Daring Greatly.

Just a quick post today lovelies. Or maybe not, you know I can waffle on.

In any case, in the days leading up to my birthday I was conscious of a shift taking place within. I was tired of being afraid, of hiding. You know I can really let it all hang out when I talk about feeling fat or old and my struggles to keep up with a good diet, but when it comes to my writing? That's another story.

Sure yes, I share my writing by virtue of the fact that I write a blog. But my work, my creations, my figurative babies, those I can be more precious with.

So I knew I wanted to make a change, in fact was driven by a desire to live differently in this next year, next phase of my life. The things I have been doing haven't been working as well as I'd like. Sure I've tried, I've put myself out there, I've knocked on doors that were often closed to the likes of me... but I couldn't help but wonder if there was something different that I could be doing. Like inside of me, you know what I mean? A reframe or shift in perspective. The sage and insightful author Eckhart Tolle says "The world can only change from within." Truth, my brother!

The answer was yes. I could peel back the layers, smash down the protective walls and really expose myself. I took the first step toward that exposure by sharing my short story, The Hidden Arrow with you.

I'm still not convinced it was a good idea and feels like one of the most terrifying things I've done to date, but it didn't kill me. And truly, I feel stronger for it.

But in the lead up to that, my girl Myla - kindred spirit, fellow July baby and interweb soul-sister shared her latest passion. A research goddess named Brene Brown (Brene sounds like Rene). When she mentioned that she was a researcher, I think I might have yawned. And the hilarious thing is that in the first intro I had to Brene, she opened her talk with a story about a woman who was trying to figure out how to introduce her and didn't want to say she was a researcher because people might be turned off by that. Wow, who knew I was so text-book. Anyway - I finally had an opportunity to check her out on YouTube and listen to her TED talk. Okay come on, if I lost you at researcher, I must have won you back by TED talk, no?

She talked about her research into why some people feel worthy and others don't and what's the difference in how they think. Pretty cool stuff. For me, as a writer, I always feel like I'm not good enough. In fact come to think about it, when it comes to practicing the Tracy Anderson Method, I feel like a perpetual remedial student because I never get it right and feel like a big clumsy oaf. But I digress. I have met many writers who do think they're good enough, in fact many of them see themselves as even better than most (when it comes to writing. These are my friends I'm talking about here) And the ones who think they are better... are the more successful ones. They get stuff made, they get into writing rooms, they are always working. But that doesn't mean that they didn't feel sick to their stomachs when they had to walk into a room to pitch their material, it just means they had the guts to do it and felt like they had a right to be there.

So... my point.

Myla mentioned Brene Brown and I watched her talk and it was very cool.
You should watch it HERE.

This picture sums up the message of that talk in a nutshell.

 

But what's more, she did a second talk about shame that really rocked my world. It hit me in my heart center and made me go - that's me! I feel shame! Lots of it. It comes from a variety of factors, the big one being that I come from a multi-racial background. For a whole host of reasons, too many to go into within the scope of this blog - I was never sure who I was. Too white to be Native, too Native to be white, shunned on both sides, a mongrel not good enough to ever amount to anything. Okay that was a whole lot more than I intended to share, but I guess that's the theme of this new year. Be brave enough to be vulnerable. Really put yourself out there.

What I am really writing today to say to you, is please take a break. Go to youtube and check her out. Then watch her other stuff - the talk about shame really might change your outlook. At the very least it will let you know that you are not alone. Here's the link for that one.

LISTENING TO SHAME 

The top one came first, so it's fun to watch it first before Listening to Shame because you can see her evolution. She is hilarious by the way, don't be fooled by the subject matter.
 
Thanks for sharing, Myla. Dr. Brown is amazing!

xo
Shan


 

The Hidden Arrow - Part Two

Hello you beautiful people.
Well... it's a new year. My birthday was yesterday and I have to say I feel a palpable difference. Like things really are going to take a turn for the better. Plus! There is a whole new 21-Day Meditation with Oprah and Deepak starting today. 

You can sign up for free HERE!

I cannot think of a better gift. Well actually I can, I made a few wishes this year. He he he.

Anyway. Without further adieu... Part two of my short story The Hidden Arrow.
Oh and if you missed Part One or are just tuning in - you can check out the first half of the story HERE.

                  Jess watched the whole scene play out through a fog of regret, but when she realized that the woman had gotten back into the police car and was driving away; she’d remembered the words of the farmer.

                  “Tell my wife I’ll be waiting for her.”

                  Jess snapped to her senses and raced back to her truck to give chase. She jumped behind the wheel, plugged the key into the ignition and turned, but nothing happened. Jess slammed her fist into the steering wheel.

                  “You stupid piece of shit, come on!” She shouted as the police cruiser shrank in the distance. She tried again and this time the engine fired. She threw it into gear and took off after them, spitting up gravel in her wake.

                  By now the sun had stretched up to the centre of the sky and was beating down on Jess as she stood in the yard outside a large farmhouse. As the police car pulled out of the drive, Jess stood back and took in the yard. A small creek bubbled noisily behind the house, an old work shed sat off to the side next to a crooked tree. Finally, Jess screwed up her courage and found her way across the yard and onto the porch. She reached out to knock on the door, but before she could, it opened. The farmer’s wife, eyes rimmed red from crying, saw Jess standing there and immediately embraced her.          

                  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Jess whispered. “I was there, with him when he crossed.”

                  “Please come in.” The woman swung the door open and stepped aside to allow Jess entry into the house.

                  The house had a very cozy lived-in feeling about it. It was homey. Jess followed the woman into the living room where she motioned for Jess to sit. Jess hesitated.            

                  “Oh I shouldn’t,” Jess motioned to her soiled clothing.        

                  “Please, it’s okay,” the woman said as she took a seat on the sofa and patted the spot next to her for Jess to sit. Jess sat down next to her.

                  “He went peacefully, he didn’t seem to be in pain. He wanted me to tell you that he’ll be waiting for you.”

                  The woman nodded. She seemed to understand as a single tear escaped down her delicately lined cheek.

                  “He said love was the most important thing and he had no regrets,” Jess promised.

                  “May I show you something?” the woman asked.

                  Jess nodded as the woman got to her feet and pulled a framed picture from the mantel. She handed it to Jess. Jess was startled at the image and she was confused by it.  

                  “When was this taken?” she asked cautiously. The woman smiled fondly. 

                  “Some time ago, I was pregnant with our first child.”

                  Jess couldn’t stop staring at the picture. She tried to wipe some of the dust from the glass to get a better look. The couple in the photograph bore an unsettling resemblance to Jess and Gary.

                  “A lot of responsibility, being a mother. I was about your age, and scared.” She looked at Jess knowingly.

                  “How did you know I was…”

                  “Love is the most important thing. Loving my husband and having our children was the best thing I’ve ever done.” Jess put her arm around the woman as she began to sob gently.

                  “I’m so glad you were there with him, dear. Everything’s going to be alright now,” she said as she straightened herself up and dried her eyes.

                  “Would you like me to stay with you? I can make some tea.”

                  The woman patted Jess’s knee, took the photograph from her lap and returned it to its place on the mantle.               

                  “You go on home, dear. My son will be along shortly,” she said reassuringly. Jess stood up to go.

                  “I’d like to come back tomorrow to check in on you. Would it be okay if I brought my boyfriend? I feel like the two of you should meet.” Jess was not at all sure of why she was felt that way.

                  “I’d like that.” The woman turned away from the fireplace and walked Jess to the door.

                  Gary had his old tractor pulled up into the driveway in front of the house, the ground around it littered with tools while he worked on it. He looked up, surprised when he saw Jess’s truck pull into the yard early. She pulled up behind the tractor.

                  “Did they fire you or did you finally quit?” he called in through her open driver’s window before he saw the expression on her face. He grew worried when he saw her crawl out of the truck stained with blood and dirt. Gary leapt to his feet and raced over to her.    

                  “Oh my God, Jess are you alright? What happened?”

                  “There was an accident,” she managed, “I think I need to sit down.”

                  Gary wrapped his arm around her shoulder and guided her to the front step of their house where he helped her to sit.

                  “A tractor, it rolled over in the ditch. The driver, he, he didn’t make it.” Jess began to cry for what felt like the millionth time that day while Gary showered the top of her head with kisses and stroked her back.                 

                  “I’m so sorry, Jess, but I’m so glad you’re okay.”

                  Jess looked up at him through the blur of tears.

                  “Gary, what’s your favorite thing in the world?” Gary embraced her fully, pressing his face into her hair and inhaling.

                  “Your hair. When it smells like campfire smoke.” Jess tossed her arms around his neck and hugged him so tightly she nearly choked him.             

                  “Baby, you’re okay. It’s going to be okay,” he assured her.

                  “How do you feel about grandkids?”

                  Gary sat back and looked at her. A grin spread across his face in wonderment.      

                  “Are you – I mean are we?”

                  Jess nodded through a tear soaked smile.

                  “Having a baby? Yeah,” she confirmed.   

                  Gary jumped to his feet and shouted to the heavens.

                  “Did you hear that? She’s having my baby!” Then in one fell swoop Gary bent to scoop Jess up in his arms. He marched up the stairs and carried her into the house.                 

                  Jess sat at the kitchen table and allowed Gary to strip off her filthy jeans and T-shirt as bathwater ran in the background. She let herself to be taken care of.

                  “Now you just relax, little mama. I’m drawing you a cool bath and I’m going to fix your supper while you soak.”                       

                  Jess entered the kitchen wrapped in her bathrobe, her hair still wrapped in a towel. Before she could sit, Gary raced over and pulled out her chair. 

                  “Wait until you see what I’ve rustled up for you,” he claimed excitedly. But when he brought over the steaming bowl of Hamburger Helper, the smell of beef sent a wave of nausea over Jess that sent her on a hasty retreat to the bathroom.

                  The next day, from the passenger’s seat of the truck, Jess searched the side of the road looking for the correct turn off. Gary eyed her sideways from behind the wheel. 

                  “There! Turn there. That’s it, I’m sure of it.”

                  “You were sure of it the last two times,” Gary mused incredulously as he drove past the turn.

                  “Go back! That’s the road. I’m positive,” Jess insisted.

                  At her urging, Gary slowed to a stop and turned the truck around on the narrow gravel road. Humoring her, Gary eased the truck off the road and down a narrow wooded lane, a resigned expression taking up permanent residence on his face.

                  “I really don’t think this is it,” he said as they traveled down the lane. But Jess was sure, this was the same road she’d followed the police car down only yesterday.          

                  “No, this is it. I’m positive.” She was absolutely convinced that this was the place until the road dead-ended at a clearing in the trees. There was definitely no farmhouse, no shed, nothing. Her face was a blanket of confusion and disappointment when she jumped out of the truck. Gary climbed out after her and went to stand by her side.

                  “Gary, I was sure this was their place. I would have bet my life on it,” she sighed heavily. Gary put his arm around her shoulder.

                  “The man just died in your arms, Jess, you’re bound to be traumatized.”

                  Jess pulled away angrily and stalked over to the edge of the property. As she got closer to the trees, she could hear the sound of running water, the creek, she thought.

                  “This is the place! It’s the same spot. I recognize the creek,” she exclaimed joyfully.              

                  “So where’s the house, Jess?”

                  “I don’t know. You saw the blood right? I mean I didn’t imagine it, right?”

                  “Of course you didn’t. We’re just in the wrong spot that’s all. In fact this couldn’t possibly be the place.”

                  Jess wheeled around to face him.               

                  “Why do you say that?”

                  “Because this is Stonebiik land. It’s been in my family forever,” he replied. Jess was taken aback.   

                  “What?”                

                  “It was going to be a surprise, but since we’re here - Jess this is the spot that I was planning to build us a new house, and now with the baby on the way -
What do you think?” he asked.

                  Jess ran over to him and jumped into his arms.

                  “I don’t know what to say.”

                  “I was thinking we could build the house right here in front of the creek. Oh and there - look over there,” he points off in the distance, “we could put up a work shed over there.”

                  Jess followed the direction he was pointing in, and then turned to the other side of the lot where she spotted the crooked tree. A tiny smile crept to the corner of her mouth.            

                  “Actually it was over there.”

                  “What was?” he asked.

                  “Nothing, never mind.” She kissed him again. “We can build it where ever you like.”

                  Gary’s eyes scanned the property.

                  “Maybe you’re right. The ground is higher over there. Don’t want to run the risk of flooding if the creek rises.”

                  “Gary? I have some money saved up. I think we should buy you a new tractor.”

                  “I thought you were saving that for a trip someplace.” He gave her a long look.    

                  “I was but,” Gary cut her off.       

                  “No buts, I’m taking you someplace. How about Paris?” Jess smiled at him lovingly. Paris can wait, she thought, this family is what I want right now.                

                  “How ‘bout we start with French toast? I just got the weirdest craving for it.” Gary laughed and gave her a giant bear hug. For the first time since she’d gotten the news, Jess was beginning to feel excited. She gently rubbed her flat tummy and instinctively, Gary put his hands there too.

                  “Uh oh. Here we go! Better stock up on pickles,” Gary teased.     

THE END.

 
 
Hope you enjoyed that little journey to the prairies and another world.
It was super scary to share, but very liberating. Thanks for walking me through it. You're the bestest.

Big hugs,
Shan


 

The Hidden Arrow - Part One

Hello again. Just a quick note before getting into the story -- it's a drama and I wrote it a long while back, but have never shared it before now. For some reason that freaks me out.
The name Stonebiik is pronounced Stone-beak.
That's all.

The Hidden Arrow
A short story written by Shannon Masters

Jess Laliberte’s stomach lurched as she spat the grease-soaked bacon from the pan to the plate and set it on the bright yellow tablecloth. The prairie August sun had barely risen and already its searing heat filled the farmhouse kitchen. Jess cursed the heat under her breath as she mopped her brow and cracked open the window. The farm had been in the Stonebiik family for generations and was once part of the old Round Plains Reservation. Jess had lived here with her boyfriend Gary Stonebiik for three years, but still she considered herself a city girl.

                  Gary barreled in through the door dressed in overalls and a filthy baseball cap. He rose each morning before dawn to get the milking done and expected his breakfast at the same time each day. He kissed Jess’s cheek without a word before washing his hands and sitting down at the table to eat.

                  Jess sat across the table from him and looked at him, wondering how much to share. She’d barely touched her eggs, when feeling the weight of her stare Gary nudged the plate of bacon toward her.

                  “You feeling okay? Have some bacon.”

                  “You like bacon so much, you eat it!” Jess snapped as she jumped to her feet and dumped the contents of her plate into the garbage and tossed her plate into the sink.

                  “You sick or something?” Gary inquired casually. 

                  “Yeah. I’m sick of bacon and sick this stupid farm in the middle of this god-forsaken place! And I’m sick of driving that broken-down jalopy of a truck into that ass backwards town to that stupid mindless job.”

                  “So it’s not just the bacon,” Gary quipped with a full mouth.             

                  Jess skewered him with a look as she grabbed her keys and stormed out the door, slamming it behind her. 

                  “Love you,” Gary called out to the empty kitchen.

                  Clouds of dust stalked Jess’s antiquated blue pick-up truck as it bounced along the winding gravel road through acres of golden wheat and purple flax. As much as Jess complained about living here, she had to admit that secretly, she loved the land with its wide-open space and brilliant blue sky that stretched out endlessly to the horizon.          

                  Jess wheeled into the parking lot behind The Butcher’s Block, the local meat shop and her current place of employment. As she cut the engine, it backfired louder than a shotgun blast. She fired an oath under her breath then hopped out of the truck and beat a path in through the open back door.

                  The back part of the shop was set up like a million other commercial kitchens with stainless steel counters, tub sinks and walk-in refrigerators and freezers. Today was burger day. Jess’s friend and colleague, Cindy Wozniak, was already elbow-deep in raw ground beef, sporting a less than stylish hair net and blood-spattered apron.

                  “Late again. Did someone get lucky last night?” Cindy teased.

Jess guffawed at the idea.

                  “Just tired. Could barely roll myself out of bed this morning,” Jess replied as she strapped herself into a clean apron.

                  “With a man like Gary, I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed either,” Cindy chirped.

                  “Don’t let Wayne hear you talk like that.”

                  “That old lump doesn’t hear a thing I say. It’s harvest time and football season, honey, technically I’m a widow ‘till the snow flies,” she laughed.

                  Jess pulled out a giant stainless steel tub full of raw ground beef and slid into a pair of gloves. A wave of nausea washed over her like a tsunami as she squished the flesh between her fingers. Her stifled gag did not go unnoticed.

                  “You alright?” Cindy asked.

                  Jess stared at the meat in her hands.

                  “Yeah. It’s just kind of gross when you think about it. This used to be an animal,” Jess replied.               

                  “Uh huh. And I got two words for you, yum me.” Cindy said.

Jess gave her friend a contemplative look.

                  “I think I might become a vegetarian,” Jess said earnestly.

                  “You can’t,” Cindy warned. “There’s no such thing as a vegetarian Indian.”                

                  “Métis,” Jess challenged.

                  “Jesus, that’s worse. The French eat even more meat than Indians. It’s in your blood.”

                  Jess managed a weak smile and got to work making patties, but after a few moments, she had to stop and wipe her brow.

                  “If I have to look at another ounce of raw meat…” Jess hesitated, then her tone of voice completely changed.

                  “I’m going to be sick,” she warned.           

                  “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” Cindy asked.

                  Jess didn’t have time to answer; the vomit had already crawled up into her mouth. She ran for the bathroom and without a moment to spare, she woofed up what little breakfast she’d eaten.

                  “You okay in there, cowgirl?” Cindy called.

This was not good, there was going to be no hiding it now, Jess thought.

                  “Yep,” Jess lied as she finished cleaning herself up and returned to the kitchen.

                  “We need a smoke break. C’mon,” Cindy urged as she lead the way back out to the parking lot.

                  Outside, Cindy lit up a smoke and handed it to Jess. Jess shook her head, no. Cindy took a long pull on the cigarette and studied Jess’s face while Jess tried hard to avoid eye contact.

                  “My God, he’s finally done it. Hasn’t he? He’s knocked you up. For two people who do it as much as you do, I’m only surprised it hasn’t happened sooner.”

                  Jess barely managed to meet Cindy’s gaze before her eyes flooded with tears. Cindy stubbed out her cigarette and wrapped Jess in a hug.

                  “ What’s with the water works? Aren’t you happy about this, sweetie? Is it Gary? Guys sometimes need a little time to adjust, he’ll come around,” Cindy assured her.

                  “I haven’t told him,” Jess sobbed. “I haven’t – lived. I – I thought there’d be more.”

                  “More than what?”

                  “I don’t know. Like travel. I wanted to see the Black Hills or go to Paris for the weekend.”

                  “Again with the drama. Who goes to Paris for the weekend?”

                  Cindy couldn’t possibly understand. She’d lived her entire life here. She married Wayne, her high school sweet heart, had her first kid nine months later. That’s what you did around here; it’s what everyone expected you to do. Everyone except Jess; she’d always imagined a more glamorous life. She’d never been to New York, but always wondered what it would be like to live there, to really be the city girl she saw herself as. If she had a child now, that would be that.    

                  “I’ve given it serious thought. If my options are slopping raw meat with a brat on my back or terminating the pregnancy…”

                  “You can’t possibly be thinking about abortion.”

                  “I want more, Cindy, this is a wake-up call. I’ve got some money saved up.”

                  Cindy lit up a fresh cigarette and took several nervous drags, one after the other. Jess paced back in forth in front of her.

                  “Say something,” Jess pleaded.

                  After inhaling what was left of her smoke, Cindy stubbed it out and leveled Jess with a firm stare. 

                  “Take the day off. Go home, talk to Gary. You guys can sort this out together.” Cindy tried to sound reassuring, but it was obvious she didn’t approve of Jess’s attitude as Jess climbed into the truck and took off.

                  Jess barely noticed the colorful crops on either side of the flat two-lane highway as she zipped along preoccupied with her present condition. She rolled down the window and let the warm air rush through her tangle of long black hair and that’s when she saw it; an over-turned tractor with a man pinned beneath it in the field directly in front of her. Catapulted back to reality, Jess slammed on the brakes as she wrenched the truck over to the side of the road. She’d barely got the thing in park before she sprang from the driver’s seat and sprinted through the field praying that she wasn’t too late.

                  Once she was close enough, she could see that he was an elderly native man, maybe late sixties, but with the blood and dirt covering his face it was hard to be sure. She breathed a sigh of relief the second she realized that he was breathing and conscious. She immediately began peppering him with questions.

                  “Can you move? Do you have feeling in your legs? Do you know what day it is?

                  The farmer was strangely calm. His voice was low.

                  “Do you know what day it is?” He asked her back.

                  Jess managed a brave smile and knelt down beside him.

                  “Can you move at all?” she asked hopefully.

                  “No, it’s got me pretty good.”

                  “I’ll go for help.” Jess was about to climb to her feet when he rested a cool hand on her arm.

                  “Stay with me a while.”

                  Jess hesitated; she could see that there wasn’t much traffic and her gut told her to get help.

                  “We need to get you out from under there. I should go for help,” she insisted. His eyes shone as he smiled up at her reassuringly.

                  “I prayed for help and here you are.” The farmer lifted his head motioned for her to come a closer.  

                  Jess got down into the dirt next to him and propped his head onto her lap. She swept the dirt from his forehead and used her T-shirt to wipe away some of the blood from his nose and the gash in his temple.      

                  “Are you in pain? What can I do?” she asked.        

                  The farmer hesitated before speaking. His breath was labored.      

                  “Were you on your way home?”

                  Jess nodded.      

                  “I remember being your age.” He smiled at the fondness of the memory and closed his eyes as if trying to see the past more clearly.

                  I’ve got to keep him talking, Jess thought, panicked.       

                  “Stay with me, now. What do you remember?”

                  He opened his eyes and gazed up into her face intently.

                  “I was at a powwow pushing my way through the crowd when I looked into the biggest most beautiful brown eyes I’d ever seen - she had eyes like yours. I knew instantly she was the one.”

                  Jess couldn’t believe it; he’d made her blush. She laughed a little. 

                  “I met my boyfriend at a powwow too, it must be how you boys roll.” She laughed again. “How did it turn out?” she quizzed.

                  “I married her. Not spent a single day away from her since. Love’s like that,” he stated very matter-of-factly.

                  “Yeah,” Jess agreed.

                  “She’s gotten more beautiful with age. I’m not an educated man. I’m not well traveled but I’m rich, richest man on earth because of that woman. She’s filled our home with laughter and children. We even got grandkids.”

                  Jess smiled down at him and found herself stroking his damp brow.

                  “Know what my favorite thing is?” the farmer asked her.

                  “What?”

                  “The way her hair smells of campfire smoke in the summer. I got no regrets. Will you tell her for me? Tell her I got no regrets.”

                  Jess could feel him growing colder; feel him slipping away.

                  “Now you just hang on. You hang on and you can tell her yourself,” Jess insisted urgently.

                  He reached for her hand. Again his voice was strangely calm.

                  “I’m not afraid to cross over. I’ve lived a long time and I want to tell you a little secret. Don’t be fooled by everything out there.” He swept his free hand across the sky. He patted his chest then pointed his finger to her heart. “It’s all right in here. There is nothing more sacred than love and family.” His voice grew quiet and he motioned with his lips for her to come closer.

                  Jess leaned in. He was whispering now.

                  “You’re the bow. That child you carry is the arrow. Send him into the world. Teach him about love.”

                  Jess was stunned. She never told him she was pregnant and she wasn’t far enough along to be showing.    

                  “Love is the most important thing. Tell my wife I’ll be waiting for her.”

                  Jess grabbed at his hand. She shook him.

                  “No. No, hang on. You can tell her,” she begged, but it was too late, he was gone. Jess pulled him close to her and rocked him as she cried.

                  The Paramedics were on the scene. Soaked in the stranger’s blood, Jess stood in the field, watching helplessly as a police cruiser pulled up and an Officer escorted a beautiful silver-haired native woman out of the car. As the pair closed the gap between the highway and the scene of the accident, the woman could see her husband’s body beneath a sheet on the stretcher. She freed herself from the Officer and ran to her beloved. She pulled back the sheet, cradled her cheek to his and wailed a song of mourning. Jess wrapped her arms around herself as she cried with the woman from her spot, cemented in the field, wishing she could have done more, wishing she could have somehow saved him.

                  The Police Officer gently interjected and managed to extract the woman from her husband so the Paramedics could take him away.

 

Stay tuned for Part Two of The Hidden Arrow and have a glorious weekend.
xoxo
Shan


 

Jumbled July Thoughts

I honestly don't know what my problem is, but I have been having such a hard time getting here and writing a few words to reach out, share and keep in touch. Even my monthly virtues have fallen by the way side when it comes to sharing them with you. I'm choosing two this month BTW - JOY and GRATITUDE!

I used to wake up in the middle of the night with thoughts and ideas that I'd jot down on my little bedside notebook so I could show up in the morning and tell you all about it. Now I wake up from a nightmare that I've moved back to Vancouver, or that I'm completely unemployable, or that I've gained 60 pounds and started smoking again. Whew.

Call it stress, a break in routine, a shift away from my focus on the Tracy Anderson Method, a bit of the blues, family troubles, the heat - I could go on and on with excuses but that's what they are, just excuses.

I love writing and I love coming here and talking with you through these pages. I jump eagerly to read your comments and thoughts. You're amazing noble reader and I miss you. I am seriously going to try harder to get here more often and to prove it I am going to post a short story. This week. Depending on how long it is, I may have to write it in more than one post as I am aware that it's summer and you're out in the world having fun and you don't have time to sit in front of the computer all day reading. But should you take your ipad to the beach or under the shade of a lovely tree, you just might want a bit of short fiction to keep you company and take you to another world. 

So now I've said it out loud, I'll have to hold myself to it. I've always been so terrified of what you'd think. What if you hate it? My grammar sucks and I can't spell for shit. Honestly I think there are days I have no business being a writer, but I write so may as well share it.

And since it's birthday month, that will be my gift to you. It's all I can afford right now. I know that is a temporary temporary state. I'll find a great job soon, I can feel it.

Meantime I have been writing a series about a female gangster and I sort of feel like talking about it. You know how when you watch a great show and you want everyone else to watch it too? It's like that, but so far this show only exists in my head and on my computer, still I can tell you about it. But before I do, allow me to grovel a little further.

I think I got so used to writing about health and working out that when I started this blog to get away from that stuff, I got scared off. I was afraid to share more of me, but fuck it! There is a handful of you that stuck around because you wanted to and how did I reward you? By going silent. Well nay nay I say. No more. 

So my show is called THE WARD and it takes place in this ghetto in downtown Toronto that literally no longer exists. If you know Toronto today, this neighborhood was leveled to build Nathan Phillips Square. True story. Anyway --

Here's the pitch:
 

It’s the spring of 1919; only months after world leaders signed an armistice to end the Great War. People strive to put the conflict behind them, unfortunately for single mother Charlie Kitchen, a war of another kind rages on.

Charlie fronts a gang in the heart of THE WARD, Toronto’s worst neighborhood. An ethnically diverse community that’s rife with racial tension; it’s over populated by refugees, immigrants, and fugitive slaves flooding into the country in search of a better life. But when you wind up in a place where your neighbors don’t speak the same language, where you’re crammed in on top of one another like rats, where poverty, filth, and disease are so rampant that you’re all but forgotten by the rest of society, the normal rules don’t apply.

You cannot rely on justice to be served. Opportunities are not provided to those who work hard. Women are still considered second-class citizens, and if you’re Native? Forget justice, opportunity, and equality. You’re lucky if you survive residential school.

But Charlie Kitchen is determined to do more than survive.

A mixed-blood Ojibway, Charlie managed to escape the horrors of her youth and scrape together a living in The Ward, both off her back and her brains. She did whatever she had to. And when the men in the neighborhood, including the gangsters, were hauled off to fight for their country, Charlie smelled an opportunity. She stepped up and made sure that protection dues were still paid, that the whiskey still flowed, and that the brothel doors stayed open.

She had a keen instinct for leadership and with prohibition now in full swing, business is booming. But it’s drawing the unwanted attention of the hungry young men returning from war. They want what she’s built and they intend to take it. Fortunately, Charlie has surrounded herself with a pack of loyal warriors who won’t let her be usurped without a fight.

It may be the end of World War I, but it’s the beginning of the biggest fight of Charlie Kitchen’s life.

This series is not one of mobsters gunning each other down in the streets with Tommy guns; it’s no ordinary turf war in the hood. This is the story of woman stripped of her identity, her dignity, and her faith in justice, whose aim is to reclaim all three while her very existence is under constant threat of extinction.

It’s a time of prohibition in Canada; it’s a world filled with gambling dens, bling pigs, and brothels. THE WARD is Canada’s PEAKY BLINDERS; it’s BOARDWALK EMPIRE from the poor man’s point of view. A limited series, THE WARD details the grisly rise and fall of gangster come entrepreneur, Charlie Kitchen in her crusade for equality.

Not content to simply make a living, Charlie Kitchen intends to make history.

 

I'm excited about it. I know it's going to cost a fortune to make and it's a very tricky sell, but I won't know unless I try. I'm grateful for having had the time to write it, and hard as it was, it was a joy to create. Ha ha, you see what I did there? Incorporated my virtues into everyday life.

Hope you're having a great summer and stay tuned for "The Hidden Arrow" the first and only short story every written by me... and likely the last. I'm more of a film and tv gal but what the hell, right? YOLO!

xo
Shan