There are times when motivation to see results is enough to get me to do the things I need to do, like dishes, or cooking for my kids so they don’t starve (okay, most of that is complaining, but whatever), or writing something so other people can read it. But other times, procrastination has a louder voice in my head. Facebook taunts me to see what the next thing on my newsfeed will be, and all the while procrastination is screaming, “Make me! Make me sweep the floor!” like an errant toddler.
Because really, procrastination is like a stubborn child. Think about it. It does what IT wants to do, not what’s gotta be done. It only cares about itself. It’s greedy and doesn’t like to share us with its grown-up counterpart, Responsibility.
It’s no wonder we need nice, shiny things to keep us motivated a lot of the time. In our everyday lives, when all is well and we’re stuck in our daily routines, something shiny is what we look forward to. To reach for. It’s no wonder I get more writing done during NaNoWriMo, what with that lovely graph to reach the top of. Something you might be able to relate to as a blogger, if you’re not an author, is the stats page. Who doesn’t want to get to the next level? Get more views than the year before? (Yes, I know some of you don’t pay attention to stats. Weirdos.) Goals. We all need goals. Otherwise, life is static.
So I’m off to do something I’m supposed to do. And not feed the screaming toddler. (Procrastination–I don’t mean my kids.)
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As with Stream of Consciousness Saturday (SoCS), if you see a pingback from someone else in my comment section, click and have a read. Itâs bound to be short and sweet.
Unlike SoCS, this is not a prompt so thereâs no need to stick to the same âtheme.â
The rules that Iâve made for myself (but donât always follow) for âOne-Liner Wednesdayâ are:
1. Make it one sentence.
2. Try to make it either funny or inspirational.
3. Use our unique tag #1linerWeds.
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July 19th, 2013: My trip to Kingston was interesting indeed. With so many strange goings-on, I can’t help but wonder if I somehow ended up in my own novel. Without giving too much away, this is how it went:
The Hochelaga Inn was much as I expected. Built in 1879, it has been well-preserved not only in its physical appearance, but for its ambiance as well.
A Welcoming Prayer
Peace and rest, however, although perhaps wished upon me by the Management and Staff, were not what the Inn itself had in store.
Having not a great deal of money, but wishing to take an extended weekend away, I booked the cheapest room in the Inn for the first two nights, (Saturday and Sunday) and the Tower room–the most expensive–for one night (Monday).
My first night didn’t include much sleep. Three times during the course of my slumber, I was awoken by the fire alarm, which was situated on the ceiling beside a spinning fan, for no apparent reason. When I asked about it at reception the next morning, because I thought there might have been a problem in another room, they said they had no idea what had happened. Unfortunately, I was told, the Tower room was booked for that night, otherwise they’d have moved me in there early. So I gave back my room key with an assurance that I would be moved to another room for my second night at no extra cost.
The conversation between the two ladies I had spoken to at the desk, overheard after I walked away, went something like this:
“Her fire alarm went off three times last night.”
“Wooooo …” in a ghostly voice.
Okey dokey then.
Later, when I arrived back at the Inn after spending a lovely day wandering around Kingston and getting burned to a potato chip by the sun, I was handed the key for the Tower room.
“We were able to move you up there a day early,” the lady said without further explanation.
The house wants me in the Tower, I thought.
I happily I went up to my room to take a few pictures before dark.
The lower part of the tower.
The view from the top
It was a long day and I didn’t feel like doing much, so I sat on the bed with my feet up and watched a movie on my laptop. I didn’t bother to turn on the lights, and by half-way through the movie (The Brave, with and by Johnny Depp if you’re wondering) it was dark. That was when my friend decided to come along. I didn’t take a picture of my friend, and in fact I’m quite proud of myself for not throwing my laptop across the room. Let’s just say he had eight legs and appeared to be the size of Jaws as he scurried across my screen.
My second night didn’t include much sleep either. I think my camera catches quite well the state my eyes were in by Monday morning:
A lovely blurred view from the lower tower window
I spent most of Monday driving around town. I went to the VIA Rail station, where my two main characters disembark after having met on the train, and I was able to record many small details such as the waiting room seat colours and the fact that there are sliding glass doors on both the back and front. I drove from there to where my story is set–where I imagine the house to be–to see how long the journey would take, as well as noting different things they might see on the way.
When I got back ‘home,’ the first thing I did was look for the spider. There was no sign of him whatsoever.
Yay! I thought. I’m going to get a good night’s sleep!
HA!
So I was downstairs talking to the lady at reception again after having spent a few minutes poring over a framed blueprint of the Inn, from 1920 when they were hooking up the electricity. The house had changed quite a bit, and we were having a lovely discussion about where the rooms were and the staircase that wasn’t there any more etc.. when she mentioned the ghost.
“There’s a ghost here?” I asked, my eyes like saucers, I’m sure.
From there I went to a bar. Okay, I went to a restaurant. But must say I indulged just a little. As it turned out, I was sitting on the patio waiting for my bill when a strange looking man wearing a black cape and holding a lantern (click on the Haunted Walk link above for a visual) exited the building that housed the restaurant. He stopped and stood not six feet away, waiting. It took me a few seconds to realize he was the tour guide for The Haunted Walk. (Like I said, I’d had a few.) So I thought it might be fun to talk to him.
“Excuse me, are you guiding the Haunted Walk tonight?” (All right, all right. Maybe I was sloshed.)
“Yes,” he replied.
“I’m staying at one of the places on your tour: The Hochelaga.”
“Yes, that is one of the places we visit,” he said politely.
“Would you like me to put a sheet over my head and stand at the window in the Tower?”
I thought he was going to blow a gasket.
“YES!” he exclaimed, all but jumping up and down in excitement. “The people would love that!”
So guess what I did?
At dusk. I turned on the lights in the Tower so they would glow.
After the people left (they actually pointed at me, standing at the very top window at the front, looking down) I turned on the lights and went outside to take a picture of the most incredible Hochelaga Inn.
And that night? I slept like a baby knowing the ghost was safely tucked in bed.
Spooky, no?
To this day the spirit of the place haunts me. My characters, whose footsteps I was privileged enough to walk in, are with me in a way they weren’t before. The sights I saw are imprinted on my vision, deep and immovable. I’m lucky to have been able to visit the wondrous settings from which I was able to tell my story.
If you’d like to visit The Hochelaga Inn, click here for their website. I highly recommend it for its ambiance, its breakfast, and for the experience of sleeping in such a beautiful old Victorian mansion.
My Gothic paranormal romance, The Magician’s Curse, which is set in Kingston and features a house that is inspired by The Hochelaga Inn, is available on Kindle, Kobo, and in paperback on Amazon, as well as on the shelf in the Novel Idea Bookstore at 156 Princess Street in Kingston.
If you would like to participate in this prompt, feel free to use the âOne-Liner Wednesdayâ title in your post, and if you do, you can ping back here to help your blog get more exposure. To execute a pingback, just copy the URL in the address bar on this post, and paste it somewhere in the body of your post. Your link will show up in the comments below. Please ensure that the One-Liner Wednesday youâre pinging back to is this weekâs! Otherwise, no one will likely see it but me.
NOTE: Pingbacks only work from WordPress sites. If youâre self-hosted or are participating from another host, like Blogger, please leave a link to your post in the comments below.
As with Stream of Consciousness Saturday (SoCS), if you see a pingback from someone else in my comment section, click and have a read. Itâs bound to be short and sweet.
Unlike SoCS, this is not a prompt so thereâs no need to stick to the same âtheme.â
The rules that Iâve made for myself (but donât always follow) for âOne-Liner Wednesdayâ are:
1. Make it one sentence.
2. Try to make it either funny or inspirational.
3. Use our unique tag #1linerWeds.
4. Add our very cool badge to your post for extra exposure!
If you would like to participate in this prompt, feel free to use the âOne-Liner Wednesdayâ title in your post, and if you do, you can ping back here to help your blog get more exposure. To execute a pingback, just copy the URL in the address bar on this post, and paste it somewhere in the body of your post. Your link will show up in the comments below. Please ensure that the One-Liner Wednesday youâre pinging back to is this weekâs! Otherwise, no one will likely see it but me.
NOTE: Pingbacks only work from WordPress sites. If youâre self-hosted or are participating from another host, like Blogger, please leave a link to your post in the comments below.
As with Stream of Consciousness Saturday (SoCS), if you see a pingback from someone else in my comment section, click and have a read. Itâs bound to be short and sweet.
Unlike SoCS, this is not a prompt so thereâs no need to stick to the same âtheme.â
The rules that Iâve made for myself (but donât always follow) for âOne-Liner Wednesdayâ are:
1. Make it one sentence.
2. Try to make it either funny or inspirational.
3. Use our unique tag #1linerWeds.
4. Add our very cool badge to your post for extra exposure!
When someone famous (I thought it was Hemingway; upon investigation, I found that it could have originated from numerous people) said something like writing is easy: just bleed on the page, I don’t think they were talking about bleeding on the book after it’s written. But I almost did that today.
My friendly local UPS man came to my door with the first of two boxes of my books. I signed for it and hurried into the kitchen for a knife to open it. That was my first mistake.
As I sliced open the box, the knife slipped and I stabbed myself, millimeters away from the vein in my wrist.
It doesn’t look like much, but it’s deep.
So if you want to buy a copy of my book, for pity’s sake please buy it directly from Amazon and not from me! You may never get to read Book 2!!
There were only six books in this box – when I get the other 44, I promise to try to avoid slitting my throat. đ
I admit that although I drive to the bus station, spend $4.50 to get on with Alex (because he loves bus rides) and do an entire route just to get off at the same station, it’s not all that bad, regardless of how much I complain about it. It’s one of the few times every week I get to observe people.
I admit to buying Alex a child’s ticket even though he’s sixteen years old. He’s small enough for me to get away with it, and it’s not as though he could get a job. His mentality is that of a six- going on two- going on adolescent-year-old.
I admit that I feel bad about the torture I put Belinda, my cover artist, through, considering I can’t pay her what she’s worth – a million bucks.
I admit that although I have my book set for release on June 27th, I have no idea how to organize a cover reveal (sorry, Belinda), or run a blog tour. (If anyone wants to help with these things once I get them figured out, please email me at bacamjoly at gmail dot com. Thanks!)
I admit to laughing at this until I cried
(Horrible of me to laugh – it’s all in the execution, though. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.)
I admit to wanting to read all the other admissions in the SoCS posts this week because I’m nosy.
I admit that I’ve run out of things to admit to. For now.
Winston made me laugh: he jumped up on the couch and sat on the remote control, changing the TV to the pay-per-view channel featuring A Dog’s Purpose. Good boy!
If you would like to participate in this prompt, feel free to use the âOne-Liner Wednesdayâ title in your post, and if you do, you can ping back here to help your blog get more exposure. To execute a pingback, just copy the URL in the address bar on this post, and paste it somewhere in the body of your post. Your link will show up in the comments below. Please ensure that the One-Liner Wednesday youâre pinging back to is this weekâs! Otherwise, no one will likely see it but me.
NOTE: Pingbacks only work from WordPress sites. If youâre self-hosted or are participating from another host, like Blogger, please leave a link to your post in the comments below.
As with Stream of Consciousness Saturday (SoCS), if you see a pingback from someone else in my comment section, click and have a read. Itâs bound to be short and sweet.
Unlike SoCS, this is not a prompt so thereâs no need to stick to the same âtheme.â
The rules that Iâve made for myself (but donât always follow) for âOne-Liner Wednesdayâ are:
1. Make it one sentence.
2. Try to make it either funny or inspirational.
3. Use our unique tag #1linerWeds.
4. Add our very cool new badge to your post for extra exposure!
So I’m driving down the highway last night, cruising along at about 115km/hr (around 75mph) when out of the corner of my eye I see the silhouette of a spider crawling down my window.
“Oh God, it’s a spider,” I exclaim to my adult son in the passenger seat.
“I see it,” he says.
“Can you kill it? Without going across my line of sight?”
“Maybe,” he says. He’s panicking too. He hates bugs. He once tried to jump out of a moving van because we had a fruit fly travelling with us. No joke. Okay, he was three years old at the time, but you get the picture.
“If you can’t kill it, just watch where it goes. Tell me if it gets too close to me. NO WAIT! Don’t tell me.”
“Okay. I won’t tell you. But you might want to pull over.”
“I can’t pull over for a spider!! We’re on the frickin’ highway!”
“Okay, okay,” he says, sounding more anxious than ever. “But you don’t want to know where it is right now.”
“DON’T TELL ME! DO YOU WANT TO DIE?” We’re passing two transport trailers at this point, and I’ve sped up to 130 to get to the offramp. We’re almost home.
“NO! No, it’s okay. It’s nowhere near you.”
We stay quiet. I’m trying to sit as far away from the driver’s door as possible; I can see him looking my way out of the corner of my eye.
“It’s really dark,” he says. “I don’t see it anymore.”
I get off the highway and force myself to stay calm until we get to the parking lot of the nearest Tim Horton’s. As soon as I park the car I start looking for the beast.
“It crawled along your arm and into the back seat,” my son admits. “It was only this big though.” He holds his hand up and forms an “o” that’s less than the size of a dime.
“No, it’s huge,” I argue.
He looks at me, but says nothing.
“Well, thank you for not telling me it was crawling on me,” I say. “I didn’t want to die tonight.”
“Me neither.”
Then I say, “Okay, I’m going in to get a coffee. You stay here and look for the spider.” (It’s such a privilege, being a mom.)
“Get me a croissant,” he says. It’s the least I can do.
A few minutes later he comes into the restaurant. “I couldn’t find the spider.”
“Oh no,” I sigh.
I managed to get us the rest of the way home without freaking out last night, but we still haven’t found the spider. Despite the fact that it was the size of a puppy.
I have a funny smell in my house right now. I think it’s a bag of garbage that needs to get out to the garage. Maybe I should put it out before it leaves by itself. Yeah, it’s gonna grow legs soon – that’s how ripe it’s getting.
It must really suck to have a sniffer as good as my dog’s. I can throw a dog biscuit out into the back yard and he’ll find it with his nose. He’ll start with a wide circle and go around and around in smaller circles until he finds it. It’s a target.
Winston
He’s definitely a hound.
When I write, I try to include smells. It helps to put a reader into the story when they can relate a smell to a scene. So what would fiction for dogs be like? All smells with the occasional command stuck in that they can relate to?
Other dog, other dog, cat, food, bone, SIT! Pant pant omnomnomnomnom…
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