A child is born

I hope readers enjoy this excerpt from Chapter 7 and share my feelings on the joyous occasion of the birth of a child. Although it's a hot day in August, consider for your imagination, a cold February night in 1975. 


Begin excerpt: 

Gio left Marie, Georgette and Matthew to deal with the teenagers and headed quietly to Amy's room.  It was a good thing her roommate was heavily sedated with the commotion of the two families in and out this evening. 

He stood in the doorway, watching as Sera held her nephew in her arms, gently rocking him back and forth.  Gio's heart swelled with pride and sorrow. 

"He's so cute, Amy." Sera sniffed, "He's so beautiful – and hairy!"

"Yeah, he is beautiful, isn't he?" Amy responded weakly from her bed, already dozing off.

"What are you going to call him?" she sniffed again.

"I didn't even think about that.  How stupid to not even think of a name yet. I'm just sooo tired..."

"Oh, don't worry, something will come to you soon," Sera turned her loving gaze to the slumbering baby, "Right, hairy boy?"

The nurse slid past Gio to retrieve the baby and take him back to the nursery. Sera protested at first then gave in to her authority.  Amy had already fallen asleep and could care less. 

The nurse expertly bundled him back up into a tightly wrapped package.  She swept him into her arms, walked towards the visiting area and stated, "All right you people, it's time to move out.  Come back tomorrow morning at eleven."

"Yes, nurse," said Gio. 

"Have a good night, Father."

"Bless you, Dorothy."

Sera pulled the blankets up over Amy's petite body and kissed her on the forehead.  As she headed to the door, she subconsciously reached for Gio's hand and clasped it in hers as they headed down the hall for one last peek through the nursery window. 

"Isn't he beautiful, Gio?"

"He is, " He replied fighting back tears as he gazed at the rows of bassinets.

"He's so small, so helpless - but so loud!"

"They can be that way."

"I finally have a little brother - well, nephew.  This is going to be fun."

Gio turned to look at her smiling face faintly reflected in the nursery window.  It was the first time in months that he had seen her happy. 

"He's going to need someone special like you to watch out for him."

"Oh, I will. I love him so much already!" she sniffed., “I feel a special bond with him.” 

"Considering you were there when he was conceived, yes?"

Sera turned quickly to look up at him.  She blushed thinking she was in trouble but when she caught the smirk on his face and glint in his eyes, she relaxed.

"That's right," she quipped, "Plus, he was born the same year as me."

"What's that?"

"The year of the rabbit.  With all the bad things that have happened the last few months, I'm looking forward to this year.  Things can only get better, right?"

He paused to recite some memorized scripture for the occasion then stopped, "Sure, Sera.  That's a good way to look at it.  This baby's birth and his development are things to celebrate in hope and love."

"Does he have to be baptized? Can be even be baptized if he's a ..." she whispered closer to him, "bastard?"

Gio placed his large hand on her shoulder and led her back to where the family was waiting, "That's another bridge to cross another day, okay?"

- End excerpt -

Thank you for reading :-)

If it wasn't for celibacy...

It was an interesting coincidence on a cold winter's night that I tripped upon Frank Hegyi's book cover for "If it wasn't for celibacy, I would have been a priest".  It jumped out at me while I viewed a list of books by members of the Ottawa Independent Writers.

I stole the opportunity to speak with Frank about his book before a working group meeting in February.  I asked him about it and shyly mentioned that one of the main characters in my novel is a priest - a priest who encountered carnal temptation early in his career.  Frank gladly pulled out a copy of the book and offered it to me as a gift - although I insisted twice on paying him. 

The book is a collection of Frank's essays on Religion, Politics and Life. When time permitted, I really enjoyed reading his insights. I found myself nodding in agreement with many of his observations and views.

Frank is a calm, quiet man with an extraordinary history of overcoming obstacles.  He is also a cancer survivor who co-wrote and published "Death can wait. Stories from cancer survivors" along with Roslyn Franken, Jacquelin Holzman and Max Keeping.

Although he is not representative of my target audience, I hope I can return the favour by offering him a fresh, printed copy of my novel this winter. 

Excerpt - Parish picnic

I thought it would be enticing and refreshing to include an excerpt from Chapter 2, during the parish picnic and where Gio tries to console a sad and angry Sera.  Imagine a fictitious beach somewhere along Georgian Bay way back in 1970. 

Begin excerpt:

As Gio was setting up his basket, organizing his fishing gear and wrestling with the lawn chair, he heard a sweet voice from behind. 

“Aren’t you going to swim, Father Gio?” inquired a voice innocently behind him.  He turned to face Gwen, her freckled cheeks and crooked smile.  Her red-orange hair was waving in the breeze like licks of long, unruly flames. 

“No, my child.  You wouldn’t want to see ME in a swimsuit.  I’d scare all the fish – and maybe even the ladies.”

“You’re funny,” she giggled, “Okay, then.  See ya!” and she was off in a puff of beach dust to join the others.

Gio raised and lowered his arms to feel the late June breeze cooling the wet spots under his arms and on his back.  He smiled and nodded as people passed by and greeted him.  His scouting gaze met that of Marie Fletcher’s.  She smiled and waved with her right hand then lowered it to lightly grasp her side.  With her left, she pointed towards the milkweed patch near the trees.  He nodded and waved back in acknowledgment. 

Gio retrieved two cans of Canada Dry Ginger Ale from his cooler, grabbed an opener, his straw hat and proceeded in the direction of the patch beyond the border of a few birch trees.  He stumbled slightly over stones and tree stumps then stopped.  He listened to the sound of the breeze rustling through the treetops and realized how refreshing it was.  It almost sounded like the water of the Georgian Bay lapping at the nearby shore.  He felt soothed by the song of wind and water.   He breathed lightly then stopped all activity at the sight of the little girl. 

There she was, sitting on an old stump, holding out her small hand.  On the tip of her fingers was a freshly transformed Monarch butterfly slowly flapping its wings in the light breeze of the sheltered patch.  Gio stood still and watched her as she connected with this small creature.  This is my child, he thought, smiling with joy.  A wild child.  An angel.  A miracle of creation.  My shame.  My  joy.  He fought back tears.

The air felt suddenly still.  Gio breathed in and out lightly.  For a moment he couldn’t tell if she was holding the butterfly up and out with her hand and small arm - or if it, through its light flapping, was trying to lift her into the air.  He smiled sadly and shook his head, realizing the logical explanation. 

He lingered his gaze on the smooth, pudginess of her arm up to her fingertips.  His heart raced and fluttered.  The butterfly leapt off of the girl's fingers and floated awkwardly towards Gio in arcs and dips, landing on his straw hat.  Sera turned her gaze to follow its flight path but frowned when she saw Father Gio standing there in his fatness, holding a can of pop in each hand and smiling at her. 

“Are you thirsty, Sera?” he called. 

Her mouth was indeed dry and she wanted to blurt out a loud “yes” but her pride allowed her to only shrug and nod her head.  Gio walked carefully through the stumps and rocks, finally reaching a boulder across from the child.  He slowly lowered his large rear end on the rock, sighing as he sat down.

“Hot day,” he stated then dug the can opener into one chilled soft drink, letting out a refreshing “Fizzzzz!”.  He handed the can to her.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, opening his can to fizz and accompany his response.

“Cheers, Sera,” he said lifting the drink to his lips and taking in a few gulps.

“Cheers, Gio,” she responded then observed the monarch still resting on his hat.  He winced at her persistent use of first names with him but didn’t want to start a war of wills on such a lovely day. 

“Why aren’t you out on the beach with the other kids?”

“I’m sad,” She kicked at a stone,  "I’m angry."

He took another sip, “Why is that, my child?”  As soon as he spoke those words, he realized their secret meaning.  My child.  My child. 

- end excerpt -

Murphy's Law and reference books

Just when I am wrapping up the last few paragraphs and plan to do an edit sweep, I can't find two books that I wanted to use.  

I have somehow misplaced or loaned out my copy of Five Fast Steps to Better Writing by Barbara Florio Graham.  Time to do an extreme search and recover in the overflowing bookcases.

Within less than a day of having Sigrid Macdonald's "Be Your Own Editor - A Writer's Guide to Perfect Prose"  in my hot little hands, I left it at someone's house after a meeting today.  Arg!  Luckily, when I mentioned my problem to the author of the BYOE, she sent me a PDF copy for my use.  

It's an adjustment for me to use an electronic book as reference.  At least they're much easier to search for keywords!