Ontario winters keep changing, one year having lots of snow but tolerable temperatures, another year reaches double digits in the minus zone (Celsius) and stays there, another has lots of ice storms.  This year, we had one of those yo-yo years, where it might dump a pile of snow one week, then creep up into low but positive temperatures the next, then rain, then freeze, then plummet to where your eyeballs burn from the cold ... and repeat.

Which made our 2 weeks in Costa Rica at the end of February and the beginning of March very pleasant indeed.  From -5 (-20 overnight) to 30+ degrees C and sunshine makes for happy people.

We started our trek by getting a rental car from the San Jose airport and driving about an hour and a half out to Jaco Beach, on the Pacific side of the country.  Six days at a surf camp near (but not right in) a beach town where shorts and a tank top (or a bathing suit) kept the worst of the humidity at bay worked great.  Mike had 3 surfing lessons--one on his birthday--and I had 4 sessions of yoga.  We met a fantastic couple of women (one from Germany and one from Ireland) that we hung out with for pretty much the whole week, having an absolute blast.  Even took a day trip out to Carrera National Park, about 30 minutes away, where we went on a hike with a great guide who showed us Scarlet Macaws, Capuchin Monkies, Howler Monkies, Lizards, 2- and 3-Toed Sloths, Cicadas, Bats, and a wide variety of ants.

Our rental had a few issues (coolant light coming on for one, near bald tires for another), so when the rental company emailed to ask how we liked the car, Mike let them know.  They then arranged for a replacement when one became available, driving it right to the surf camp for us.  As we needed a 4x4 with decent tires for the second half of our trip, this replacement came as something of a relief.

The next leg of our adventure took us further south along the highway, where we broke up our 3+ hours of driving with a monkey challenge (me going through a tame version of a 6-part ninja course) and some zip lining.

Then we arrived at our next destination: the Finca Bellavista treehouse community, where we stayed in the rainforest for 4 nights.  Up a steep and rocky 3-mile road near Piedras Blancas National Park, you come upon this neat community with both renters, volunteers, and full-time home owners.  Our treehouse took a 10-minute walk to reach, and we had solar power and mosquito netting.  Luckily, it wasn't wet season, so we didn't see many bugs (other than the huge one hanging out on the bathroom mirror--likely friends with the gecko in the kitchen).  Finca Bellavista produces most of its own food, which you can purchase to cook up yourself, or have them cook it for you in the communal kitchen/eatery.  We did both.  With a few kilometers of trails, and multiple ones at that--some in loops, some to the river or waterfall, one to a scenic point--we never lacked for things to do.  We had a routine of hiking in the morning, sitting on the covered balcony in the afternoons when it rained, then going to base camp for 'happy hour' where we could meet with others before having some supper before walking back in the dark with myriad stars overhead, the rain clouds having cleared until the next day.

​Our last night of happy hour saw 8 people in the space (one being the bartender), where two of us (including the bartender) didn't have our cellphones out.  I sat there enjoying the view and writing stuff in my head, trying to figure out how to end my next book The Forgotten Magic.  At least when we all got to supper, we sat together and actually spoke to each other.  Better late than never!

On our third and final leg of the journey, we headed inland toward the mountains and cloud forest of the Quetzal Valley.  To break up that 3 hour drive, we stopped at the Nauyaca Waterfall, which is a 4 kilometer hike along a dirt and rock road that we managed to get to around 11 a.m.--so yes, we hiked 4 km each way in the highest heat of the day in a humid rainforest with the sun blazing down.  The waterfall was worth it, though, as well as the birds we saw along the way, including a toucan hanging out in a tree where we could actually see it.

Then we finally reached the Quetzal Valley, driving through the usual 3 p.m. shower.  Nelson met us at Quetzal Valley Cabins and showed us our cabin for the last 4 nights, doing a decent enough job explaining things even though he spoke Spanish, and we pretended we understood more than we did.  He conveyed the most important information; that we could drink the water from the tap, as it was spring fed.  As we had now gone into the higher altitudes (the valley spans somewhere between 8000-11,000 feet, depending on what part you're in), the temperatures had fallen.  The days ranged from 13-18 degrees C, and the nights went as low as 8.  The cabin had a heater and four layers of sheets/blankets on the bed.  We huddled under the blankets and toughed it out without the heater, though that first night saw a couple of chilly noses.
​

​Quetzal Valley is famous for its population of the Resplendent Quetzal, a long-tailed and colourful bird, which we never did see despite learning a few places to look.  We did see many other birds though (like yellow thigh finches, black guam, collared redcap, swifts, hawks, sooty thrush, maybe some warblers and flycatchers) and hiked some very hilly terrain.  The path to the waterfall near the end of the road had some quite exciting patches, including bridges and stairs lacking some under-foot mesh (so you're walking on less-than-stable metal cross-pieces rather than full bridges) and a tree across the final stairs.  Also, the rope assist down to the actual waterfalls was great fun!

Most times, we ate at a place called Miriam's Quetzals, a nice little family-run business with good food.  They also had a spot out back with hummingbird feeders and a platform for feeding other birds, such as acorn woodpeckers and tanagers.

​On the last full day, we drove up to the highest spot of Cerro de la Muerte ('Summit of Death' at 3335 metres, or nearly 11 000 feet, where they have all their antennas and cell towers set up) and did some wandering.  We watched the clouds roll through, stealing the sun and masking everything outside a few metre radius, cloaking the world in a haze of mist.  We found one path that our GPS said went about a kilometre (a rather steep km down) and followed that, watching the flora change from scrubby and dull to lush and colourful, and when we reached the end, discovered that we had followed a maintenance road to a hydro tower.  Not as inspiring as we might have hoped.  We found a craggy rock to climb when we got back to the top and found the 'real' path that people likely usually take.  Hey, we always like finding things off the beaten track ...

We love Costa Rica, with its kind and generous people, fantastic scenery, awesome flora and fauna, and all around good feeling.  Mike's already planning next year's trip, possibly making this an annual outing.  Definitely worth it!

We all have best intentions; we all have intended goals.  We don't always reach them.

I had intended to reach 50 000 words in The Forgotten Magic by the end of December.  It seemed a reasonable goal at the beginning of the month when I had a little over 40 000 already written.  Less than 10 000 words--that's only 1000 words for 10 days, and 31 days to work with.  Surely achievable, despite preparations for the upcoming holidays.

Okay, so a few things got in the way.  My mother having open heart surgery for one.  We knew it was coming (after all, we had most of a month lead-time to prepare), and I figured I could work in some writing in between helping her prepare for the holidays (decorating her house, little bit of baking, some last minute shopping for both her and dad), but my mind didn't always stay on task.  Then the day of the surgery, and most of the following week with daily visits to the hospital--luckily only about 10 minutes away, so fortunately I could visit every day--around which time I managed to add about 6000 words, not bad, but not 10 000.  [She's doing well now, on the road to recovery, though often tired.  Some good days, some bad, taking it easy.]

Then came Christmas, with Mike and I travelling to visit family.  That's where we found the flu (not influenza, so it's not like the flu shot would have helped, but the stomach flu, the 24-hour kind that jumps out of nowhere and slams you to the ground, holding you hostage until you surrender everything in your gut several times before finally letting you go ... reluctantly).  A couple of days in 'quarantine' in Mike's brother's basement until we felt well enough to climb back in the car and make our way home.  Where we took it easy.

Happily, by New Year's Eve, we had fully recovered.  Just as well, as we had a few people over for food and drink, ping pong, and other games that night.   Lots of fun, not so much writing.

So January came, and I hadn't met my goal for December.  Thankfully, as a self-imposed goal, I had no problems stretching it.  New goal: make the December goal by mid-January, and reach for another 10 000 words by the end of January.  Well, today I reached the 50 000 mark.  Hoping I can keep it up!

Of course, it would help a lot if I could figure out just how I'm going to end the story.  I mean, I know the epilogue, what happens after; the climax, I'm still working out.  But it's getting there ....  We'll see what the rest of the month brings.

I have written and published four novels.  Until now, I have never had a book launch, so I decided the time had come.  On October 27, 2018, I hosted a Wine & Cheese Book Launch for my newest fantasy book The Forgotten King here at home.  My favourite comment from many when they received their invitation went something like: "I've never been to a book launch (or literary event) before!"  My response: "Me neither!"  I have had two previous opportunities to attend the launch of a friend (one by the dear Susan Deefholts--who wrote under the pen name Kathryn Anthony before she passed--and one by Carolyn Wilker, whom I at least got to see with her set-up in the Waterloo Chapters a few months back), but both times just didn't work with my schedule.  It only occurred to me much later that I had, in fact, attended a book launch /Q-A event at the Kitchener Chapters in the summer with Kelley Armstrong.  So my response should have gone more along the lines of: "I've never hosted a book launch."
Well, now I have, and I had a wonderful turnout of friends, family, neighbours, and fantastic people all around.  I didn't know quite what to expect, or how to prepare, so I started with invitations through evite and Facebook, a few emails, and word of mouth.  And lots of cheese and wine. 
The overwhelming support from all warmed my heart, especially those I had lost contact with (such as some folks from church), or had only met in the last few months (awesome band people and neighbours).  People wanted to buy my books--all my books--even if they couldn't attend the party, and that (perhaps obviously, though I believe I cannot overstate this) truly makes a writer's day.  It's not about the money, not for me.  It's about the enjoyment I can share, the escapism I can provide through my writing.  Knowing that someone can take time in a world I created in which to relax, to envision people and places that sprang from my mind to blossom in theirs, and that my work might make someone else smile--that's the epitome of this author's goal.  The fellowship of achieving some of this through a party, of sharing time and a love of reading,  of making people happy, is truly a blessing.
​Thank you all who made my first book launch (even if it was for my fourth book) a huge success!  I'm looking forward to many more :)

p.s., any reviews, on any of my books, on any site listing them, even if you didn't like the book, is greatly appreciated :D
​

I haven't posted anything in a while, not because we haven't done anything, but because we've been busy living life.  So, a brief recap of the year thus far ...

In February, Mike & I went to Costa Rica, both the beach (Tamarindo), and the interior.    Mike learned to surf, and we went zip-lining for the first time (they're not big on allowing cameras that high, but rest assured, we had a blast).  Trekked around mountains and volcanoes, through jungle and forest.  Amazing time, truly!  We're hoping to get back soon, maybe November.

The marina where we stored our boat closed in May as the city of Hamilton really wants to re-purpose the land, so we had to get our boat to its new home.  While we had it all painted and ready to go in good order, it took the marina owner quite some time before he managed to get the boat in the water.  The city had deemed his forklift and crane unsafe, leaving many boats high and dry while the city kept issuing eviction notices.  Luckily, our boat got in just before that nonsense, so at least we weren't stuck on land.  We did have to wait to get our motor fixed and running, but at least the boat sat in the water by then.  Anyway, we eventually had everything together, and sailed off to our new marina, about an hour and a half sailing away (only about an extra 15 minutes drive time, but then, that's the nature of sailing).  That comprised our biggest sailing adventure this year, given some nasty summer colds that lasted a couple of weeks, rainy days, and other medical emergencies.

In May, Mike's mom had a bad fall, broke her leg and wrist, and spent the next couple of months in hospital recovering.  That saw many trips to and from Peterborough as Mike (and sometime me) helped his brother and sister look after their parents, and keep his dad sane in the upheaval.  After much debate and searching (soul searching as well as physically looking), the parents have found a temporary home in a lovely retirement home that offers exceptional physiotherapy for mom, and three spectacular meals a day for both (and any visitors), and they moved in almost two months ago.  We'll revisit things in the spring, so that they don't have to worry about trying to drive the back roads that would get them to their house in the middle of winter.

In the midst of that bit of excitement through the summer (coupled with various band concerts, get-togethers, work-issues, the Ride for Refuge fundraiser we participated in at the end of September for SHOW--Supportive Housing of Waterloo--and general living), I finished my latest novel, The Forgotten King.  At about the 3/4 mark, I decided this story could expand into two books, so for the first time, I intentionally created a book intended to have a sequel.  I resolve the main conflict, but I also leave questions and loose ends meant to have a resolution in book two (The Forgotten Magic, hopefully available by the end of 2019).  So far, book two sits at about 25 000 words, so about 1/4 of the way finished.  I started it before publishing The Forgotten King to determine if I could truly stretch the story into two parts.  I don't yet know everything that happens, or how I want it to end (which amuses my chiropractor no end), but I'm pretty sure it's doable.  I hope so, at any rate, as I just published The Forgotten King​ yesterday :D  Hopefully, the copies I ordered will arrive in time for my very first Book Launch, scheduled for Saturday October 27.  Wish me luck!

We arrived at km 104, the start of our trek toward Machu Picchu, at around 7:30 am.  The train stopped to let us and a couple dozen other hikers off at this access to the Inka Trail, and we met our guide Jorge, who had walked in from Aguas Callientes that morning (only about a one and-a-half hour hike) to meet us.  Jorge had a great sense of humour, lots of knowledge to impart, answered pretty much everything we thought to ask, and made sure we didn't get too tired or worn out as we hiked.

​We stopped at a couple of ruins along the way, saw another in the distance, and enjoyed the incredible scenery, as well as a lovely boxed lunch provided by the tour company.  This was pretty much the first day that I had more than soup for all three meals; nothing wrong with the food, it just took that long for my system to adjust to things.  By around 2:30, we made it to the Sun Gate of Machu Picchu and had our first sight of the famous city.

We made our way down from the Sun Gate to a fantastic view of Machu Picchu on a fairly clear day.  Then we hiked down to Aguas Callientes, or Machu Picchu town, found our hostel and got cleaned up, had supper with our guide, then went to bed early, as we had to be up and waiting for the buses back up by 4:30 am.  Machu Picchu doesn't open until 6, and the buses leave around 5:30, but to have a guaranteed seat, you have to line up early.

In the weeks leading up to our trip, we kept an eye on the long-range weather forecast.  It showed rain for our entire 10-day trip.  While a couple of days had the occasional spittle the you only noticed as it stopped, the day of our explorations of Machu Picchu called for 100% rain.  And didn't lie.  Jorge had us for 2 hours, whereupon we could reenter the site and stay as long as we wanted.  For the first maybe hour of Jorge's explanations, it remained mostly foggy and overcast (it had rained in the night).  This gave the rather awesome effect of the city seeming to float in the mist as the clouds floated past, lending a certain air of the ethereal to the mystical ruins.

And then the rain started again.  A steady drizzle that turned into a gentle downpour, then into a pretty awesome demonstration of how well the drainage still worked in Machu Picchu.  Those Incas sure knew how to build!  The last of our guided tour happened in a bit of a rush as dozens of sodden tourists quickly made their way to a couple of shelters near the exit.  Jorge finished up his presentation under the thatched roof, then bid us a wonderful day, leaving us to our own devices.

As the train back to Ollantaytambo didn't leave until 6:30 that evening, and it hadn't yet reached 8 am, we decided to wait out the rain for a bit, then just dove back in, seeing as we were already wet.  Somehow, our timing worked out, as the downpour eased back to a steady drizzle, then just overcast skies.  Leaving us a very pleasant day to explore the ruins.

About a 15 minute hike from Machu Picchu, you'll find the Inka Bridge.  We didn't know what to expect, but went to take a look.  You're required to sign in before you can take the trail, then sign out again, presumably so that they know if anyone's fallen off the edge of the cliff on the way to the bridge.  I'm not joking.  It's a narrow trail in places (no more than a couple feet wide) and most of it open to the air.  I loved it.

As we approached the bridge (you can look, but you can't cross), and I saw the huge plank spanning the space, I thought, 'neat, but so what?'  And then I took a closer look and the whole architectural marvel of it just about blew my mind.  The plank is not the interesting part; the sheer volume of stones put in place over 500 years ago, along a vertical cliff face in the middle of nowhere without the use of scaffold or mortar, and still mostly intact--that's just damned impressive.  You do truly have to see it to get the full impact, and pictures don't do it justice, but I've included one here anyway.  Just amazing.

Eventually, we made our way back down to Aguas Callientes (walking rather than getting a bus), had some food, and caught our train.  We knew that we would share the bus back with Cuzco with some other Salkantay trekkers, and had a moment of worry having to listen to a rowdy group on the train (and getting rowdier and more obnoxious with every beer they tossed back) with Salkantay packs (we really wanted to apologise for the most obnoxious, as he loudly claimed Canada as his home).  Luckily, our bus had the other worried train passengers, leaving the party bus to annoy a different driver.  Our group pretty much slept back to Cuzco, much to everyone's relief.

We spent another couple of nights in Cuzco, but really only one day, as the bus didn't arrive until after 10:30 pm, and the flight back to Lima left at 8:30 am.  We checked out a market with everything you could possibly need, from knitwear and souvenirs to fruit and raw chicken, and most things in between.  Then off to Lima.

We met an entrepreneur named Juan that Mike had made a connection with for lunch at a fabulous (and slightly schmoozy) restaurant called La Mer, where we had cebiche (or ceviche, if you want to Americanized spelling), the must-have Peruvian seafood dish.  Mike and Juan talked about UAVs and how Mike and Aeryon might help Juan with various humanitarian efforts he has a hand in.  Juan ordered a wonderful selection of dishes for us (including octopus--delish!) so I don't know what all we had, but every bite was fantastic.  Dipped our toes in the ocean, just to say we did.  Despite the surfers, it was too cold to swim, though the hang gliders had some impressive updrafts.

​We had planned a walking tour of Lima (we stayed in the Miraflores district, and this tour would have taken us into Lima proper), but despite about 8 or 10 of us gathered, no guide showed up, though when Mike called, they said someone would come the next day.  Wouldn't work for us, as this was our final day.  So we set off with 3 others of the group for a bit of a wander to the food market.  After a bit, Mike and I decided to just head back to our Airbnb, taking in some shops and parks along way.

Had some causa for supper--again, a Peruvian dish.  Basically a mashed potato sandwich with whatever filling they have on offer.  I had mine filled with avocado and tuna.  Peru has something like 3000 different kinds of potato, and maybe half that for different kinds of corn.  Whatever variety of potato bracketed my causa, it seemed nice enough.

Our driver arrived around 1:30 am to take us to the airpoirt for our 5 am flight home, saying that night traffic is pretty bad, given all the early flights.  That said, we had smooth sailing (or driving) and made it to the airport with lots of time to spare.  Some turbulence on the flight, but we made it home all safe and sound.

Besides the fantastic scenery, Peru has some great food and wonderful people.  If you've ever thought of going, I highly recommend it!

Mike had some time off work this fall and we knew we wanted to go somewhere, but hadn't settled on a destination yet.  We started to compile a list and research the best time to see various places.  Turns out our target month of November doesn't have a lot going for it in terms of weather for most of our desired locations: many of the islands and tourist hot-spots in Greece shut down in October; much of Europe turns as grey and miserable as home; we did New Zealand last year.  We weren't looking for anything Caribbean this time (and just as well, given the horrible damage of this past hurricane season) and didn't really want to do anything in Asia.  Costa Rica remains on the list (possibly something in late winter to escape our Ontario frigidness), but we finally settled on Peru, despite November heralding the start of their rainy season.

We decided this in October, and that we would travel early to mid-November.  Which gave us less than a month to prepare.  Vaccines, crash course in Spanish (Duolingo says I'm 61% fluent after 3 weeks), researching what to do and where to go and then booking flights, accomodations, and tours--we somehow managed it all while keeping sane and not panicking.

Final itinerary: Fly direct to Lima from Toronto on a 6 pm flight that landed at 2 am.  Hang around the airport until 5:30 am and fly to Cuzco (3400 metres, or 11 150 feet).  Transport to hotel to begin acclimatising to the height, stay for 2 nights.  Tour by bus to Pisac & Ollantaytambo ruins (2800 metres, or 9200 feet), and stay in Ollantaytambo for 2 nights.  Two day trek to Machu Picchu (2400 metres, or 8000 feet) [actually, 1 day trek, night in Aguas Callientes, then 2nd day at Machu Picchu], with train & bus ride back to Cuzco, arriving around 10:30 pm.  Stay in Cuzco for 2 nights, then fly back to Lima for 2 nights, then home on a 5 am flight.

So off we went ...

We arrived in Cuzco somewhat exhausted, though I managed more sleep on the plane than Mike.  Interrupted sleep, what with that 2 am landing and layover, but sleep nonetheless.  You know that feeling when you realise that the snippet of rest actually made you feel worse because of the interruption, and you just wish you'd stayed awake instead?  Yeah ...

Anyway, we got to Cuzco airport around 7 am and ... no transportation waiting for us, despite Mike making arrangements the morning before we left.  No problem; lots of taxis.  Nice driver, pointed out some of the sights, gave some advice, drove without much regard to lanes, turn signals, or how close the next motorist or motorcyclist drove beside us--in other words, exactly like every other driver in Peru.  Somehow it all stays very civil and we saw no accidents (or blood from pedestrians skimming by millimetres from the vehicles).  Arrived at our hotel and left our bags while they finished preparing our room (this is 7:30 in the morning, and folks are very accommodating).  So many flights in Lima and Cuzco arrive or leave at late/early hours that everyone is used to it and make the best out of it.  While we waited, we wandered over to the Plaza de Armas, about a block away.  At this point, I can feel the altitude in the form of a slight headache, and shortness of breath, and that's with the medication suggested for altitude sickness.  Peruvians have coca tea to help combat this, but our taxi driver pointed out that it also boosts energy, so if we wanted to rest, having a drink of coca tea would not get the job done.  At any rate, we had a little sit down in the square, and soon a group of teens approached and wanted to sit with us.  After much fumbling with words and gestures, we figured out they wanted a selfie with us.  Seemed strange, but what the heck.  They got their pictures, thanked us profusely, and went on their way.  As this happened again on our second pass through Cuzco, we figured this is either a bizarre high school fetish (get you picture taken with tourists), or some kind of class project.

We spent a couple of days in Cuzco, saw a couple of museums, a few churches (no pictures allowed--they all have a lot of niches and gold- or silver-gilded spaces, statuary, stonework, artwork, all in buildings lacking windows so it's a little dark and gloomy, and sometimes rather gaudy), fascinating architecture, tourists, some alpacas led around by traditionally garbed Peruvians, and lots of alpaca sweaters.  And, of course, cobbled streets, stairs, and steep hills.

We used Salkantay Tours for our two treks.  They picked us up from our hotel in Cuzco and, together with a family of four (parents and 2 grown sons in their early 20s), we headed off on our first trek; Cuzco to Pisac to Ollantaytambo--all part of the Sacred Valley.  Both Pisac and Ollantaytambo have Incan ruins and Marco, our guide, provided some fascinating information.  The term Inca actually refers to the leader, or king, not to the people, and there were only 11 Incas, the 9th being the most famous, as he initiated the building of Machu Picchu, as well as most of the other sacred sites.  Most of the ruins had a spiritual significance to the Inca culture, built high in the mountains to commune more closely with Pachamama (you can loosely think of this goddess as Mother Nature) and Pachapapa (her consort).  But the sites also had strategic importance, seeing as the Andeans were a war-like society.  These cities both watched the passes heading to Cuzco (the 'navel' of their world, and most important city where the Inca lived), and provided waypoints to those travelling along the many Inca Passes.

The town of Ollantaytambo itself, where we stayed for a couple of nights, has a neat blend of tourist and locals.  We saw school kids in their uniforms brushing elbows with backpackers, native speakers (either speaking Spanish or Quechuan, the descendants of the Inca people) conversing with foreigners--Mike found google translate especially helpful in obtaining some take out soup--tourist police and taxi drivers, all getting along.  As November is a shoulder season in Peru, the streets aren't as crowded as high season, so the folks trying to entice you in to their restaurants do try to get your attention (though not nearly as aggressively as in Cuzco), but tend to leave you alone when you indicate your disinterest.  In Cuzco, you pretty much have to pretend they don't exist in the first place, or every seller follows you around.  Ollantaytambo had a more relaxed ambiance.  And being lower in altitude, we had no problems with shortness of breath, though the streets are no less steep.

We had an early train to take us toward the start of our Inca Trail hike, though thankfully not as early had we started in Cuzco, as many treks do.  Salkantay Tours happily accommodated our to schedule, and while Peru has many tour companies who would likely have done the same accommodations, we had a great experience with Salkantay.
So, on to our day trek and Machu Picchu ...

I realise that most of my recent blogs have revolved around our adventures sailing.  Well, this one will revolve around my true passion and calling: writing, and more specifically, around the publication of my most recent book.

It takes me awhile to write a full-length novel, mostly because procrastination is so easy.  I'm working on fixing that.  As I worked on In Dreams We Live, I did eventually manage to set a writing routine and stick with it.  Let me clarify that one qualifying word of eventually.  When OPUS II closed for good at the end of February 2017, I got down to some serious writing (well, after a trip to Belize, that is).  So when I returned to the partially finished book (it had somewhere around 65 000 words, compiled over several years) and did some actual, day-to-day writing, I managed to write the final half of the book between mid-March and the end of May.  Final word count rests just north of 130 000, so you can see, if I actually set my mind to it--and the characters and story line cooperate--then it really shouldn't take me 7 years to finish the first draft of a book.  So maybe the next novel (currently sitting at 55 000 words) will arrive before 2020.  One can hope.

At around the 75 000 word mark in early April, I saw a contest for books published before May 19 and thought "Well, there's a goal I might achieve."  Deadlines give you incentive.  I wanted to make sure, however, that this story might actually catch the attention of readers, so I asked some people if they'd be willing to give what I had written so far a read-over, let me know if I should even continue.  Happily, they all agreed I might have something here.  So I kept at it.  Even had one wonderful woman so excited to learn what happened next that I kept sending her sections as I finished--raw and unedited (she was kind enough to ignore all the horrendous spelling mistakes).  I decided by around May 12 that, while I could indeed finish In Dreams by May 19, it would have no editing done, making immediate publication a serious mistake.  So I did not enter the contest, but I did finish my book, and with feedback and comments even as the last word sat blinking happily upon the page.

Then I got down to the editing.  First read-through, just to make sure the sentences made sense, occurred in short order, even though I find it's best to sit back and let things quieten down in the brain before any serious editing reaches the screen.  I plugged everything into CreateSpace (a wonderful self-publishing tool affiliated with amazon), made up a temporary cover so that I had a place holder for later artwork, looked through the digital proof 3 times for format, style, and content, then ordered a proof copy to do a more thorough job of the editing process.  Personally, I love having a physical book in my hands, whether reading it or editing it, though CreateSpace offers both options (physical copy and/or digital proof).  So I sat back and waited for the proof to arrive, expecting a couple of weeks of reprieve before diving back in.  The book arrived within a few days.  I made myself wait a more decent interval before plunging myself back into Angie's world, so that the distance of time would hopefully give me a better perspective.

The basic story didn't change, nor the order of events.  I did tie up some loose ends, fixed any missed typos/grammar/spelling mistakes, altered some sentence structure, etc.  The usual things one might expect in the editing process.  Then I set it aside once more and worked on other stuff.

Near the beginning of August, I took my revised copy and read it through yet again.  Out loud.  Amazing the things you catch when you read it aloud.

I then did some additional research on all things self-published and found two absolutely fantastic resources.  

Draft2Digital provides a platform to reach the ebook markets not affiliated with amazon, so now I have my books available at Kobo, iStore, Barnes & Noble, etc. as well as amazon (Spirit of the Stone, my 2nd book, is exclusive to amazon until November--just the way I had my rights set up), giving me a wider range of potential readership.
And AdobeSpark has a book cover creator which far surpasses what CreateSpace offers in book cover design (still love CreateSpace for the process of paperback creation).  It so impressed me that I redesigned the covers of my first two novels while I was at it.  My cousin made a wonderful painting as per my original concept art idea for In Dreams, but I fell in love with what I created through AdobeSpark and that ended up as my cover art.

With all tools now in hand (paperback, digital, cover art), I submitted my work to the variously chosen venues, clicked "publish," and now have my 3rd fantasy novel available all around the world.  I can't tell you how excited that makes me!

*As of today (Aug. 28), I'm still waiting for the paperback version to appear at amazon.ca.  It should show up soon.  CreateSpace  has it, as does amazon.com, so I'm crossing my fingers that the Canadian store will catch up soon.  You know, being Canadian and all.

We went sailing this past weekend, and we invited some friends to come along for the ride.  

On Saturday, we had the conductor of KMSB join us.  Dave knows his way around water at least as well as he knows his way around music.  He has many canoe trips under his belt, having done most of the backcountry of Algonquin Park among other ventures, and he's assisted on sailboats before, so handling himself aboard Freedom came naturally.  Last week when Mike and I went out, I developed a little mantra to keep myself on an even keel.  There's nothing to fear.  I may have forgotten to use that this week when the wind grabbed us and set us at a lovely angle for sailing.  The expression on my face, Dave tells me, was priceless.  How far over did we heel?  Certainly not as far as my nerves feared, but definitely far enough that the gripping mat beneath my feet shifted and slid, throwing me just that extra bit off balance.  In truth, we heeled at a perfect angle for sailing, but my one-handed death grip on the lifeline while I white-knuckled the wheel and adjusted my stance to feel a little more balanced showed that I needed to remind myself of that little mantra.  There's nothing to fear.  Rule one on the boat: Don't panic.  Rule two: don't fall off.  At least I managed one of them (OK, it wasn't real panic; just overly sensitive startlement; yeah, that's it).

Once I got over my own nerves and just let myself flow with waves and wind, we cut a smooth path toward Burlington Bridge.  And then we entered the channel, and had our first inkling of what we might expect on Lake Ontario.  We hit waves.  Waves enough to kiss near the top of the pier and to smash against the breakwater in foamy delight.  My stomach suggested it might not like this, but we had hopes of things calming down on the other side of the channel past the bridge.  After all, not much wind actually blew, and we wanted to swim near Burlington Beach.  How bad could it get?

Bad enough that raising the jib on the other side did nothing to mitigate the rolling waves, mainly because the wind had pretty much died, leaving behind the waves.  We had water splashing over the bow as it played catch with the boat.  I let the guys know my stomach couldn't handle much of this tossing (luckily verbally, and not physically), so we decided we'd turn around.  Of course, at this point, we had to wait a half hour for the next opening of the bridge.  So I stretched out and lay down (the cushions on our benches are surprisingly comfortable), handing the wheel off to Mike.

We made it back into the Bay and low and behold, no wind.  We'd had wind until the bridge, but it apparently wanted a little rest too.  We put up sails anyway, and Dave had a blast steering us slowly homeward, managing to catch any minute gusts he could find.  Mike cooked up some sausages as we trundled along at 2 knots, and we eventually pulled back to our dock (maybe we had an awkward angle or two as Dave and I and a helpful fellow boater hauled on the dock lines, but we didn't smash into our neighbour boat or the dock, so job well done).  Great sailing, great conversation, great day.

On Sunday, we had Ashley and Matt over.  It was a last minute invitation that luckily they took us up on.  Ashley had the good fortune of receiving some free samples of wine to test for her blog (Caviar Taste on a Bologna Budget), and I happened to mention that her research into this topic would go well on a boat.  And voila, Freedom had company on Sunday.  Now, while we did have some good, if spotty, wind with Dave, with Ashley and Matt, we had gusts up to 9 kph.  Yes, the weather reports said 'gusts'.  The Bay looked like glass with maybe the barest hint of a ripple now and again.  We motored to the bridge.

We had it all wonderfully timed to make the 11:30 bridge raising, and at about 11:15, we saw they already had the bridge up.  What the heck?  Then we saw the freighter barreling toward the canal (it didn't really look like barreling, but those ships are huge and you certainly didn't want to get in its way).  We had a brief scramble as we tried to figure out the proper protocol, then just pulled off to the side to wait, as did most of the other boats who had aimed for the 11:30 slot.  Once the freighter made it through, the bridge closed.  We shrugged and stopped the motor to wait for the next opening.  Which actually happened sooner than we'd thought.  The bridge master just closed it long enough to clear the backlog of vehicular traffic, then raised it again for those of us who had waited for the freighter's passage, so we motored through only about 10 minutes off schedule.  Although schedule implies we actually had a timetable.  We didn't, which is always the best best for sailing.

We pulled up close to Burlington Beach and dropped anchor in a calm Lake Ontario.  Last time we went swimming with Ashley and Matt here, the water felt, in Mike's terms, brisk.  Which basically means bloody chilly (high teens).  Not this time.  According to our water temperature reader, we'd found a pleasant part of the Lake, with a temp of 23 Celsius.  Mike pulled the dinghy alongside Freedom (we'd brought it along for just this purpose) and we used it as a launching point for swimming.  Which worked well for getting into the water, but posed some very amusing difficulties for getting out again.  Much laughter ensued, and we had a fine time swimming, testing out various flotation devices.  [Our ladder at the back of the boat is missing one of the rubber feet that keeps it from rubbing against the hull, so we didn't want to rely on it exclusively--though we did end up using it briefly]

We had some snacks and lunch, then thought we'd sail toward Bronte, pull up to the pier and have a little afternoon drink.  We'd sailed to Bronte before with Ashley and Matt and all liked the little town, so off we set.  Just as the speck of wind that had drifted past abandoned us almost completely.  Our trip planner/chart plotter informed us that at present speed (of about 1.7 knots), we'd reach Bronte in about 5 hours.  After an hour of little progress, we finally concluded that the wind did not, in fact, plan to help us at all, so we turned around and headed back toward the bridge with the intention of going for fish and chips back in Hamilton.

Matt took the wheel and set a course.  And the wind said, "that's better, that's where you meant to go," and gave us a bit of a boost.  In fact, once back past the bridge (a lot of boats chose the 4:30--that is, 16:30--crossing with us, so the channel got a tad crowded, but again, no one hit anything and no one died; and we got to watch a tug boat boot past us going in the opposite direction), the wind pulled us along at closer to 4.5 knots, and on a pretty straight course back to the marina.

Once back at our dock, we did pull out the bottle of wine Ashley had brought for her research, and we all partook of a nice white Ontario wine.  Then went for food.  Great times, great company, great laughs.

TUESDAY JULY 4, 2017:  Trenton to Cobourg
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We start the day with a run along the streets of Trenton near the marina.  Then we have some food and set out for the day.

​Today, we get to traverse the Murray Canal.  To sail/motor from Kingston to Hamilton, you have two options.  You can go via Lake Ontario, around Prince Edward County, or you can go the back way, which takes you to Trenton and then through the Murray Canal.  Obviously, we chose the latter.  The Canal has two swing bridges, and we manage to arrive at each in time for them to open.  Unlike Kingston and Burlington, they open these bridges when enough people pile up, rather than at any set time.  Normally, the Canal has a fee of $5, which you toss in as you pass by the second bridge.  However, this being Canada 150, the Trent-Severn Waterway is free this year, and the Murray Canal stands at the start of the Waterway, so no fee for us.  Pity; I was looking forward to seeing if I could get the money in the basket instead of the drink.  Ah well, we saved some money (and some dunking).

Once through the Canal, we find ourselves once again upon Lake Ontario, on a surface still as glass.  No wind, little traffic--a freighter and a few far off fishing vessels--and lots of nice sun.  Luckily, Freedom comes equipped with both dodger and bimini, so we have plenty of shade.  There's a section between the dodger and the back of the bimini that comes off, allowing for the traveler rigged up to the boom to move freely, but as we're pretty much stuck with motoring today, we can keep the full shade cover up.

Mike tries out his new fishing rod today.  There are two weeks each summer when you don't need a fishing licence, and the first week of July is one of them (or so Mike tells me).  So he takes it out of the package, gets it all set up, picks out a nice bit of bait (also from a new package), and throws his first cast.  Whereupon, he discovers the difference between the cast buttons on the rods he grew up (easy to use) with and these fancy new fandangled contraptions (finicky to the newbie).  Pretty red fishing twine shoots out, tangles, and generally makes a mess over the side of the boat.  Nothing gets tangled in the propeller and he eventually re-spools it all, and that's the end of today's fishing exercise.

Eventually, a little breeze does appear--blowing directly from the west, where we're heading.  At this point, we do a little racing with a butterfly, and it wins, hands down.  Mike's comment: "I didn't know they could fly at five knots, and against the wind!"  Whereupon, the butterfly leaves us in its tiny wake.

As we motor along, Mike goes below for something, then calls up for me to stop the boat.  He's found a bunch of water and we need to find out where it's come from.  After a bit of looking, Mike discovers it's from the toilet, and that it's important to make sure the valve is down when not in use.  Thankfully, the water is just from the lake and not from the holding tank, so it just takes some mopping up, rather than any haz-mat suits.  No harm done, and we start up the engine and move along.

Mike radios ahead to Cobourg Marina to confirm our reservation, and they let us know where to head.  The Marina has a bunch of slips free, but for some reason, puts us beside another boat instead of in any of the empty double-slips.  We manage to get in on the second attempt without hitting anything, thanks to the help of a couple of nice gentlemen from nearby boats.  When they ask why we chose that spot, I reply: "It's the one they gave us."

The facilities at Cobourg are nice, although they have their computers down for maintenance, so the girl keeps asking us to bear with her.  It's not like we have anywhere else to go, so we just smile and joke with her.  The waterfront around here is quite pretty.

WEDNESDAY JULY 5, 2017:  Cobourg to Whitby

​Cobourg has a nice clocktower down by the waterfront.  It marks every hour.  Mike hears the 05:00 chimes and pretty much gives up on sleeping after that.  So we have breakfast ready before 7 am.  We motor over to the fuel dock and top up on diesel, discovering that Jeff did, in fact, know his facts when he said a tank should last about 48 hours.  We've motored about 18 hours so far.  Then we take some time to practice docking, seeing as the marina has so many vacant slips.  A nice man runs up to help bring us in to one dock, and when we explain that we're just practicing, he grins and agrees we have chosen a good time and place, then leaves us to it.

We set out shortly after that, heading toward Bowmanville.  Mike's sister Pat and her family live in Bowmanville, and we've arranged to pull into the marina there (VERY small and shallow, so we can't go in far) and pick up whoever's around for a little ride around 13:00.  When we arrive, we find Pat, but neither daughter, so it's just the three of us.  The wind chooses this moment to work in our favour, and we get the sails up, reaching around 6.7 knots.  Pat steers for a bit and we have a very nice visit.

We drop Pat back off at the entrance to the marina a couple of hours later and continue on toward Whitby, happily mostly on sail as the wind, for the most part, stays blowing our way.  Darlington power plant has a restricted zone (thankfully marked on charts) that we navigate around, and as we get closer to Whitby, water traffic becomes a bit heavier (like, three sailboats).  We do not have any reservations for this night, but Whitby Marina has a spot for us.  Getting is tricky, as three marinas share the entrance, and we apparently arrive around race time (or something), so we not only have to negotiate the channel in to the marinas, but also a string of small sailboats--under sail--coming out of that same channel.  No one crashes, no one gets hurts, and everyone stays on their respective vessels, so we all win today.

THURSDAY JULY 6, 2017:  Whitby to Bluffer's Park

We start today with a run around the waterfront.  Nice enough area, and we stop at a convenience store for Mike to buy new sunglasses (2nd pair of the trip, as the first broke--technically, this is the 3rd pair: the ones he brought from home mysteriously disappeared on the first day).

Do a bunch of motoring today, sharing the lake with a freighter and some fishing boats off on the horizon.  Today has pretty much no wind, and our knot reader registers a whopping .2 knots (made it to .7 a few minutes later).  So at one point, Mike decides it's a good time to stop for a swim.  He slips over the back into the dinghy, then jumps into the lake.  The very cold lake.  I just sit and wait in the dinghy and help him back in a few minutes later.  Then we continue on.

​We see some really neat cloud formations today.  We're trying to learn to read the clouds and so have an idea on upcoming weather without having to rely on forecasts.  Have a handy little book and everything.  The weather patterns we read today suggest tomorrow might have some unsettled times, but the rest of today should remain mostly quiet (coincidentally, that's what the predicted forecast says too, which, already having seen the one might might have influenced the reading of the other).

Pull into Bluffer's Park (which is quite pretty) after radioing ahead to find our designated dock for the night.  Getting to the marina office involves navigating a maze of piers and locked gates, but we manage it eventually.  Then we stop at the pub at the marina for supper.  Nice place, even has houses on the water--not house boats, but actual houses built specifically to float right there at the edge of the shore.  Pretty funky (we saw one advertised for sale later for about $1 000 000, so maybe not our next house).

FRIDAY JULY 7, 2017:  Bluffer's Park to Lakeshore Promenade

The wind picks up in the early hours, and we have a decision to make.  Originally, we had thought to make it to Hamilton today, but weather reports (and yesterday's clouds, of course) suggest rain and thunderstorms.  So, do we stay at Bluffer's Park, try to make it to Hamilton, or see if there's somewhere in between we try to get to?  Maybe Port Credit or Toronto Outer Harbour?  Mike calls ahead to Port Credit, but it turns out they're under water and have no open slips.  There's a marina around the corner that specialises in transient docking, but they're not answering the phone.  Outer Harbour has a spot, if we want, and we decide to give it a try.

The wind settles some as we head out.  We even brave putting up the sails, but then Mike sees the line of weather ahead, and we pull down the mainsail, using only the jib--easy to haul in without having to go up front if things turn nasty.  Mike decides to call another marina (the Port book Jeff and Marie left has every marina and transient dock on Lake Ontario, including contact information).  Lakeshore Promenade in Mississauga sounds very inviting and they have a spot.  So we continue heading in the direction of Toronto, watching the line of rain hugging the shore.  And it stays there, leaving the Lake free from precipitation right through to Mississauga.

It takes us less than three hours to reach the Promenade and we dock and batten down the hatches.  And spend a lovely day in the calmest non-storm you've ever seen.  The marina has beautiful paths all around it that we explore and we spend a nice, quiet day, warm and dry.​

SATURDAY JULY 8, 2017:  Lakeshore Promenade to Hamilton

Set off early, knowing we still have a ways to go (boat-wise--you can't be in a hurry when sailing or motoring).  Happily, today has wind in our favour again, and we sail most of the way in.  I get Freedom up to 7.7 knots, and reading off the numbers, I feel like the crew of Star Trek in Star Trek IV trying to reach warp 10 ("Seven point two, seven point three, seven point five! ...).  This is the day I discover that Freedom has more stability than Freedom Four-Two.  Happy day.

We have more fishing boats to maneuver around today, and a few sailboats too, as well as a cargo freighter that does not head toward the bridge, as I thought it would, but instead pulls in just ahead of us to the unloading dock near Bronte.  Anyway, we reach Burlington Bridge with no difficulties, and temporarily haul in the sails to get through the lift bridge.

And then we reach the Bay, and the wind goes nuts, as it usually does in the Bay.  Unpredictable and capricious.  I leave it to Mike to take the wheel, and he shows what this sailboat can really do, having no irrational fear of canting at sharp angles (unlike me, but I don't panic--today).  It's race day for the little boats, and with some creative tacking, we find a way around them.

​We reach MacDonald Marine much faster than we ever did in Freedom Four-Two, pull up to the masting dock, and go find Sandy, the owner.  He points out some empty docks, and suggests which one we might like best.  It's not as sheltered as our previous slips, being closer to the Bay, but it should do.

We celebrated with ice cream from Hutch's, just up the street.  Welcome to your new home, Freedom​!

SUNDAY JULY 2, 2017:  Arrival in Kingston
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Arrive in Kingston via train.  Drop off supplies (mostly clothing) at boat.  Jeff and Marie, previous owners of Freedom, help us motor to the fuel dock at the marina to top up the diesel and empty the head so that we know the procedures and locations of these important features.  Then they take us to downtown Kingston, first for lunch at the waterfront, then for victuals for our journey.  Jeff takes Mike to Canadian Tire to buy a fishing rod while Marie shows me last minute details around the boat, such as how to work the alcohol fueled stove.

They return home, leaving Mike and I to explore (boat and city) and have a bit of supper.  We settle in for our first night on the boat while it rains overnight.  So far, no leaks.
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MONDAY JULY 3, 2017:  Kingston to Trenton​

Jeff and Marie arrive around 8:30.  Jeff will come with us for this first leg of the journey--in part because he just loves the boat, and in part, to help us become acquainted with Freedom and to answer any questions we might have about the running of our new floating cottage--and Marie will pick him up in Trenton.

To get out of this Kingston marina, we must pass under a lift bridge that opens on the hour when required.  So Mike gets the motor running and does a little practice maneuvering in the harbour while we wait for the clock.  Jeff likes everything just so (read really OCD) and he has a set way of doing things.  This includes getting the bumpers up and stowed ASAP for a long journey.  I'm used to just popping them up on the deck, making sure they stay clear of all the lines.  I'm also used to keeping the emergency horn in the cockpit and making sure the radio stays on.  Jeff only uses the horn to signal to the bridge master, and only does a call to Prescott Coastguard Radio for a radio check.  Things will go differently on the rest of the journey, but for this day, we follow Jeff's routine.

I sound the 3 long, 1 short blasts of the airhorn to signal the bridge master that we intend to make the 9 am bridge lift.  After no movement occurs, Jeff calls him on his cell phone, and we see the guy amble over from his shelter to the bridge controls.  The bridge lifts and Mike punches the motor, beginning our week-long trek.  Marie waves from shore, then it's just the three of us, motoring into the wind.

Kingston to Trenton via sailboat is a rather long stint.  Like 12 hours long.  Into the wind (what little exists).  We do manage to put the sail up twice during this stretch, for a total of about 1/2 hour.  But at least this gives us our first look at how these sails work.

A previous owner of Freedom Four-Two had rigged that boat to make it easy for solo sailing.  Freedom does not yet have this luxury, although I'm sure it's on Mike's list of things to change.  To put up the mainsail, you need one person at the mast (Mike) to haul on the halyard, and one person at the wheel (me) to make sure you don't smash into anything (the wheel and rudder tend to shift more, especially with the inboard motor still cranking the propeller to give us any momentum and keep us facing into the wind for raising the sail).  The jib, you can work completely from the wheel single-handed if you want, so I guess it is possible to sail Freedom solo, so long as you don't want the mainsail up without any fuss.

Anyway, once we got the sails up, the bit of wind finally in our favour disappeared completely.  As we did have a timetable to try to keep to (remember that 12-hour thing?), we didn't wait for it to start blowing again; just started up the motor and hauled in the sails.

Travelling mostly by motor, you'd think maybe we'd have smooth going--no wind to play with the sails and heel the boat over at any crazy angles or anything.  Turns out, boats move a lot more side to side when only a motor pushes them along.  After a bit, my stomach complained, but so long as I steered, I could handle it.

And then we hit the Bay of Quinte, and encountered whitecaps.  With the wind directly in front of us.  We closed up the dodger to keep most of the spray from swamping us, yet even so, I got wet.  Jeff and Mike went below so that Jeff could show Mike various interesting and useful tidbits about the functioning of Freedom, leaving me on deck to follow the chart-finder.  After a bit, they re-emerged and Jeff took over steering so he could have a smoke break, and Mike figured out the working of the alcohol stove (par my verbal instructions), leaving me with nothing to do except enjoy the wind-tossed waves.  I did not have much in the way of food that evening as we worked toward Trenton, completely freaking out Jeff (or perhaps it was more the pale green shade of my face?).  Mike knows my tells, and just let me carry on.  Smart man.

Luckily, I had booked most of our stops a couple of weeks in advance, because we gave a confirmation call in to Trenton just before 7 pm (or 19:00 in sailor [and military] speak) to inform them of our late arrival time, and, as they closed at 7, they just gave us our dock number information and left us to it.  When we approached, Jeff and I got the bumpers out and reattached (NOT a fun thing when your stomach heaves as much as the boat), then we tried to follow the info in our 'Dock Guide' book, only to discover that the marina I had thought I'd booked online (Fraser Park) no longer actually existed.  In it's place stood the new marina (Trenton Marina), which we eventually figured out was the one with our reservation.  Being close to 21:00, we could not call them, but we found the indicated slip, saw the key card they had left for us, and surmised we had come to the right place after all.  Yay!

Marie was stuck in traffic, but arrived about 1/2 hour after we did.  I checked out the nice facilities (having a working head on board is great, but sometimes you just want a real flush toilet that doesn't move) and we bit the former owners farewell (they only had to return for one forgotten thing about 20 minutes later, but basically, this was the end of the line for Jeff).

It wasn't until I brushed my teeth for bed that I threw up.
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At least I felt better after that.  And we had our second night on our boat, trying out different berths to find the best sleeping arrangements for us.
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