A Travel Writer Again

 

Amazon US: https://us.amazon.com/Road-Tripping.../dp/B0GNJFDZMF

Amazon Canada: https://www.amazon.ca/Road-Tripping.../dp/0228639352

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/.../road.../1149544339...

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/1968339

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/.../road-tripping-southern-alberta...

I took a few writing courses and began my published, writing career (as opposed to my unpublished writing career) with a short story titled A Hawk's Reluctant Flight, in a small magazine called Western People. With that on my short resume, I had travel and historical articles accepted by other magazines, one of which didn't pay anything to the author. Then I took another writing course and one of the speakers was a publisher, Grant.

At the time Alberta was divided into tourist zones and I had been thinking about doing a book on what there was to see and do in each zone. I sent a query letter to Grant's publishing company and the senior editor responded with a phone call. We set up a time for me to go to the city and meet with both of them. I outlined my idea and Grant said yes it was a good one but he thought the books should be more on the people and culture of each zone. He liked his idea and I liked mine so we decided we couldn't work together. As I stood to leave I said. "Well, at least as I research the zones I will see all the backroads of Alberta." He replied. "I've always want to do a book on the backroads of Alberta." I sat back down and that was how I began my backroads series. Over the next ten years I travelled through and wrote two travel books on Alberta, four travel books on British Columbia, and one travel book on the Yukon and Alaska.

My favourite books to read have always been mystery novels and after much thought I decided to write one. Since one of the mantras of writing is to write what you know I made my main character a travel writer. Since then, I have written seven mystery, six historical, two sci/fi, two holiday romance/comedies, and one non-fiction. And now, thirty-three years after my first Alberta travel book was published, I am a travel writer once again.

My latest book is titled 'Roadtripping Southern Alberta' and here is the Introduction, and the section of the book that explains the front cover. Enjoy reading and hopefully you will visit the area soon.

Introduction

 Unfortunately, many people have lost the art of the drive. It’s been replaced by the art of the destination. Everyone wants to get to their journey’s end instead of enjoying the drive, the travel. This book is about travelling through southern Alberta. Each chapter in this book is a loop, so you start and end in the same place. Some of the loops are close enough to each other that you can hop off one and onto another, tour it, and then hop back onto your first loop. You are free to take as long as you wish on each chapter to enjoy the whole experience.

Most hamlets, villages, and towns have museums that are preserving and chronicling the unique history in each area. After visiting those, and other places cited in this book, drive or walk around the communities. You might see children selling lemonade or iced tea on a street corner or you might meet the residents who are friendly and helpful. You can check out the shops, galleries, and stores. There is always something unique and interesting to see. Plus, you might be fortunate enough to find a Farmer’s Market where you can pick up fresh vegetables, baking, eggs, and meat products.

Regrettably, not all sites, adventures, or experiences are mentioned here- it would take a book much larger than this and I extend my apologies to those places. This book is designed to give you an idea of the natural and man-made attractions, the stories and history of the areas, and the famous and infamous people who lived here. In the process, it is my aim to get you out exploring this part of the province. So, if you see a sign for something not mentioned in here, or if you wonder what is down a road, feel free to go check them out. It is your holiday and hopefully this book will make you love the journey again.

Alberta is a large province with wide, open spaces. In places you have an unobstructed view in all directions. Sometimes there is a long distance between towns or locations so you can check to see how the crops are doing, count the number of cattle in a field, watch for wildlife, and wonder about the dreams of the people who built the houses, barns, and granaries that are now in various stages of decline. Or you can play a new game: I spy with my little eye in the far, far distance something that is….

It doesn’t matter how you are travelling, there are campgrounds (some with hook-ups, some primitive), resorts, national and provincial parks, recreation sites, hotels, B&B’s, and motels for you to stay at. Most towns have parks for picnics and golf courses, and some have RV sanitation dump stations.

If you decide to reverse the route in which you explore any of these roads, remember to also reverse the direction in which you turn off that road. Once off the road, all other turns will remain the same.

Relax and enjoy the trip and remember, many of the sites you will see can only be found in this province. As one man I met said: "This is the true Alberta."

Medicine Hat and Red Rock Coulee

‘The city with all hell for a basement’ was the way Rudyard Kipling described Medicine Hat because of the gas fields discovered beneath it in the 1880s. By the early 1900s most homes, offices, schools, and churches were heated by the gas.

The city was named after the Saamis, or Medicine Man's, hat which was lost by the Cree's medicine man during a battle with the Blackfoot. This was considered a bad sign and when the Cree were all killed the site was given the name Saamis.

The Saamis Tepee, which can be seen from the Highway as you drive through the city, was originally constructed for the 1988 Olympics in Calgary. After the Olympics, it was bought, dismantled, and moved to Medicine Hat where it overlooks the Seven Persons Creek Coulee. The teepee is 20 storeys or 65.5 metres high and its poles are made of steel with a concrete foundation.

To see the teepee, exit off the highway onto Southridge Drive/College Avenue SE and the teepee plus the Medicine Hat visitor information centre are to your right along Southridge Drive. At the centre you will find information on sights not mentioned here such as the city's historic walking tour, the viewpoints, and the many parks.

The poles of the teepee are not covered so it is open to the sky. Walk inside the teepee to see the round storyboards, which are paintings depicting stories about the history of the first people, such as the Plains Cree, the Blackfoot Confederacy, the arrival of the non‑First Nations, and the Metis. There are interpretive signs below explaining each board.

From the teepee you can walk to the edge of the cliff and look down on the Saamis Archaeological site in the Seven Persons’ Coulee below. It is believed that the area was occupied as far back as A.D. 1525 and as recently as A.D. 1740.

With the abundance of clay along the banks of the South Saskatchewan River in the Medicine Hat area, it was natural that a pottery industry began and grew in the early 1900s. There was natural gas to fire the kilns and a railway to transport the finished products to market. Three potteries, Medalta, Medicine Hat, and Alberta, were all operating at the same time. Medicine Hat Potteries later became the Hycroft China, Ltd.

To see the products of Medalta Potteries and to take a tour of the building, museum, and huge kilns at 713 Medalta Avenue SE, turn left onto Southridge Drive when you come out of tourist information. Southridge Drive becomes College Avenue when you cross Highway 1. You reach a four‑way stop at Kipling where you go right. Head straight through the lights at Dunsmore and when you come to Allowance Avenue turn left. You cross the railway tracks on an overpass and just after the tracks is Prince Avenue where you again go left. Head one block to North Railway Street and bear left once more. You have the railway tracks to your right as you drive and then turn right on Highway 41A east. At Wood Street you turn right and in one block is the Medalta Potteries. There are signs to follow to make these directions easier.

The building now houses an industrial museum and art gallery. Tours and workshops are offered and once you have finished your tour, visit the large gift shop which sells all their pottery.

As you leave Medicine Hat going west, get onto Highway 3. At the west end of the city you will pass Holsom Road which leads to Echo Dale Park. In 20 km from Holsom Road turn left on SH 887S to go to the Red Rock Natural Area also called Red Rock Coulee. The road is paved and at km 24.7 from the highway it curves to your left. However, you continue 1.8 km ahead on the gravel road to the small parking area on the right. After walking through the gate, stand and look at the large masses of stone in the coulee. You will be intrigued by the huge, red or reddish-brown rocks that are shaped like gigantic balls with flat tops. These are called concretions and are scattered over a wide field. Many of them have been split in two or more pieces by the elements. While they seem to have been randomly thrown in the coulee, they are actually finely layered, red sandstone boulders emerging, through erosion, from the softer ground around them.

They were formed over 74 million years ago in a shallow sea which covered the area. The reddish color is from hydrous iron oxide or rust.

Just remember as you wander through the rocks that you are in rattlesnake country. And because the soil content is comprised of bentonite (volcanic ash) and clay, which, when mixed with water, forms gumbo (smectite), if it starts to rain get out of the field as quickly as possible. You could sink in the soil up to 8 cm or even slip and fall on the gel‑like surface.

Back on Highway 3 and heading west, you will reach Bow Island in 35 kms. 

My Agenda for Writing Mystery Novels

https://www.bookswelove.com/shop/p/illegally-dead

https://www.amazon.ca/Illegally-Dead-Joan-Yarmey/dp/1773626655

https://www.bookswelove.com/shop/p/the-only-shadow-in-the-house

https://www.amazon.ca/Only-Shadow-House-Travelling-Detective-ebook/dp/B075TFC2B1

https://www.bookswelove.com/shop/p/whistlers-murder

https://www.amazon.ca/Whistlers-Murder-Joan-Yarmey/dp/1773627554

Authors have different ways of writing their novels. Some outline each chapter. Others wing it just going where their characters take them. Some start with a plot and add characters and some have characters around whom they build a story. A few take an event or an idea and build on it putting in characters and settings that go with it.

     I have never worked with a solid outline, or arc as it is sometimes called, for my novels, whether they are mystery, historical, or young adult. And this is mainly because I find that my characters seldom end up the way I first pictured them and the plot never takes the route I thought it would. I do start the story with a character in his/her everyday life so the reader can get to know them then I put in the trigger or problem that is out of the control of my main character or that starts the mystery. This puts the main character on his/her quest for a solution.

     I do have scenes pictured where characters are going to have a certain conversation or be at a certain place but unexpected conversations or character twists surface as I am writing the story. Some of these are surprises or mishaps or glitches that get in the way of my character’s quest. I strive not to make these predictable, nor so far out that they don’t make sense to the story. They should leave the reader with the thought that they should have figured that would have happen. Personally, I find that it is no fun to read a book in which you can foresee where the story line is headed and what is going to happen.

     If I get writer’s block or get to the end of an event and not really know what to write next, then I pick up one of the encounters that I know a character is going to have and I write that. Sometimes I will have two or three of them waiting to be put into the manuscript where they are needed.

     For the climax my character goes through the action of resolving the problem or solving the mystery. This has to be fast paced and sometimes at risk to my character. By this time the reader should be rooting for the main character and wanting him/her to succeed without injury. Hopefully, too, this is where the surprise comes in, where the reader goes. “Wow, I didn’t see that coming." or "I never thought it would be that person.”

     I have even been surprised or saddened or happy by the ending of my books. When I was nearing the end of writing one of 'The Only Shadow in the House', I still hadn’t figured out which of two characters had done the killing. Suddenly, a different character put up their hand and said, “I did it and this is why.” I was surprised but realized that it made total sense.

     I believe that if my emotions are rocked by the ending so, too, should those of the readers. When the book was published I had readers tell me that they had also fluctuated between the same two characters as I had and they, too, had been surprised by who was actually guilty. Something a mystery writer is always happy to hear. 

I Am Enjoying Growing Older

 

https://books2read.com/The-Art-of-Growing-Older

https://www.amazon.ca/Art-Growing-Older-Attitude-Ability/dp/0228631904

When I was in my twenties and thirties and saw an obituary of someone who died when they were in their late sixties or in their seventies, I always thought what a good long life they had had. I am now 76 years old and I don’t think I am old enough to die yet. In fact, I've found that being a senior can be just as enjoyable as being a child, or a teenager, or an adult. Each has their own learning curves, their own ups and downs, and their own highlights. No one should fear growing older. It should be embraced because it is better than the alternative. As the saying goes: Growing older is a human right that is denied to many.

I have written a memoir about my life and how I learned that the oldest documented person to have lived, Jeanne Calment, was 122 years 164 days when she died. I thought if she could live that long, then so could I. The Art of Growing Older is my past journey and my future plans to live as long, or longer, than Jeanne. Maybe I can set a new record.

Here is the first chapter of my memoir.

                                          The Art of Growing Older

                                           It’s Not Age: It’s Attitude and Ability

            Dedication:

 To

Gwen, Roy, George, Avenel, Carson, Lois.

And To

Salliann, Ron, Eli, Yvonne, Iris, Michael, and Matthew who, sadly, never made it halfway to their life’s potential. To Ruth, and Syd who made it to their seventies.

I was eighteen and in my last year of high school when Canada’s Centennial celebrations were held in Montreal in 1967. I put down a deposit of $10.00 to book a place on a school-sponsored trip to those festivities. Then my boyfriend asked me to marry him and I said yes. I cancelled my trip and began my wedding plans. The marriage lasted eight years.

       Since then I have joked that I have to live to 120 years-of-age so I could go to Canada’s Bicentennial celebrations. I would be 118 in 2067 so I figured that by living to 120, I would have a couple of years to remember and talk about my experience.

       Then, in 2017, Canada celebrated its 150^th birthday and I turned 68 years-of-age. I was surprised that fifty years had already passed since I first made that statement. I realized that I was half way to Canada’s bicentennial.

       Although it started out as a joke I have learned that it is not an unrealistic quest, that I could conceivably live to 120 years-of-age. Every year thousands of people around the world are reaching their 100th birthdays and becoming centenarians; many are even becoming super centenarians by turning 110. Some are reaching 115 and 117 and 119 years of age. One woman has actually lived to 122 years, 164 days.

       If she could do it then why couldn’t others. Why couldn’t I? I could think of no reason why I couldn’t so I decided to give it a try, to work at living to 120 years of age or longer.

       Too bad, though, that for those first fifty years I didn’t look after my body, and therefore my health, as well as I should have. 

Part One

                                      My Life Before Cancer

            Chapter 1   My Childhood

I was born in New Westminster, B.C., Canada, part of the first wave of the Baby Boomer generation. When I was two-years-old my parents moved to a farm near Edmonton, Alberta, and a couple of years later into the city of Edmonton. Mine was a normal childhood for the time, which meant nutritious food and plenty of outdoor activity.

       The house we lived in was small but the back yard was large. There were rows of raspberries and strawberries dividing it into a lawn and a garden spot. Every summer, Mom put in a huge garden. We had fresh berries when they were ripe, vegetables when they were ready, and she canned dozens of jars for over the winter. She also canned pears and peaches, which she bought from the store. There were always oranges, apples, and milk for snacks in the refrigerator. Mom also made homemade white bread.

       Every morning we had hot oatmeal for breakfast. It wasn’t until I was in my teens that I was allowed to have cold packaged cereal on the weekends although my parents still ate their porridge. My siblings and I came home from school for lunch which was usually soup or salmon sandwiches or macaroni. For our suppers we ate the left over roast beef and trimmings from our Sunday meal, or canned beans and bread, scrambled eggs and toast, or pancakes and natural peanut butter. This was before the manufacturers added hydrogenated vegetable oil, salt, and sugar to the peanut butter to insure a longer shelf life, so there was always oil on the top when we opened the lid. My dad used a butter knife to blend the oil back into the mixture before we ate it.

       All our meals were homemade. We never went to restaurants and there weren’t packaged or prepared frozen meals on the market. We couldn’t afford any junk food or fast food that might have been available at the time. We never had chocolate bars or candy in the house except on Halloween. On that night I tried to stay out as long as possible to get as many goodies as I could. I ate everything else in my bag except the hard candy which usually lasted until Christmas because I didn’t really like it.

       The only down side by today’s standards was that we ate strictly white bread, first home made and then later store bought, and margarine.

       Even at an early age I loved food and was a big eater. I would eat the lunch my mother prepared, then hurry over to my girlfriend’s house and have lunch with her and her parents. Her mother made the best chicken noodle soup.

       During grades three, four, and five, each spring all the children in the school I attended were given a three-month supply of cod liver oil capsules to take. I still remember how terrible they tasted. I used to drop the capsule in my hot porridge and stir it around so that I didn’t know which mouthful I would be eating it.

       I had the usual childhood diseases, such as chicken pox, measles, and mumps and none of them were very serious. I never broke a bone nor had any serious accidents. I do remember going to visit the doctor for boils that I would get under my arms. One time he decided to lance one without giving me any painkiller or freezing it first. Even now I can feel the knife slicing through the skin and him squeezing the pus out. I was given a lotion to put on them and as I grew older they disappeared.

       I was a child before television and I basically lived outside with my friends. We played games, rode our bikes, skated in the winter, walked to school. At school we had recess, physical education, and track meets to train for. I had a very active childhood. I also got my first job at age ten.

       A woman in the neighbourhood made corsages and she hired some of us children sell them a week before Mother’s Day. She would give each of us a box containing about eight corsages of different colours and we would go to separate streets.

       At each house I climbed the front stairs and knocked on the door. When it was opened I showed the different corsages and explained who had made and how much they were worth. If a man answered, he usually bought one for his wife. If a woman answered, it was a much tougher sell. But I made enough money to buy my mother a bouquet of artificial flowers for Mother’s Day.

 Then we moved into a larger house in a new neighbourhood that was on the outskirts of the city. I started taking lunch to school. Bologna was cheap and for years that was what made up most of our lunch sandwiches. One day my brother told mom that he was getting tired of the same sandwich every day. But I stuck up for those sandwiches. I liked bologna. I don’t know if his sandwiches changed but mine stayed basically the same until I graduated. Occasionally for variety, Mom switched tomato or cheese for the bologna.

       When I turned twelve I started earning my own money through paper delivery and babysitting and that is when my food choices really changed. A few times a week I went to a nearby restaurant for chocolate sundaes or French fries with friends after school or we’d meet on weekends. We still didn’t have what today we term as junk food in the house so I had to buy my own. I bought chocolate bars and ate two at a time. If the people I was babysitting for left a large bag of chips out for me to snack on, I would eat the whole bag. I was suddenly getting plenty of sugar and fats in my diet.

       I also began bingeing at home, making myself bread and jam or bread and cheese sandwiches before supper. Not just one or two, but until I was full. And then I would eat supper an hour later.

       Because she now worked, Fridays were the only day that mom still made bread and that was because dad, who worked out of town during the week, was coming home for the weekend. I sometimes bought the family a chocolate cake and chocolate swirl ice cream for dessert with our Friday night suppers.

       My first real job was at a small, drive-in restaurant, which I had to walk about two kilometres to. The owner let the staff eat hamburgers, fries, milkshakes, and ice cream at a discount. My next job was in a Kentucky Fried Chicken, (KFC as it is known today), outlet which was closer to my home. There, staff could eat all the chicken we wanted. I indulged until eventually the novelty wore off.

 I was still very active. I had lots of friends at our new house and we had the freedom of biking into the countryside for exploration. Occasionally, I biked over to see my former friends and I was still walking to school.

       As I advanced into junior high school there were new and varied sports introduced to our physical education. I began playing basketball, volleyball, baseball, and badminton. I even learned a few dance steps. Since I was good at sports I belonged to the school’s volleyball and basketball teams. We practiced two days a week after school and travelled to other schools to play games and tournaments.

       In high school I also belonged to the school teams. And I still walked everywhere because it was unheard of for my parents to drive me to my friend’s house, or downtown, or to high school football games at other schools. Swimming and figure skating were two more activities I took in gym class.

One memory stands out very clearly from my teen years. It was to have an effect on the next four decades of my life.

       When I was in grade nine one of my teachers decided that as a gracious community gesture our class would hold a spring tea for the seniors who lived in a nearby lodge. And to bridge the generation gap each of the students would “adopt” one of the seniors as an honorary grandparent.

       “When your adopted grandparent arrives, he or she will be shown to their place at a table and it will be your responsibility to serve them tea and cake and to get to know them,” my teacher explained.

       On the day of the tea we decorated the gymnasium with balloons and streamers and waited. Because this was such a novel idea there was a television reporter and cameraman from the local television station to cover the event. Later that evening I watched myself and some of the other students on the news.

        Finally the seniors’ bus pulled up. The boys who had been assigned to help them off the bus rushed out. From just inside the gymnasium doorway I watched the sea of white heads as the old men and women slowly made their way down the hall. The women were dressed in their best outfits with their sparse hair done up and rouge on their wrinkled cheeks. The men wore ill-fitting suits or pants and shirts. Some walked on their own, some used walkers or canes, and some were helped. This was before most places were wheelchair accessible so no one who may have been in a wheelchair attended.

       I was one of the greeters and I stood at the door waiting to welcome them. As each approached I pinned a corsage on the women’s dresses and men’s shirts or suit coats. Most of them smiled or said thank you but a few looked lost as if they weren’t sure where they were or what they were doing here. Once they had their corsage they were escorted to their tables, which were set so that there would be two “grandparents” and two “grandchildren” at each one.

       When everyone was seated I went to the long table holding the pieces of cake and picked up two plates. I carried them to the table where my “grandmother” sat and introduced myself.

       “What do you take in your tea?” I asked.

        “Just a little sugar,” she said, her voice shaky.

       I went to the tea pots and poured her a cup. I didn’t drink tea so grabbed a glass of juice and returned to our table. I had a difficult time relating to my adopted grandmother. Conversation was hard. Three of my natural grandparents died before I knew them. I don’t ever remember doing anything one-on-one with the grandmother who was part of my life. She was always at family gatherings but as a child I don’t recall us ever spending a day or even an afternoon together.

       I looked around the room. While most of the seniors seemed happy with the tea, I felt pity for them. I didn’t like the idea that they needed to be adopted, like a stray cat or dog or someone no one else wanted. I felt sorry that they were old.

       As I walked home after school I thought about the afternoon. I knew that I never wanted to be in the position where I had to have strangers “adopt” me. I never wanted to be old.

       And that was when, at the age of fifteen, I decided that I would commit suicide when I reached sixty-five years of age. I would not go through those years of my life as a lonely, old woman waiting for someone to be nice to me.