Tag Archives: writing

A Canadian book launch… a prairie, farm-house setting

Standard

IMG_8896

Picture a long ranch-style bungalow, tucked behind pine trees, once small saplings, now towering tall to meet the wide-open prairie sky. Imagine a place where the deer and the antelope really do play, and where the stillness of the night might be broken by the hoot of an owl under a splendid moon. This is my parent’s home.

A place imbued with support, with love, with familiarity around its welcoming kitchen table and oft blazing fireplace. A home that has hosted a passel of occasions from weddings to dog memorials, from reunions to rambunctious all-night family game nights. Now, it can add a book launch to its long tapestry of life’s occasions.

Monday Morning Emails had already been launched in India and The Netherlands, yet now that I’m home, it was time for me to debut my first published book.

 

I cherished the enthusiasm when I heard that my mom and some friends had planned the event. A cake was commissioned, table clothes and napkins were procured in that MME turquoise, blue-green. Old storied suitcases were dusted off from storage, bringing to life the vintage image on the book’s cover.

It all set the tone. This was a celebration of not only a book, but also of story telling by a once small-town girl. No, perhaps it isn’t every day that a book launch is held at a prairie- farm-house setting, yet it felt very normal, quite natural, that the Campbell Farm would be the venue of choice.

As people arrived, I knew it had been the right decision to gather here rather than in a hired venue. I greeted aunts, uncles and cousins, many of whom I had not seen in years. It was wonderful seeing them again, confirming that the bond of family transcends prolonged absences brought on by distance and busy lives.

Long-time friends also arrived, those who knew me long before I had ventured off to travel and live overseas. They remember me as that freckle-faced teenager whom they camped and played softball with, whose wedding they attended, then welcomed me home with each new child in tow. That history runs deep, forming family-like bonds.

Carol, my long-time friend and an early muse for my nomadic life, was also able to join the celebration. “Terry,” she reassured me, “this book isn’t only for expats, it really does resonate with us all.”

And Aundy, my sister-in-law, was profuse in her praise of the expert advice in the book, “I seem to turn to the page with just the right quote I need to inspire me,” she confided.

My niece Jess, a young mother raising a daughter on her own, seemed intrigued to listen to a few nuggets of inspiration from her Auntie Terry. And her daughter, my adorable great-niece was delighted to have her very own copy of the book. She’s only four and it will be tucked away in a cedar chest until she’s old enough to appreciate the essence and emotion of the correspondence between two friends living a global life.

To my surprise, Aundy also requested a second copy of the book. One to hide away for posterity, perhaps for family members to rediscover in later years. A moment like this impacts you as an author. You cherish such a gesture and you hope also that your words might have a lasting impact.

 

As I began my presentation, I gazed appreciatively over the crowd. I felt their warm embrace of support as I described my journey as a writer. The joys, the challenges, the meandering road of discovery and evolving as a person; the ‘climbing of a mountain’, each step bringing you a little closer to realising your dream. I also spoke to the cathartic nature of writing, to the soul searching, to the healing it can bring. I know that sharing through writing can offer solace and comfort.

I spoke at length and from the heart, taking time for book signing, eager to spend a few minutes chatting. As I wrote a personal message to each, their kind words and encouragement cast a warm glow on the already special day.

“What will you write next. Maybe historical fiction?” someone asked. As if they already knew that the idea has been roaming around my mind; characters waiting to come to life, to play their part in faraway tales.

“Will you put some of your blogs into a book?” Myrna, a long-time family friend asked. Her enthusiasm and commitment to my writing are like a treasured book – you know it’s there to call on for inspiration, to remind you of why you do what you do. I explained to Myrna and a few others that there are times when I question the relevance of my blog. No, it isn’t often, but when the news of this world seems overwhelming, one can question if your own stories are relevant, are they not merely trivial?

 

“No,” they assured me, “this is especially when we need your writing. To remind us of life and what is important, even of simpler things.”

Surely I’m not the only writer who questions the relevance of one’s stories, who suffers from occasional writer’s block, who ponders the significance of their humble words? But it is conversations like these that ignite and reinforce within me that storytelling is intrinsic to human societies. It has been thus, since the beginning, and in this age of short form news and seemingly limited attention spans, is it not ever-important to keep telling stories?

During these exchanges, I was mindful. Mindful that these people who I care about, have their own challenges, maybe sorrows, their own life-changing events that far supersede my often-supposed hardships. This leads to other questions.

“Will you come and speak at a home for the elderly? Perhaps a writing workshop?”

I answered with a resounding ‘yes’. I had explained in my presentation the satisfaction of having already hosted a workshop and the joy of knowing you might have inspired a new writer. That is now part of my mission, to ‘pay it forward’. My inspiration and mentor, my co-author Jo Parfitt, is proof of the power of helping others, willingly sharing what you know to help inspire others.

Six years ago, my journey began in Tuscany, and when I confided to the gathering that in fact, in just a few days I would be there once again, ensconced in that same retreat with Jo at the helm, they seemed genuinely pleased for me.

“Yes, it will be full circle,” I told them. “I know how lucky I am and I’m thankful. Let’s see what I’m inspired to do next.”

And then another thought from my nephew Todd.

“Why not a podcast, Auntie Terry Anne? I’m a podcast guy.” The thought of other mediums has long crossed my mind and I’m reminded of the necessity of a fixed schedule, of goals and of making sure those next dreams do indeed come true.

And if anyone can inspire me to do just that, it’s one of my dear, dear readers, the lovely Donna Lee. Even in her later years, she exudes beauty both inside and out. She is charming and full of life. When I told Donna Lee that I speak of her in one of my presentations, her eyes fill with tears.

IMG_9241“What do you say?” she asked, not suppressing her bemusement.

“I relate the power of sharing stories, Donna Lee. Remember, after my blog about the Taj Mahal, that you wrote to me. You told me how the post seemed to take you there, through words and photos. You mentioned how you remembered learning about the Taj in school and how wonderful it was that you knew someone who had been there.” As Donna Lee often does when we talk, she took my hand in hers.

“That’s why I write,” I continued, “to hope to transport you and others to those new places, to hear different tales. Thank you so much for coming along with me,” I told her. “I know you’re always reading and it means the world.” And as always, we hugged.

“And I don’t know what I’d do without your mom and dad,” she added, confirming what I already knew, but maybe what I needed to be reminded of again – that special feeling of sharing your successes with those who care about you.

At the end of the evening, as the cake had been cut, as flowers had been presented to my mom for her unwavering support, as my husband/editor/travel companion/long-time cheerleader had been thanked for his role in my small journey, as the stack of Monday Morning Emails dwindled, as each farewell hug was heartier than the previous, I thanked ‘my lucky stars’ for the day, for the joy of my ‘tribe’ here at home.

And I gave Donna Lee a final fond farewell. “I hope to see you soon Donna Lee. But first there’s Tuscany… you’ll be travelling with me again in spirit. Tuscany, here we come!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two book launches… an Indian chai cafe and a tall, Dutch gabled home

Standard

IMG_4562

I write from The Hague on a chilly March morning, just before I travel back to India. The Netherlands is one of the places in the world I most consider home. It is not surprising as I’m half Dutch – our first son was born here and I have visited often with my mother – keeping strong connections with our Dutch family.

And now, another of life’s milestones has unfolded amongst these cobbled streets and gabled homes that I so adore – my first book has been launched!

IMG_4557

The setting was my co-author’s lovely, gezellig home. That Dutch word for cozy, typified the evening of March 7th. With a crackling fire, candles lit and tulips artfully arranged, and gifted, Jo Parfitt and I welcomed our guests. Many were dear friends who we see but once a year at the Families in Global Transition Conference; many having just arrived from the US, from Switzerland, Hong Kong or perhaps Dubai. Others were local friends or some involved in Jo’s mentoring and publishing life. All of them were congratulatory and pleased for us that Monday Morning Emails was ‘hot off the press’… stacks of boxes tucked away in a corner to prove it!

With Jo and I seated before the warmth of the fireplace, I peered out to the crowd of thirty or so people and soaked in the moment. A book launch is the gilded prize, reward for many hours of silent endeavour – the culmination of a dream. For me, it is my first published book and needless to say, I was a little ‘over the moon’.

“Your first book is always the most poignant,” Jo had admitted the day before as she handed the book to me for the first time.” Its silky cover was more lovely than I had hoped. When I thumbed to the back, to my author’s page, I was euphoric.

The evening of the book launch progressed with readings and discussions. Also with my penning many heartfelt messages as I signed copies of the book. And curiously, after all of this, I found myself back at my hotel, sitting cozily and reading a little of our book. Through it all, I was enveloped in sheer contentment and joy. Yet Monday Morning Emails is not always an easy, calm read. It is thought-provoking and truthful, a vulnerable exchange between global mothers. Between the two of us, Jo and I have raised five sons around the world in twelve different countries. We have supported our husbands careers and found our passion in writing, mentoring and publishing. But with that has come myriad issues as the backdrop of our life has changed every three, four, six years, perhaps after only three months!

In May of last year, Jo and I decided to write to each other every Monday. We well knew the power of writing and initially thought our book would be about the empty nest stage and raising global children, especially as each of us had a son who was having a difficult time with depression and anxiety. As we wrote of this, our dialogue also turned towards the loss of identify of children, building homes for ourselves against an ever-changing backdrop, ageing parents, health and wellness, traumatic childhood experiences – the topics tumbled forth. We found that over the six months we migrated organically from subject to subject exploring not only trying times, but also of great joy. We have experienced so much that makes a global life worth living – unique cultural experiences and privileged insights that we forever treasure.

Our accounts are truthful and personal, and we thank our family for understanding our ‘mission’ – to enlighten, to offer solace, to let people know that they are not the only family going through issues. “Mom, I don’t mind if you write my story,” my youngest son said with support. “If it can help someone not go through what I did, or help parents, then I’m happy to do that.”

IMG_4323

That evening of the book launch not only did I think of my family, who happened as is often the case to be scattered to the four winds – in Canada, in India, in Nepal. But I thought of a group of wonderful people that had already helped launch Monday Morning Emails. A few days before I had travelled to The Hague, I had given a two-day writer’s workshop in Mysore, India. Two hours by train southwest of Bangalore, Mysore is a charming small city that I have visited often and it has always felt like home.

As always, I was welcomed with open arms, arms which extended to an invitation to speak at the launch of a ‘Chai Patthe’ book club event. I had mentioned to my husband that indeed it was an honour to be doing this, but thank goodness I hadn’t been asked to be the ‘chief guest’ as I noticed the title on the announcement. Yet as the book club launch unfolded, that is indeed what seemed to happen.

The setting was an older bungalow that had been transformed into a charming Chai cafe. Older repurposed doors dotted the long narrow room, by coincidence coloured in the same hues as our book theme. I felt immediately at home.

The room was full, prompting some guests to listen and peer through the old barred windows of the once cozy bungalow. Seated up front as one of the ‘dignitaries,’ I gave a short speech. I mentioned how book clubs had always played an important role in my overseas life and how I had journeyed from avid reader to now, a published author. Without an actual copy of Monday Morning Emails, I had wrapped a copy of the book cover around a random book – yes pretending it was really the published version! The crowd chuckled when I admitted the truth, that in fact the launch was going to be held the following week in The Hague.

“When is the launch in India?” one of the guests asked eagerly.

“There isn’t one planned,” I admitted, not anticipating what was to come.

“Well,” someone chimed in, “this can be your launch in India. Now, here in Mysore.”

“Yes, in India before anywhere else!” another attendee added proudly.

“Can we? How wonderful,” I think I exclaimed and then proceeded to read the back of the book blurb, just to make it ‘official.” A round of applause erupted. I was asked questions and a lively discussion followed. Yes, just like you might with a true author… it was starting to feel more and more real. It was a magical evening with people who have become friends and wonderfully, many with whom I’ve shared the joy of writing. And so that evening in The Hague was of course our official launch, but how fortunate am I to have had two such poignant events.

IMG_4512Monday Morning Emails is part memoir, part diary, part self-help. The latter part of the book gives way to advice from eight different experts – including counselling, psychology, retirement, career advice and wellness.

The support that we’ve received since the publication of Monday Morning Emails has been heartwarming. It appears to resonate with readers, offering an unvarnished glimpse of a life that often seems so glamorous, yet is played out in the same ordinary tones as life ‘at home’. For this reason, it is also a book for those who don’t live a peripatetic life but live in one place, yet also face many of the same issues.

It is also starting conversations between parents and children, even those who are older and lived an expat life before any dialogue about this unique life was the norm. Many have also shared that it would be a good read for book clubs to discuss, and with that in mind, we are formulating book club questions and a Monday Morning Emails website.

It turns out that writing of the present and reflections of the past, was not only therapeutic, it was a joy to claim our stories. For indeed, our collected stories are narrations of life’s journey, whether they be global or otherwise. And after all, mothers are mothers wherever we may call home.

IMG_4532

My first touch of Monday Morning Emails

 

 

 

 

 

Two backpackers, post restante and a collection…

Standard

We left with backpacks, cameras and journals; that’s all that was necessary really.  Not a cell phone, a tablet or a computer.  Yes, it was wonderful last week to Skype with my son in Thailand and WhatsApp with him today as he sat in a thatched hut in Laos. But I feel privileged to have travelled with the promise…I’ll write soon.

IMG_2354

Two backpackers in India, circa 1989

Understandably, it was wrenching for loved ones to wait for letters and postcards to arrive and hopefully read that all was well.  But that was the beauty of it; to receive that correspondence and devour those long awaited words.  First eagerly, but then more slowly to take in every detail. Those letters could also be secreted away and brought out again and again,  just to feel closer to that person so far from home.

We had planned only a basic itinerary for our six month backpacking trip.  Yet it was enough to inform our parents to send a letter to Poste Restante Dehli on such and such date, then to Kathmandu by another date… and on and on.  That was our only means of communication, we agreed only to resort to collect phone calls if necessary.

IMG_2335

Poste Restante as a return address on an original Aerogramme

Poste Restante is French for ‘post remaining’ or mail that is held.  One could also refer to it as General Delivery.  At the time, walking into one of these main post offices on the other side of the world was an experience in itself.  They were often dark and musty with a uniformed postmaster sitting with disinterest behind an untidy, wooden desk. Not wanting to be disturbed, it was usually a performance for your mail to be located as he hunted the tall shelves, layered with endless cubby holes.  You waited with anticipation yet also with trepidation.   Will there actually be anything for me, did they send it in time?  And if they had, you did not carelessly tear open the envelope. You found a place to open it carefully, then read, hoping all was well back home. I have a distinct vision of the steps to the Poste Restante in Hong Kong; crowded with backpackers eagerly reading their long awaited letters from home.  Not only did we correspond frequently with our parents, we also received many letters in return.

A long letter on parchment paper from Nepal

A long letter on parchment paper from Nepal

 

And thankfully, every one of them was kept.  Each letter and postcard recounting the tiny details one forgets through the years. To read them now evokes images and memories that electronic gadgets will never replicate.  They are now hidden away, somewhere safe, in the hope that one day they’ll be appreciated for what they represent.  A time when words were chosen carefully and written in your most presentable penmanship.  A time when words were savoured. In fact as travellers, most evenings we would happily write by candlelight which would shed a more romantic sheen on the often basic hostel we found ourselves in. Updating our journals or writing long letters on carefully chosen stationery became a relaxing ritual, with the added comfort of knowing how much pleasure they would bring. Once they finally arrived on the distant shores of Canada and Scotland.

It seems my love of paper and stationery was with me even before I jaunted off to Asia.  For some reason I can’t explain, I have always adored it.

The first paper collected, the iconic Florentia from Italy

The first paper collected, the iconic Florentia from Italy

 

 

My collection began on my first trip to Italy when I was 18; that lovely ‘Florentia’, with its paper of finely embossed gold, woven through vibrant flowers and leaves.  I remember it was displayed on my desk once I returned home and I couldn’t bring myself to use it.  It was just too beautiful.  I now wander into the tiny shops when I return to Italy and find it impossible to not treat myself to just one more bundle of notes or calling cards, anything will suffice really.  And I gladly use them now, as often as I can!

My compact souvenirs, stationery

My compact souvenirs, stationery

 

 

That first purchase prompted me to also collect hotel stationery. That one sheet of paper and envelope encapsulates a moment in time and place, each with a unique letter head and often foreign language.  It evokes the sights admired and the time enjoyed, in a place you’ve been fortunate to have visited.   And so I admit, since that backpacking trip in 1989, I have taken just one piece of paper from each hotel.  However, nowadays, I often have to ask as it appears that

Letterheads that evoke a time and place

Letterheads that evoke a time and place

 

 

 

 

stationery is a dying art, much to my dismay. Though I’m sure the demand has diminished, what with those handy tablets and computers! Of course we couldn’t live without them, however there’s nothing I’d like more than to reach into my mail box tomorrow and discover a waiting letter. Post marked from Asia, with stamps that hint of where it’s from, with an address that’s just yours, with an exotic letterhead…ah, one can but dream.  Let’s see if he reads this!