Yes, the 2010 Prix Aurora Awards for the best Canadian science fiction and fantasy of 2009 announced Women of the Apocalypse as the Best Work in English (Other). It was an unexpected but welcome surprise for me and my fellow writers. And, my conspirator and collaborator, Eileen Bell, also won Best Short Form as well for her novella.

So, now what? We won a national award. Wow. Not only that, the selection committee really recognized that we were *truly* collaborative. An editor didn’t select our work and compile it in an anthology. We decided, as a team, what the theme would be. We decided, as a theme, when the product was ready. We decided, as a team, how we would edit one another’s work. Yes, “decided as a theme” is code for “argued, disagreed, debated, agreed, argued again, and came to a consensus” … but they recognized that and made sure we all got our own award.

It’s great to see that collaboration recognized. It’s hard to be a writer. It’s even harder to collaborate as a writer. So, the award is sweet in many ways. The question is … now what?

It is a by-product of my new house. Well, the house isn’t new, but it’s new for me.

If we go back nine years, I moved back to Edmonton into an apartment that overlooked the University farm. My living room window then looked over a maze of alleys and streets, houses and yards and a wide expanse of green through which my neighbors tramped, with their dogs weaving around them.

Then, I moved to a condo. My first property. My living rom window sat atop a natural gas fireplace (i.e. fake) and overlooked a small plot of land, a fence and the looming structure of a seniors’ lodge. Once in a while, I’d get a glimpse of a pair of legs and a walker through the slats of the fence. But my company was mostly members of Mother Nature’s brood, rabbits, blue jays and even once – a deer.

But outside my living room window now — there is a neighborhood and it’s completely different. It is a strange dynamic. My living quarters are quieter than I ever had in an apartment or condo, and yet it is so busy outside my window.

People stroll by with their dogs at all times of the day. Seniors walk by slowly, with no real purpose in mind, except maybe to walk (no multi-tasking, how novel is that?). A group of kids play tages across the street, with one little bossy girl intermittently re-announcing the rules every couple of minutes and two pre-teen girls, giggling and laughing, take a couple of passes back and forth along my sidewalk. There was a big puddle. Fun to be in a puddle.

Yes, outside my living room window there is a neighborhood. I never realized how much I missed neighbors until I got them back again.

 The question ran through my head a dozen times  – no a triple thousand dozen times – these last months as I went on a selling spree for my book.

I sat at the same red Christmas table cloth in different locations – a bookstore, a library, a yoga studio, a used book store – wondering which of these women walking towards my table would be interested in reading about my character.

Dinah – my character – was an independent thinker, someone who wasn’t fearless, but tried to face her fears nevertheless. Someone who was strong, not because she thought it was admirable, but because it was necessary,

I liked my character. But that’s because I created her. And because, like all of my characters, I wanted to be like her.

But – who strolling by me and my fellow authors, my table of books, and my little cash box – also wanted to be those things? Who wanted to be an Apocalyptic Woman?

I looked at the different women – their wardrobes, how they carried themselves, and what kind of Christmas gifts they hauled.

And you know what?

I was wrong. Everytime.

An elderly woman came to our table. Shorter than me (I tower at a whopping five feet). Frail – I could have broken her in two. No way, I thought. No way she’d be interested in our book. I gave her the spiel anyway. Or Billie did. “Oh yes,” she exclaimed. “I can relate to these women. I’ve made big changes in my life, and you can’t look back. You just have to make that change.”

 Hmmph. A smile spread over my face. Good for you, I thought. Smashing my biases into a dozen pieces. I needed that.

Another well-kept lady strolled by our table. Immaculate wardrobe. Her jacket fit her perfectly. She even carried her gloves lightly in one hand, not stuffed in her pockets like most Canadians. Too organized, I thought. She wouldn’t like our book about chaos and dealing with the unexpected. But her eyes lit up when we described the plot. “Oh, I love stuff like that. I’ve been thinking about making a tough decision in my life. And what you as a group of writers have done together is a bit inspiring. I’d like to read what you’ve come up with.”

Clearly, I hadn’t learned my lesson. The woman who I thought was too uppity for speculative fiction was instead a kindred spirit.

They came, one after the other, these apocalyptic women. In all sizes, shapes, and races. They all had spirit. They all shone with dynamic energy. And – the best thing of all – they all surprised me.

No wonder it’s so easy to keep on writing …. I have so many women out there to be inspired by.

Our book was launched in Edmonton last weekend. What a whirlwind of cake, friends, supporters, books, pens, laughter and fun.

All four writers were there … even though one lives in London, Ontario. We made a stand up poster of him, so he was there in spirit.

A talented photographer friend of mine, Tracy Kolenchuk, took photos. Check out our event!

Today, I got re-inspired. A writing club at a local high school contacted me through the Writers Guild of Alberta and asked me to come speak to them about writing. Sure, I replied. They said, they couldn’t pay me … but I didn’t care. I knew I would probably get loads more back, and I did.

Five young women showed up – Maddi, Marley, Pauline, Nicole and Esther – who were all extremely well-read. I asked them what their favourite books were and I was thrilled with the diversity of their replies: David Eddings, Orson Scott Card, Gail Carson Levine, Brent Weeks, and even Graphic Novelist Ben Templesmith.

And most interesting to hear … they weren’t too impressed with “Twilight.” When talking about Bella, the main character, one of the students commented: “The whole book might as well be like: ’insert yourself here’ for the character of Bella. No one is that average.”

 Insightful comments indeed.

To be honest, I’m not sure what I could offer them … they all had fresh ideas and interesting perspectives – their story ideas varied from wanting to write about old forts and the thick mud travellers used to have to deal with to people’s nervous habits. The only thing they really needed to hear was to pursue – and just keep writing and reading. Writing and reading.

 A message I needed to remind myself with.

In the end, I did get paid… with a lovely bouquet of flowers and re-inspiration. And most importantly – a list of books to check out …  An author really can’t ask for anything more, can they?

I waited in line to enter a Muay-Thai fighting tournament: six amateur fights and two professional fights were on the card. Five rounds. Amateur rounds are two minutes each, professionals last three minutes. When you’re watching someone get hit, those minutes seem pretty long.

It was clearly a male-dominated event. The current interest in mixed-martial-arts ensured a large audience, despite the lack of professionalism in the event (i.e. they cancelled two of the fights). I noted the conspicuous absence of women. At least, the absence of women who looked like me – every day women incapable of wearing five inch heels.

Some sights looked familiar, as if we were at a regular boxing match: bright lights, beer, a boxing ring, scantily clad girls holding up the round numbers. Other sights were unusual and reminded me I was at a Muay-Thai match: large groups of asian men in their seventies, some clutching onto their canes, an asian theme to the minimal dress of the scantily clad girls, and of course, the thai music that was the backdrop to all of the fights.

It was fascinating to see what “real” muay thai looks like. I’ve watched films and of course, I have seen the techniques first hand in my class. But, to see it in action was a completely different thing. Our seats were close, so when the fighters struck their shin against their opponent for a round kick, I literally heard the smack of bone on bone. I saw the outline of an kickboxer’s foot on his opponent’s chest when he got in a good push kick. I saw the bleeding from their forehead, their ear, their eye … (it was pretty bloody at times). And when a fighter landed a good right cross or upper cut, I saw the sweat flying off their face and into the surrounding crowd.

Our seats were as close as I wanted them to be. I enjoyed watching their skill, the product of their hard work, and the respect the fighters held for each other when their fight was done. Incredible speed and power. Frightening and inspiring.

But, the audience frightened me the most. When a fighter got a good punch in, my voice raised along with the others. Mostly out of fear. “Holy @#$” I shout, knowing how much that kick /elbow / knee/ punch must have hurt and admiring how fast they moved. But, then everyone around me shouted more … some like me and others to encourage the fighter to beat the crap out of his opponent … the dark side of humankind coming out of the shadow into the spotlight, as if to state ”yes, we have bloodlust, and we’re not ashamed.”

Full pat-down indeed.

The main event was a two-time national thai fighter matched against a South African champion. The first three rounds were pretty even but by the fourth round, you could see who had the upper hand. The South African champion could barely keep his hands up and wobbled while he stood. We waited for it to end. We could all see it coming. One solid punch and he would be down.

But 33 seconds before the end of the last round, he ended it himself. Called it off. Technical knockout. Smart man. If he let himself go through with that, he could lose his livelihood. He could lose his life. 

Some young men near the ring, jumped up in indignation, annoyed that their cell phone recording event of the was interrupted. You could see it in their hand gestures — “Come on, man, finish the fight!” I felt a bitter taste rise in my  mouth. There was no respect for these fighters. For their commitment. For their work. I would like to see them last five seconds in this kind of fight.

And I realized why the sign was needed. The danger wasn’t from the men in the crowd daring enough to get into a fight. The danger was from the men who were too cowardly to fight. At least, fight in a fair way.

Not only did I read stories, but I read many of them to a group of kids.

Grades One through Six. I read my little story about the chickadee, an excerpt from “The Black Cauldron”, “Zen Shorts” (a picture book) and even, (upon request) “What the Seasons Bring” (my flash fiction piece about gluttony).

It is read-in week in Alberta, and given such, teachers make time in all of their classes for kids to read. My cousin, an elementary school teacher, arranged for me to be one of the readers and to talk about my journey as an author ….

 I wasn’t quite sure what to say … but as I sat down in front of their eager expressions, asking me if I was going to “make a movie” about my book … the simple points came back to me:

 -          practice, practice, practice

-          read a lot if you want to be a good writer

-          everyone has a story – even if you think it’s been told before

 The kids got a big kick out of that one.

 “Sure, there’s a lot of stories about magic,” I said. “But is there a story about … excuse me, what is your name? You in the blue hoodie?”

“Me?” The little boy with big brown eyes pointed at himself incredulously, glancing down at his shirt, checking out if indeed it was blue.

“Yes, you.”

“My name is Ahmed.”

“I bet you there’s no story about a boy named Ahmed and magic.”

He grinned in reply.

It’s something I have to remind myself when I get caught up in this crazy world of publishing and marketing, trying to find the right “media angle” and “hook” for my book , so that it gets picked up in press releases.

 And as fortune would have it … TED released a great clip of Chimamanda Adichie warning about the danger of telling a single story. Check it out.

Women of the Apocalypse

The cover to our new book, that is. It’s a beautiful cover, as it should be, for I have worked hard and long on this anthology. Ok maybe not long – the project was a short one. But, trust me – it meant I worked harder on this one. Sweat, blood and tears. Lots of tears. Due out October 31 – check out the Books link to find out more information how to purchase.

More importantly: here are our book launch events – come one, come all!

San Jose, California – October 30, 4-6 pm at the World Fantasy Conference

London, Ontario – November 4, Blackshire Pub, 630 – 9pm

Edmonton, Alberta - November 7, 11am-3pm, Strathcona Public Library, 8311-104 Street (a drop-in, child-friendly event)

Calgary, Alberta – November 13, 7:30 pm, Pages on Kensington Bookstore, 1135 Kensington Road NW

Check out our Women of the Apocalypse website for excerpts of the book and details about how the project came about!

In my 3rd year of university, I started working part-time at the University as a Peer Health Educator. It was an innovative program at the time. University students taught other university students about important health issues: alcohol abuse, stress management, eating disorders and of course, being the mid-nineties – HIV and STDs (now known as STIs).

My supervisor, Judy, was – just that – my supervisor. She encouraged me to learn more, pushed my boundaries and trusted my judgement – but hell, don’t all supervisors do that?

Heh. No.

Today, I attended Judy’s retirement party. Over the years, I’ve come to realize what a mentor she was. But hearing other students (present and past) talk about her influence on their life, I realized just how MUCH Judy affected who I am today. And I considered myself lucky to be able to *tell* her that, too (most people wait until funerals).

I learned about holistic work from her – working in community services, you can’t just do your “job description” – Judy was the first one to model that.

At the time, Judy – who cared about people OUTSIDE of the workplace – might have been perceived as unprofessional or not knowing where to set her boundaries. Now, I consider her behaviour ground-breaking. Facilitating real communities and caring workplaces.

Judy was one of the first women I met who taught me – “not only is it ok to take care of yourself, it’s a priority”. What a concept. One that I still try to remember to this day.

She opened my eyes to diversity – cultural, familial, sexual orientation, religious — in a way that I was priveleged to have so early in my career. She drilled into me, when teaching – to never assume anyone in your classroom is like you. Instead, assume that they are different. And always assume there is someone in that room who will know more than YOU know about that topic because they’ve lived it.

And, it was because of Peer Health, that instead of being a doctor, I pursued public health.

Mentors. Funny how it takes so long to recognize them. Lucky for me – I got to say thank you to my mentor today.

Happy Retirement Judy!