The Cougar makes top BC adventure book in Explore Magazine!
Avid outdoorsman, writer and photographer, John Geary recently took a tour of Canadian adventure books, selecting one from each province and territory.
It must have been a daunting task to choose only one for each area so I was surprised and delighted when The Cougar, Beautiful, Wild and Dangerous was his pick for BC!
Geary’s selection is featured in the online edition of Explore Magazine.
Here’s part of what he has to say about The Cougar: “This book details the history of the cougar-people relationship, examining cougar attacks in North America over the last 200 years. It’s an eye-opener and a good source of information about cougars — including what to do if you encounter one.…an important read.”
Give Canadian books for Christmas. A novel idea some might say, but I’ve been giving Canadian books as gifts for more than 40 years.
I come from a long line of readers. Being read to was a treasured part of my early childhood. And I can still remember the thrill of being able to read on my own any time I wanted! When I was 10 I decided that included late at night.
Not sure if reading past bedtime was allowed, I draped a towel over the lamp on my night table to avoid detection. Mom still saw the light under the door. But instead of giving me heck, she said it was okay to read but not to start a fire.
Canadian books cover every genre and evoke every emotion. I’ve giggled, sniffled and even been creeped out on occasion. Canadian authors have also informed and enlightened me about our vast and varied multicultural country and provided insight into the human psyche.
Although 99% of our books are currently living in a storage unit, here are a few of the Canadian books I found in a 60 second cruise around our apartment.
Most of my family lives in the USA but, even so, Canadian books are always on their Christmas wish lists. Some I’m wrapping as presents this year include:
Light Years: Memoir of a Modern Lighthouse Keeper by Caroline Woodward
Tide Rips and Back Eddies by Bill Proctor and Yvonne Maximchuk
Once They Were Hats by Frances Backhouse
Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel
Watershed Moments: A Pictorial History of Courtenay and District by Christine Dickinson, Deborah Griffiths, Judy Hagen and Catherine Siba
There are others I can’t mention as my partner, fellow author Rick James, reads my blogs and would find out what he’s getting for Christmas!
With the exception of Station Eleven, which was published in 2014, the above books are all fall 2015 releases. But many Canadian books are what I call ‘keepers’ and have permanent homes on my bookshelf.
So if you’re interested in Canadian classics, here are a few of my favorites:
Who Has Seen the Wind by W.O. Mitchell
The Stone Angel by Margaret Laurence
Never Cry Wolf by Farley Mowat
Wolf Willow: A History, a Story, and a Memory of the Last Plains Frontier by Wallace Stegner
Books open the door to other worlds, both imaginary and real, as well as different ways of thinking, eating and moving. They are companions on dark, winter nights and allow us to escape the drudgery or demons of everyday life. I can think of no better gift.
Whatever the occasion, going to town requires thought as to dress, or could require thought if one was given to care. A quick run to the feed store or Central Builders is pretty straightforward. But for such an event as a book launch, especially if it is one’s own book launch, may call for a bit additional consideration.
If it is a high-brow literary event, would I wear the tried and true tweed jacket with suede elbow patches, possibly over a sweater vest? — how timeless is that combo? Or is it so dated to be pathetic. Or perhaps I could try the po-mo look — lots of black, maybe even a fake piercing and a temp ‘tat.’
My criteria are not driven by the whims and caprice of the Style Section of the Globe and Mailwhich we buy each Saturday, but rather by necessity. Something that doesn’t show dog hair is high on the list. There is enough black hair in the seat crevices and cranny’s of my truck to knit a new hound. Something that relates to the weather, usually waterproof, reinforces the gumboot archetype.
Harold Macy is the author of The Four Storey Forest, As Grow the Trees, So too the Heart
But really, I don’t care. I take lessons from my Grandpa. His long legs were perpetually clad in blue denim overalls. Annually, upon Grandma’s urging, he bought a new pair, stiff as boards, which he initially saved for church. After a few months, they became his town and house pair. Eventually they were worn in the shop, on the tractors and in the calving barn doing the chores he loved. After a year or so on this duty, they were fit only for wipe rags. Grandma made quilt squares from any section that was not threadbare, grease stained or soiled by the wet but messy miracles of animals, but there were only few.
But it is not your clothes that are noticed at a book launch. It’s your fingernails.
I gave a talk recently and was setting up to sell and sign books to the good folks in line, money in hand. I glanced down at my hands and saw the half-moon of cargo delineating each and every nail. Not only that but there was a stubborn smear of chainsaw oil giving the edge of my hand a delicate blush of purple, not unlike a fresh bruise. Various scratches. Enough grit in my fingertips to make cop prints and a dusting of Merville Silt, apparently a particular noxious element according to the Sears Carpet Cleaning Technician who does our rugs once a year.
So, as the first pink-fingered, smooth-handed lady passed me my book to sign, I almost felt the urge to make some glottal grunt to match what really mattered, my hands there on the page. Now her page. Soiled. She glanced down at the virginal page, at my stubborn grime and made a small silent “Oh” with her mouth. I felt her gaze, looked up, and gave a wan smile.
Don’t worry about the clothes, check your fingernails first.
Paula’s note: Harold originally sent the above in as a comment to Preparing to Launch, a guest blog by Susan Ketchen. It’s so well written — and funny — that I decided to run it as Preparing to Lauch Part 2.
The subject of clothes, fingernails and potentially embarrassing moments that happen to authors at book signings seems to have struck a chord for many writers. Check back in a couple of weeks for Preparing to Launch Part 3&4.
I had a hard time making ends meet when I first moved to the Comox Valley. It was 1988, the economy was sluggish, my unemployment insurance benefits had run out and I was dipping into my meager savings. I applied for many jobs but no one was hiring.
As often happens, I found the solution to my problem in a book. To alleviate her financial woes, the heroine in the novel I was reading took in laundry and ironing. A domestic goddess I am not, but after casting around for some skill to market, I decided to take in typing.
My first client was 70-year old Hope Spencer. A writer in her own right, she had yet to conquer the basics of her new computer. So I became her typist in the interim.
But Hope became more than just a client. She knew the owner of Blue Heron Books in Comox and suggested I contact her regarding a part-time job. She also knew a publisher that might be interested in a book I was working on.
And she invited me to some of her parties. It seemed like Hope knew everyone and soon I began making connections in my new home town.
As it happened, both Hope and I belonged to the Periodical Writers Association of Canada. Since I found it difficult to attend PWAC meetings and social events in Victoria, she suggested we hold informal meetings at her place. Hope provided tea, coffee and the use of her huge round table, which she said facilitated discussion.
And she was right — the brown bag lunches were lively and stimulating with writers of every genre talking about what they were working on and asking for and giving advice. At times, PWAC members from Victoria made the trek up island to camp in Hope’s orchard, cook dinner together and talk about the writing life.
In later years, ill health curtailed Hope’s activities but not her interest or support. Whenever she heard about a new book I was working on, she’d call to give me leads I might otherwise miss.
Once, she invited Rick and me to stop by after a late afternoon book signing at Blue Heron Books. When we arrived she served a variety of old cheeses, crackers, a choice of $80 bottles of sherry and — ever frugal — leftover Christmas cake from the year before. It was an unusual combination of tastes that, in typical Hope fashion, proved delicious.
In addition to moral support, Hope often purchased my books as gifts for friends and family. Once she asked me to come over and sign one before she mailed it. She greeted Rick and me at the door wearing a turban and colourful Chinese robe.
Hope believed colour was an essential part of life.
“The book’s in this room somewhere,” she announced, returning to her phone conversation. Hope organized the material goods in her life by putting them in piles. We found the book under the sixth one.
Hope died a little over a week ago at age 91. Her Comox church service was packed with people from all walks of life including members of the Unitarian Church and the New Democratic Party. There were also writers from as far away as Victoria and Quadra Island.
After the service there was a party at Hope’s house. She would have loved it – a diverse group of people jammed into the small space, eating, drinking the last of her homemade champagne and talking nonstop.
Wherever Hope went, she brought her zest for life and special gift for connecting with people. Although no longer physically in this world, the legacy of her generous spirit lives on in the many lives she touched. I will miss her.
