Meditatng on Personal Freedom...

In recent weeks, I've been researching mental health - manic depression (now called bipolar disorder). In my second novel, The Two Sisters, one character (one of the Sisters) has struggled with manic depression most of her life, and has been in and out of hospitals and halfway houses over the years. Her name is Rose, and by the time her nephew (and the novel's main character) Jack Owen meets her, she is a long-term resident of British Columbia's provincial mental health hospital.

Rose is based, to some degree, on my experiences with my mother, Angela Huntley Love (nee Clarke), who struggled with manic depression, depression, and alcoholism continually through her life. Mum seemed to always be somewhere in the middle of extremes of behaviour: happy, laughing, loving and normal sometimes, and loud, loopy, drunken or depressed at other times. As a kid, it was difficult to know who she was, or how to feel around her.

My Mum was an enigma to me. I can honestly say that I cannot remember having more than one or two actual conversations with her in the 12 years she lived with me. Perhaps it is unfair of me to think that way. Kids' perceptions are often very subjective and skewed. I wish I could have known the lovely, charming and talented musical performer that Mum's friends and family got to know. Anyway, water under the bridge...

After bouncing in and out of a few private hospitals over the course of a year or two, Mum finally landed in the Burnaby Psychiatric Centre on Wilingdon Avenue in Burnaby. Dad explained that this facility was essentially a "holding pen" for patients who were bound for Riverview.

Riverview. That name was a caution to me back then, something to be feared. Dad used to warn Mum: "Angela - behave yourself, or you'll end up in Riverview!" I never took this to be an idle threat. Dad's voice conveyed the worry and stress that told me that Riverview Hospital was not a good place to go. It also sounded like the kind of place that you didn't come back from. These are the kinds of words that form stereotypes which tend to stick with you. And they did.

Mum was admitted to Riverview in 1980. Our first few visits with her were extremely difficult. Looking back, now that I'm almost the same age that Mum was when she was admitted there. However sick and brain damaged she might have been, she was aware of what was happening to her, and she was scared to be left alone in that place. Once or twice, we had to leave her while she was crying and calling for us to take her home again. It was absolutely brutal, and I'll never forget her scared cries and her desperate face, pushed up into the little window in the centre of the ward door. It's an awful moment that haunts me to this day.

Back in 1977, not too long after her father Ernest died, Mum went into a prolonged depression. She rarely rose from her bed or the couch, except to eat, drink, or vomit. Initially, she stopped eating meat, and eventually, she stopped eating altogether, and did nothing but sleep. We lived with this for a long time, and it was rarely ever acknowledged.

Finally, one day, my little sister Kim couldn't wake Mum up (a moment that traumatized Kim for years). Kim's frantic protests got Dad to call the Doctor. Dad didn't want to deal with the reality of Mum's situation either. My few happy memories of my Mother are all I have, and my little sister has no personal memories at all.

Mum's liver had quit, and if she had been at home for 24 hours longer, she'd have surely died. As it was, she'd suffered permanent brain damage and a fair amount of recent memory loss.

Mum went through a full transfusion at Burnaby General Hospital, and after she had detoxed and was able to see us again, I noticed how much her personality had changed. Her personality was almost like a clean slate. She was much more direct and basic in her needs, and she never ever brought up the past anymore, the way some people do (raising old issues, or chuckling over shared memories). The person she had been was changed forever, and now, it was almost like we had a new, different Angela to get to know.

Mum didn't seem to have any concept of how her own actions or inactions might have put her in that situation, and she didn't seem to get that she'd never be able to live alone or independently again. How could we leave her alone in the house during the day? She never blamed anyone else though. There was no bitterness directed at her situation or towards anyone in particular either. She just wanted to come home. She cried for it.

The character of Rose is a bit like Angela, and shares an event which happened to Angela. In "The Two Sisters", Rose's meds are adjusted on the advice of a new Doctor, and she changes from her regular quiet, almost vegetative state, and becomes much more lively. During this time, Rose has slight episodes of mania, but otherwise seems quite normal. It's during this "awakening" that Jack is able to ask her some questions about her past, and about his late mother Barbara, who was Rose's cousin.

Jack's Aunt Rose becomes something of a surrogate mother figure for him, and has her own brand of road-worn wisdom and street smarts to impart. After a week or two, Rose has a particularly bad manic episode, complete with hallucinations and violence. Reluctantly, her Doctor is convinced by his peers to reinstate Rose's original drug regime, which returns her to her passive, non-communicative state. Jack feels as if he has lost Rose, but continues to visit her periodically, providing her with some companionship and care in his own way.

Rose's "Awakening" episode is based on my Mother's similar experience. Around 1991, late one evening, when I was thinking of going to visit her, I got a phone call from a Riverview Nurse, telling me that my mother wanted to talk to me. This had never happened before, and I listened with a pounding heart as this slightly excited, frantic-sounding voice greeted me. I spoke to her for a few minutes, and told her how nice it was to hear her voice, told her I loved her, and that I'd see her as soon as I could. Then, after we hung up, I immediately called my Sister and we laughed, cried, and were generally amazed.

However, when I went up to see her, she'd already been put back on her old regime of meds, so that phone call is the only window I got into who my Mother might have become. I just never got there in time, and that phone call feels like the last true contact with my Mum, even though I continued to visit her in person on and off over the next four years.

I decided that Jack deserved a few weeks' worth of that wonderful awakening so that he could get to know the real Rose.

I don't believe in Ghosts, yet they keep coming back...

This morning, I was given a nice little snapshot of my Mum and Dad from the days beofre I was born, back in the sixties, when they had a house in Saskatoon.

A relative of mine - a lovely lady named Bonnie - phoned to ask me for the addresses of other family members so that she could update her family tree project. Of course I said I'd be happy to help. (It turns out that we've both been updating family trees using the same source material: a family tree that had been begun back in the 1960s by one of my Dad's cousins.)

Bonnie told me that she'd last talked to my Dad back when he and my Mother were living in Saskatoon, in the sixties. (This would have been before 1966, when I was born.) Bonnie recalled hearing my Mother playing piano in the background, which is a nice image to be reminded of. I always feel grateful whenever some family member or friend mentions my Mother, like a gift of recognition has been given to me personally. She has been such an enigma to me for so many years.

Bonnie also remarked that my Dad possessed a photographic memory, which doesn't surprise me much, given his ability to recall details and specific events in his past.

My folks have been dead for quite a few years now: Dad since 1989, and Mum since 1995, yet it takes to little to stir them up in my mind. I must be carrying them around in my hip pocket (or somewhere closer to my heart, I suppose).

Words are so powerful. Thanks Bonnie for yours, which evoked the ghosts of my Mum and Dad so strongly for me today.

Owe Nothing: Two Reviewer's voices help me to listen to my own...

In January, I entered an excerpt from my novel, Owe Nothing, in the 2010 ABNA Amazon Fiction Contest. I held no expectations of success - at least that's what I told myself going in. There were 5,000 entries along with me, in the General Fiction category - to me, it seemed like a big field.

In March, I learned that Owe Nothing had succeeded to the next round, along with 999 other contestants. I couldn't pretend that I wasn't happy about that!

The underlying question motivating me to enter a contest like this must have been " How good is my book, really?" I spent years writing it, paragraph by paragraph, with little to no outside input as the first draft came together.

I finally started getting feedback in April 2008, after Owe Nothing was finally published. I would never disparage the opinions of the readers who've been kind enough to offer me their feedback on it. They went cover to cover, as far as I can tell, and seemed to enjoy the story, and I appreciate that. Most of the feedback I've received has been enthusiastic and positive, and I must say, gratifying or even comforting. But, my eyes are open - Steinbeck, I ain't. I tell myself that I can see myself clearly, and that I'm a relative babe in the woods in the world of fiction.

All the same, I was a bit disappointed to learn in March that I'd not advanced to the next round in the ABNA contest. 500 writers advanced, and I was not among them. I shrugged this off, swallowing a tiny dose of disappointment.

To set the scene for the reviewer's comments, the excerpt I submitted was from the second or third chapter, where the main character, Jack, and his pal, Parm, have been called into their boss's office at the Paradise Car Wash. Their boss, Bill, wants to recruit them into a covert group of evening vigilantes called "The Insiders", who are engaged in spying and courier operations all over greater Vancouver. Parm and Jack are not convinced by Bill's offer, so Bill plays them a recording from a man called "Ed", who explains their mission in idealistic, somewhat moralistic terms that resonate with Jack more than Parm.

After this, Bill takes them out to his storage shed behind the car wash and shows them the bullet-riddled car that belonged to the last operative - a man who'd recently left his employ very abruptly. Bill might have been trying to discourage them with this evidence.

Later, away from Bill's office, Jack and Parm have a long discussion about the risks and benefits of joining the Insiders, and the possible motives of their handlers.

A few days after learning that I'd been eliminated from the ABNA competition, I received an email from the contest advising me that there were reviews written about my submission. I was curious to know what the judges or reviewers of the ABNA contests thought, so I went online to read them. Having been written by 'Professional Reviewers', I knew Iwould give their feedback some weight. Plus, I was waaaay curious to read what they had to say.

The first review from ABNA said that the "dialogue between the two individuals trying to figure out whether to take the vague offer to do the angel's work " was the strongest aspect of the piece, and that the weakest was "the recorded voice giving directions and reassuring the operatives that they're doing good", which was considered to be "very reminiscent of the TV show Charlie's Angels". This reviewer felt that Owe Nothing was "good, well-written" and "creates some tension, but I'm not quite sure where it is going at this point".

The second review from ABNA said that the excerpt "has trite dialogue with phony dialect and inflection", and felt that the story was unoriginal, too focused on the inner monologue of one character, and too derivative of "tough guy, private eye fiction".

The reviewer that gave the more positive review seemed curious about how the story would progress. The other reviewer was turned off, and not interested in reading the rest of the story.

Now, some personal admissions of my own:

• I have steeped myself in old-school "tough guy, private eye fiction" over the years, particularly the now dated, but undeniable masters of the genre, Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler.
• Contemporary writers like Brad Smith and Elmore Leonard have also been influential.
• To a certain degree, I have consciously set out to write like them. Perhaps that's just a symptom of a novice in a beloved genre. It's fair to ask myself if this emulation serves the story or just serves my own personal enjoyment.
• I do indeed write to amuse myself, first and foremost.
  

I must also admit that after I wrote that scene in Bill's office, I did chuckle at the similarity to "Charlie's Angels". Looking back, maybe this was a kind of vague parody - a tongue-in-cheek homage to aspects of low-brow TV detective fiction that could have subliminally influenced me.

I'm fairly philosophical about this kind of feedback. Some people dislike low-brow dialogue (or perhaps more accurately, dated, or poorly-executed low-brow dialogue), and some accept it. I really don't take myself all that seriously, but I'll admit that the first few chapters of Owe Nothing are written with less confidence and more self-consciousness than the rest of the book. Maybe I shouldn't try too hard to make characters (or the voice of the story) sound a certain way.

I pondered all this while watching "Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid", Steve Martin and Carl Reiner's hilarious tribute to (and parody of) 40s tough guy detective movies. After I watched it, I did begin to notice that some of the idioms and colloquialisms uttered by Raymond Chandler's character, "Philip Marlowe", in his novels seemed a bit overdone, or too much of their time.

I think that all feedback can be potentially positive if you can learn something useful from it. I'm going to keep on studying, and keep on writing. Jack Owen has a few more stories to tell, and if he keeps at it, they will probably get better and better.

Owe Nothing - a different look at life in Vancouver...

Recently, people from all over the world have been watching Vancouver, BC perform at its best, and there certainly is a lot to be proud of.

This city has many sides to it, and truly, no two people experience this town in the same way.

Owe Nothing is a non-mainstream look at this city: an adventure novel based upon real people and places that I knew when my family lived in dodgy Vancouver Motels for over a year. The names of the people in Owe Nothing are fictionalized, but the events and feelings are based in reality...

Meet a few of the characters...

Jack Owen:

A young guy looking for adventure, and an escape from his lower-class rut. By accepting a bizarre job offer, he soon discovers that the back alleys and rooftops of East Vancouver hold more mysteries than he may be able to hide from his Dad or his Sister.

Parminder Singh:

Jack's buddy from work, and his companion through some bizarre surveillance tasks that they've been recruited to do for a man they've never even met. Parm's not sure if this is on the up and up, but he'll do it for the money.

Mike and Chris Coffey:

Brothers, and friends of Jack from the neighbourhood. They've got to find a way to get rid of their violent alcoholic step-father Ted, without their mother Regina finding out. Maybe Jack can help them...?

Read more at http://fiction.ejohnlove.com

The Reviews are Good:

So far, readers have given me some very positive feedback:

"Awesome", "Engaging, endearing... with a deft humorous touch", "a great read!", "A real coming-of-age story", "Vancouver is a city without much appreciation for its history... you've rendered a great service with such a vivid picture of that time and place"

Recently, Owe Nothing also got a very good professional review from Apex Reviews:

"With an effective balance of wit and suspense, Owe Nothing is an equally compelling and entertaining read. In skillful fashion, author E. John Love has crafted an enjoyable tale of a lovable loser in search of a bit of adventure. An engaging, endearing tale with a deft humorous touch, Owe Nothing is a rewarding literary treat."

Read the full Apex Review.

• Check out Owe Nothing on the web
  
• Become a fan of "Owe Nothing on FaceBook
• Follow E. John Love on Twitter
  

In this for the long haul...

Man, whomever said that life is a marathon wasn't kidding. Of all people, Milton Berle was quoted as saying that "life is one long street fight". Personally, I'll bet ol' Uncle Milty was one tough old sonofabitch. A lot of those old vaudevillians were pretty tough folks.

I don't know. Life seems to be cyclical, with some events pumping you up towards success, and other events smacking you down, so that you can rediscover the coppery tang of fear and humility.

You know how it is: Life seems to be meandering along reasonably well, and you're doing a good job of not paying attention to those nagging little voices that are telling you to not take each day for granted - that stupid, correct voice that tells you that the status quo is just a contrivance of your mind - bullshit, in a word.

But, like the darling ostrich that you sometimes are, you keep a pleasant smile on your face (even though you're worried and not extremely happy at all) and you keep your head buried deep under the surface of your daily routines (down where your ears are just muffled enough from the truthful opinions around you).

You might remember being called "wise" once when you were young and still did everything that you were told. You might act brave and tell yourself that your previous experience with stress has prepared you to hear the bad news, but come on man, if it happens again, you'll probably be just as afraid this time as you ever were all those other times. Admit it. It's scary.

It's funny how stresses seem to come in groups, like cars backing up during rush hour. They come from all the different "fronts" of your life: Work, Family, and Friends.

It's from the stress of the unknown in the economy, and how that might negatively affect your livelihood at some point. You can't guarantee your financial security.

It's from the stress of hearing people whom you love utterly falling apart, reliving horrible past traumas, and knowing that no matter how hard you work with them, love them, and counsel them to reach their closure and peace of mind, you cannot make them see the solutions until they are ready to see it for themselves.

Maybe it's the aggregation of all the small worries that creates some new thing that threatens to become overpowering: You are not in control of any of it - you can only control your own actions and reactions. You're as much along for the ride as anyone else is.

People will make mistakes and hurt themselves, or hurt those whom they love. People will push themselves too far emotionally or financially and have a breakdown, parents will fight each other and overlook how it injures their children. I will try to live up to the label of "wise" and give out as much love, compassion and guidance as they can stand to hear. Some of it may even stick.

I truly believe that failure isn't falling down - it's staying down. Life may or may not be "a street fight" (sorry Milton), but I absolutely will get back up and I will stand tall, because at the end of the day, that's all I have. But, my hands will remain unclenched and open, my fingers unpointed, so that I am able to reach out to someone else, to help them stand up, so that they can stand tall next to me. Just because existence is suffering, it doesn't mean we must face it alone.

Owe Nothing has Advanced in Amazon's 2010 Breakthrough Novel Awards

A good start: I'm excited to report that Owe Nothing is now one of 1000 entries that has advanced to the second round in Amazon's 2010 Breakthrough Novel Awards!

This fiction contest is sponsored by Amazon and Penguin USA. I'll keep you posted...

• Check out Owe Nothing on the web
  
• Become a fan of "Owe Nothing on FaceBook
• Follow E. John Love on Twitter
  

Spam, as poetry (or "O, yes, into a thousand similes. This file defines the custom interfaces.")

At work, back in 2007, our spam bucket received this message.

Here is my theory on the genesis of the following bizarre prose:

Mix tech docs, pulp novel and just a smattering of Biblical prose, and voila - vile spam prose!

Just go with it. It almost works...

Here it is, the theory. Suddenly she stood up, very pale, and with a strange light in her eyes.

Blood, blood, blood, was rushing through his entire body. Evening's coming on, and we
ought to get a move on.

Nevertheless, the average user can still gain much important information from them. WX5DX presents the Best Cyber Ham Award.

By the time I tipped my hat back, he was past us. There was undisguised respect in his voice.

Just because you bought the disc, don't expect to use it in some way in which its owners don't approve. I still squirm and emit low moans of remembered embarrassment.
Min discovered she was hugging Rand's unconscious form tightly. Starts an asynchronous invocation of a method of an XML Web service.

For some clear answers to such questions, see the no misunderstandings page. You can
populate a cfgrid with data from a cfquery.

They did not pause to rest along the way, but passed through Alundil at a rapid but
dignified gait. The steak, Flint swore, was the best food he had ever eaten. On the creative arrow, structural information is lost, and on ours it spontaneously reforms. You must specify all three options explicitly.

Alas, poor fool, why do I pity him That with his very heart despiseth me. You must
specify at least 2 characters, for example, US.

O, yes, into a thousand similes. This file defines the custom interfaces. Believe it or not, there doesn't exist an example for every single possible coding practice in every possible platform. But Perrin knew he did not have Mat's way with the girls.

An excerpt from my second novel, "The Two Sisters"

The following little scene is from my second novel, tentatively called "The Two Sisters".
This will be a sequel to my first novel, "Owe Nothing".
I hope you enjoy this little preview...

"Jack looked down at his plate, still preoccupied with thoughts of the Paradise Car Wash. He wondered what to eat next. The more he sat back and thought about the Paradise, the more crazy the whole thing seemed, as if the farther away he got from the place, the more different (and maybe more objective) his view of it became. The idea that a car wash could front for a secret operation which fed information to law enforcement (or god knows who else) sounded utterly fantastic and completely ridiculous. Car wash attendants acting as amateur field operatives - it was like something out of a bad novel, except it became all too real once he was hip-deep in some operation with Parm. As unlikely as it seemed, it had turned out to be financially rewarding and exciting work, and on more than one occasion, Jack had proven himself to be surprisingly adept at spying on people and appearing natural while recording the sights and sounds around him. Even though the idea of skulking around old warehouses or creeping down dirty alleys would never have appealed to him if anyone had suggested it, once he'd started doing the night-time work as one of Bill's Insiders, he was amazed to learn that in practice, he got a huge rush when doing something that could be considered dangerous or even illegal. It was a weird thrill, and a guilty, secret pleasure.

Jim looked at his quiet son and wondered what was eating him, and why he was eating his dinner. Then Kelly noticed her Dad's interest and looked over to Jack as well. “You're not still working at that car wash, are you Jack?” she asked. Kelly had always tried to be supportive of her little brother, but it used to grate on him that she'd never thought very much of that job."

• Check out Owe Nothing on the web
  
• Become a fan of "Owe Nothing on FaceBook
• Follow E. John Love on Twitter