream. Donald scanned the shoreline. Half a mile away, down on the rocks, a large bull seal was struggling inside the captive restraints of a mangled net. Plastic red and white buoys clattered against its rolling sleek body. Another ungodly belly wail sent the ever-present seagulls and terns skyward.
           Archie and Donald ran down and tried to grab hold of the bulky mess. But that old bull barked and struggled furiously against their intrusive and awkward hands. Archie told Donald to stay put, he was going to get his tranquilizing gun at the camp and he ran off.
          Donald stood off, bewildered by the moaning creature. He tried to think what to do. The seal heaved its heavy body again in its never-ending struggle to set itself free and as it did so a shard of entangled grappling iron jammed further into its already bloodied side.
          The tortured yelp was unbearable.
           Donald ran forward to the seal with his outstretched hands to pull out the rod. As he approached the bull turned on him and roared in anger. Donald fell down backwards onto the beach pebbles and burst into frustrated tears. He slowly began to crawl over the stones towards the bull seal extending his bruised hands. “Please, please, let me help you.” His own murmurs of pain punctuated the moaning groans of that majestic beast.
          Tentatively, gently, Donald placed his small hand through the netting onto the side of the heaving animal. This unusual child-caress momentarily stilled the wounded creature and Donald was able to move his hand carefully to the rod. He paused for a moment, speaking softly, then, with a strength he didn’t know he had, he pulled the rod clear and clean from the belly of the bull.  
           Blood gushed out at the boy. The giant sea slug convulsed in a painful spasm and Donald yelled in terror as the mammoth dead-weight crushed down upon him. He lost sight of the sky.
           By the time Archie returned with the gun he could not see Donald anywhere. He glanced back over the ridge to the trap line. He briefly thought how timid his little son was.
           Archie turned and shot skillfully into the still moaning bull seal. He then slowly approached the now inert mangled mess. When the seal lay perfectly still, hardly breathing, he bent over the creature to roll off the entanglement of buoys and netting.
           It was then that he first saw Donald’s blood covered hand holding the metal shard extruding from under the bull’s belly. Frantically, and with a ferocious strength, he heaved off the half-ton carcass. The buoys clattered forward onto the rocks.
           He gingerly lifted up the limp body of his only son. “God, dear God, not my boy!”
           He carried Donald over to the embankment, and laid him down softly on the sea grass. As he wiped the warm blood off Donald’s ashen face he saw that he was still breathing. Archie placed his big hands onto the boy’s small chest and administered a clumsy CPR all the while praying.
          “God, dear God, no.”
           Winifred paused and glanced out the window to the early night sky. She watched the clouds move for a moment, then turned and looked at me, “You know, Archie, your grandfather, wasn’t, and never was, much of a religious man.” I nodded slowly. I knew that.
           “Anyway,” she said, brushing the tablecloth …
           Donald finally sputtered to life, choking and frightened.
           He gazed up into the eyes of his ever-loving father and said, “Did we save him, Dad?”

           Winifred gave a gentle cough. Her sad sweet smile met my all-seeing gaze. Quietly, she said, “Your father was a strong little boy, Ruth. Much stronger than his own father ever believed.” She rubbed the top of her legs. I nodded slowly again and watched her age before my eyes.  “I’m sorry dear heart,” she continued, ”I’m getting a little tired now. That has to be enough for today.”
           I helped her from her chair and asked if she wanted me to stay until she was re-settled in her room. No, no, she said, just come back next week, maybe we can take a little walk outdoors. I promised her we would walk the tree lane behind the parking lot if she felt up to it. The yellow crocuses were just starting to push up, new spring shoots were bursting forth. I could come a bit earlier on Saturday, I said.
           “O’ goodie! ” she exclaimed, as she struggled forward on her canes, “I’ll bring my paints!”
           And I said, “Yes Granny, that’s a good idea. Bring your paints.”

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Granny Paints: Short Story - Copyright - Margaret Lindsay Holton. 
Contact the artist for reproduction. / Photograph by Donald Marsh in Collection of M.L.Holton