SEPT 2015 RCLAS Wordplay at work E-ZINE

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Dear RCLAS members, Thank you: for the adventure, for your trust, for our friendships, and for the learning that we’ve done together. I have appreciated every moment I’ve been a member of RCLAS and my time as president as has been no different. I first joined RCLAS because of Poetry in the Park, but the longer I have been a member the more aspects of RCLAS I have fallen in love with.

And it’s because of you! Our successes come from our members and their drive to learn and share.

Think of the successes we’ve had this year: our countless fun sessions sharing poetry or songs or stories, the learning and collaborating at workshops, a new member-designed website, our support of the largest-ever LitFest New West. And the members of the board push us toward success too: let’s not forget that our first Fred Cogswell Award for Excellence in Poetry gave us a profile on the national level for the first time!

We still have more we can accomplish, though. For example, we would love to increase our numbers of volunteers, either for the board or just to help out with events (email Sonya at sonya.yuen@rclas.com to volunteer!). We also want to continue to expand, both in membership and in the scope of our events. If there’s a literary event that you wish was happening in New West, let us know – or, even better, let us know how we can support you in organizing it. New West has become a hotbed of literary arts, thanks in part to RCLAS, and our goal as an organization is to keep enriching this city.

I’m stepping down as president to focus on my master’s degree, but I’m still a member of RCLAS. I’ll still be at Poetic Justice and the Awards Show and the AGM and all the rest, because that’s what makes RCLAS fun: getting involved and building relationships with like-minded people. I’m glad I signed up: you are wonderful. Thanks again for the opportunity to serve you, and I look forward to seeing you again and again in the future.

Yours,

Kyle McKillop

2nd ANNUAL FRED COGSWELL AWARD FOR EXCELLENCE IN POETRY http://rclas.com/awards-contests/fred-cogswell-award/

"Fred Cogswell (1917-2004) was a prolific poet, editor, professor, life member of the League of Canadian Poets, and an Officer of the Order of Canada."

First Prize: Second Prize: Third Prize:

$500 $250 $100

ELIGIBILITY CRITERIA:  Book must be bound as a book, not a chapbook.  Book length must be a minimum of 50 pages in length.  Selected poetry must be written in English by a single author.  Book must be original work by the author (translations will not be considered at this time)  Original date of publication falls between January 1, 2014 and December 31, 2014  Book must be published in Canada.  Book must be written by a Canadian citizen or permanent resident alive in submission year.  Electronic books are not eligible.

In case of dispute about the book’s eligibility, the Society’s decision will be final.

George McWhirter will be the sole judge for our 2015 Fred Cogswell Award For Excellence In Poetry.

Reading Fee: $25 (all funds Canadian). Payment can be made through PayPal (there is a link below) or by money order (payable to “Royal City Literary Arts Society”). If you pay with Paypal, please include a copy of your receipt with the submission package.

Two copies* of the book must be submitted to the Royal City Literary Arts Society, along with the reading fee (or proof thereof), and must be postmarked no later than October 1, 2015.

The society’s mailing address is: Royal City Literary Arts Society Fred Cogswell Award Box #308 - 720 6th Street New Westminster, BC V3L 3C5

Winners and finalists will be feted at the RCLAS Awards Show, Anvil Centre on Nov 21, 2015.

Winning authors & titles will be included in the December issue of RCLAS’s Wordplay e-zine. *Submitted books will not be returned; they become the property of the Royal City Literary Arts Society.

RCLAS 2nd Annual Fred Cogswell Award For Excellence In Poetry 2015 Judge George McWhirter is a Northern IrishCanadian writer, translator, editor, teacher and in March 2007, he was named Vancouver’s inaugural Poet Laureate for a two-year term.

In 1957 he began a “combined scholarship” studying English and Spanish at Queen’s University, Belfast, and education at Stranmillis College, Belfast. After graduating, McWhirter taught in Kilkeel and Bangor, County Down, Northern Ireland, and in Barcelona, Spain, before moving to Port Alberni, B.C. Canada.

After receiving his M.A. from the University of British Columbia (UBC), where he studied under Michael Bullock and J. Michael Yates, he stayed on to become a Full Professor in 1982 and Head of the Creative Writing Department from 1983 to 1993.

At UBC, he was awarded a Killam Prize for Teaching in 1998, and the first Killam Prize for Mentoring at UBC in 2004, then in 2005, the Sam Black Prize for service to the Creative & Performing Arts. He retired as a Professor Emeritus in 2005 and in the same year he was given a Life Membership Award by the League of Canadian Poets and is also a member of the Writers’ Union of Canada and PEN International.

He was associated with PRISM international magazine from 1968 to 2005. From 2007 until 2009, he served as Vancouver’s Inaugural Poet Laureate.

George McWhirter is the author and editor of numerous books and the recipient of many awards. His first book of poetry, Catalan Poems, was a joint winner of the first Commonwealth Poetry Prize with Chinua Achebe’s Beware, Soul Brother. His latest book of poetry is The Anachronicles, A Time of Angels by Homero Aridjis, his latest volume of poetry in translation, and The Gift of Women, which appeared in November 2014, his current collection of short stories.

September Special Feature RCLAS WRITE ON! CONTEST 2015 POETRY WINNERS

Poetry First Place ALAN GIRLING – A SIMPLE SPOKEN WORD

Poetry Second Place: Alan Hill – Poverty Poetry Third Place: Cynthia Sharp – Into the Heart Poetry Honourable Mentions Celeste Snowber – The Great Love Story Alan Hill – Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band - The Beatles Carla Evans – Fraser River Tug

Poetry Winner Alan Girling reading “a simple spoken word” at the LitFest New West 2015 “Written in the Stars” gala showcase, April 25, 2015 at Douglas College Muir Theatre.

Watch Video here

*** Copyright remains with the author. All rights reserved. Do not publish or use in any form without the author’s permission.

2nd Annual RCLAS Write On! Contest 2015 First Place Winner Poetry a simple spoken word © Alan Girling sometimes a word a simple word a spoken word say the word enjoy is said in just such a way that something new unfolds unexpected as if the real the signified had until that moment been an unknown alien quantity never before glimpsed too pure to access too large to be encompassed enjoy he said to all the guests and I saw laid out the spread of the evening enjoy yes enjoy the roast beef the wine the conversation enjoy the view of the lights in the harbour the clusters of expressionistic paintings on the wall enjoy it all and I wondered then if I could enjoy that is in the way the mere speaking of it—enjoy made me feel the possibility of it—enjoy and I still wonder about it—

that very enjoyable evening now past if I ever will reach the realm he told me was there if I ever will live the cunningly simple way of words as they may be spoken and felt and touch through the voice my own voice it

------------------------------------------------------------------------- copyright Alan Girling

2nd Annual RCLAS Write On! Contest 2015 Second Place Winner Poetry Poverty Š Alan Hill New Year’s Eve

in the already dark

My feet and fingers

I walked across fields to town.

stretching in slow negotiation

of wire and wood in sonar settlement

of tight muscled movement

between small pastures Just turned twenty

mean stone walls.

dressed in other peoples cast offs

a Cohen blue raincoat

not famous

not fashionable

parading myself to the scent of fox the sound of an owl emptying its war cry over silence.

Three miles later hitchhiked

I made it to the road

picked up by a drunk

doing penance for his year of bar fights

stub fingered drug deals

who left me at the start of houses under brick buildings the lazy eyes of

tinted in deoxygenated red

incendiary skinned street lights.

I got to the party late.

The ten room boarding house

already inflating itself on weed.

Later I gratefully fumbled with the body of a willing stranger

whose name I will never remember

the sharp dash of my come tattooing a tired white bed sheet

punctuating midnight.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------- copyright Alan Hill

2nd Annual RCLAS Write On! Contest 2015 Third Place Winner Poetry Into the Heart Š Cynthia Sharp Cracked from the core, the wounded self surrenders to the healing turquoise love of the universe.

To break is to let the light in and out, where it is renewed in the source of all, to give beyond what kindness we thought possible, like winter trees reaching across the stillness, the fractured pieces of ourselves truly more beautiful for their wisdom in the flow of life.

When sun shines on shattered clay, when water smoothes its edges, we hold our brokenness in our open palms, trusting the privilege to serve.

Made strong in Him, the mature heart reaches to the depths of its core for grace.

In brokenness we release the construction of perfect images, to be made whole in His love, in our humanity, in service, spirit rising like a phoenix.

2nd Annual RCLAS Write On! Contest 2015 Honourable Mention Poetry the great love story Š Celeste Snowber art is a faithful lover wooing you back each time the mistletoe of life begging for a kiss calling forth your attention art always waits to be caressed, loved into being imagination is the foreplay union with the creative force asks no more than this – make me play with me put my skin on dwell in my terrain a playground for the body and soul fingers and hips words and notes taste the juice of creation let go of any expectations where I will take you and prance with abandon I can be trusted and will not disappoint always wait for you as a patient lover

seeking to be born over and over again. through your flesh in your cells with your tissues you never know what I will bring and when the surprises of disruption and birth will be announced in your life this is not a clean straightforward path but a spiral geography turning from one curve to another ~ radical spurts of joy spiced with tears will moisten the raw canvas of creating so take your pen and paintbrush hands, feet, voice and belly and let me slow dance with you to form the visible – the audible from the invisible and know this artmaking is the great love story.

--------------------------------------------------------------------- copyright Celeste Snowber

2nd Annual RCLAS Write On! Contest 2015 Honourable Mention Poetry Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band -The Beatles (Parlophone - 1967) © Alan Hill The summer of love was never bothered enough to stop in our town.

By the early seventies some men, tired of waiting, sprouted sideburns or grew hair over the ears.

When they got drunk they punched people with a little more tenderness.

My hip young art teacher in his corduroy jacket was caught reading porn on the bus a gaggle of teens got t shirts of bands they had never seen concerts they had never been to.

I suppose someone would have blown their minds out in a car if they could have found anyone who owned one that actually started or would move fast enough for long enough.

A friend of my older brother’s took acid and leapt off the fire hall his underpants pulled over his jeans superman.

Then there were rumours of all that casual sex that could to be found on the other side of high windows that remained unclean, unreachable in their Victorian hardwood frames as around us the older boys insisted everything had become permitted now was possible.

That by the year 2000 no woman under forty would bother with underwear.

And yet the days went on as they always hadas nothing happened, not just once but many times.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------- copyright Alan Hill

2nd Annual RCLAS Write On! Contest 2015 Honourable Mention Poetry Fraser River Tug © Carla Evans So silently the mighty tug Of Fraser River seems to hug My thoughts through history and time When near its banks I try to rhyme I love the Fraser… can’t forgo A walk in sunshine, even snow This mighty Fraser seems to know And does its best its pride to show It follows right along with me As soft I stroll from tree to tree It sparkles bright as I film flowers Amongst reflecting people towers It shines and gleams its length so grand That I must stop and stare and stand Quite still to see the otters peek Amongst the tugs as salmon leap So silently the Fraser holds The sacred secret it unfolds Its life force shapes us, helps us live We cannot take unless we give The flowing Fraser’s life itself Can scarce be pictured on a shelf It flows far, faithful, creek to seas

And ought to bring us to our knees So mightily the Fraser flows It steals my heart ‘mongst flower shows My thoughts come from the Fraser deep I let them drift, soft surf, and sleep The Fraser tugs my heart to speak Of many secrets it will keep The mighty river through me seeps It’s sacred secrets I must seek

------------------------------------------------------------------------- copyright Carla Evans

Judge Bernice Lever, Alan Girling, Alan Hill, Cynthia Sharp and Carla Evans RCLAS Write On! Contest Poetry Winner’s Video Playlist HERE

2015 RCLAS Write On! Contest BIOS: Poetry Winners & Honourable Mentions

Alan Girling grew up in North Van, lived in Tokyo for six years, and now lives in the time warp of Burkeville, Richmond. He writes mainly poetry today, with a minor penchant for fiction.

That could reverse itself at any time. His work has been seen in journals and anthologies, heard on the radio and at live readings, and viewed in shop windows. He is happy to have won two poetry prizes, the 2006 Vancouver Co-op Radio Community Dreams Contest and the 2015 Royal City Literary Arts Society Write On! Contest. His chapbook, To Talk Less, is currently available.

Alan Hill is the author of two collections of poetry, The Upstairs Country and The Broken Word, and has been published in over forty periodicals in Canada, the UK and the USA. Alan emigrated to Canada from England in 2005 and is a proud resident of New Westminster. He is currently working on his third collection of poetry, A Fire in a Winter Field.

Cynthia Sharp is delighted to have placed in the RCLAS Write On Contest. She has been published in a number of literary journals, including Toasted Cheese, Lantern Magazine, The Ivory Tower, Haiku Journal & Three Line Poetry and was nominated for the Pushcart Prize & Best of the Net Anthology. She enjoys the beauty of nature on the west coast, where she is at work on her first poetry and short story collections.

2015 RCLAS Write On! Contest BIOS: Poetry Winners & Honourable Mentions

Celeste Snowber, Ph.D. is a dancer, writer a, poet and educator, who is an Associate Professor in the Faculty of Education at Simon Fraser University. She has written numerous essays and poetry in various journals and chapters in books in the areas of the arts and is author of Embodied Prayer and co-author of Landscapes in Aesthetic Education. Celeste resides in New Westminster, B.C. and can be found at www.celestesnowber.com and blog at www.bodypsalms.com.

Carla Evans is a retired Elementary School teacher, librarian and counsellor.

She has varied interests which include an ever expanding extended family, reading, photography, walking and traveling at opportune times. She has always had a keen interest in writing and continues that pursuit whenever possible.

RETURNS SEPTEMBER 13

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September 2015

View Calendar and Bios at www.poeticjustice.ca

HERITAGE GRILL, BACK ROOM 3-5 pm Sunday Afternoons—two features and open mic 447 Columbia St, New Westminster, near the Columbia Skytrain Station CO-FOUNDER & BOOKING MANAGER—Franci Louann flouann@telus.net Website & Facebook Manager, Photographer—Janet Kvammen janetkvammen@rclas.com Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/groups/poeticjusticenewwest/

September 13 Sunday 3 – 5 pm Poetic Justice featuring ALAN HILL & CHELENE KNIGHT Host: Lilija Valis http://poeticjustice.ca/event/poetic-justice-alan-hill-chelene-knight-host-lilija-valis/

September 20 Sunday 3 – 5 pm Poetic Justice featuring Poetic Justice, featuring JAMI MACARTY with MARK HOADLEY and RAM RANDHAWA

Host Franci Louann http://poeticjustice.ca/event/poetic-justice-mark-hoadley-jami-macarty-ram-randhawa-host-franci-louann/

“Special Culture Days Event” September 27 Sunday Poetic Justice presents “An Ekphrastic Experience” featuring CANDICE JAMES, Poet Laureate Host: Janet Kvammen & Franci Louann http://poeticjustice.ca/event/poetic-justice-culture-days-an-ekphrastic-experience-featuring-candice-james/

October 4 Sunday 3 – 5 pm Poetic Justice featuring DEBORAH L. KELLY & HAZEL MAMARIL

Host: Alan Hill

http://poeticjustice.ca/event/poetic-justice-featuring-deborah-l-kelly-hazel-mamaril-alan-hill/

RCLAS WRITER OF THE MONTH

Antonia Levi

Antonia Levi has been a nurse, a businesswoman, a professor of Japanese history, and several other things she doesn’t admit to when sober. These days, she refers to herself as a “recovering academic” and is working to reinvent herself as a fictionista. She won first place in the LitFest fiction contest in 2012 and has had her short fiction published in Wordplay at Work, emerge, Saving Seeds, and Pearls.

Antonia’s writing was at first purely academic. She held a Ph.D. in Modern Japanese History from Stanford University, and wrote mostly about political and economic issues in the 19th and 20th century.

That was what people expected from her. Then, in the mid-90s, she slipped off the rails, publishing a book entitled Samurai from Outer Space: Understanding Japanese Animation. That book was her response to the growing popularity of Japanese animation among her American students.

Samurai from Outer Space was the first serious work about Japanese animation to be published in North America and it made Antonia a minor celebrity. She soon found herself invited to speak not only at colleges and universities, but also at fan conventions where her audiences were composed of people dressed as catgirls, ninja, and aliens. Her writing also changed as she produced articles with titles like “The Werewolf in the Crested Kimono” and “Yowie Zowie, I think They’re Gay.” She even wrote a bimonthly column entitled “Toni-chan Explains it All” for Animeco, a magazine devoted to Japanese Animation fans. In 2010, she co-edited a second book about Japanese animation and manga entitled Boys’ Love Manga . And she began spending more and more time with the mangaka, the author/artists who produced the works she wrote about.

That experience was to change her life as she slowly came to understand that she didn’t just want to write about the works of creative people. She wanted to be one. In 2006, she took an early retirement from Portland State University and moved to New Westminster where she became involved first with the Douglas College creative writing program and Event magazine, and then with The Writer’s Studio at Simon Fraser University. By 2011 she found herself employed by The Writer’s Studio as an apprentice and later served as a mentor in the Southbank Writer’s Program at Simon Fraser’s Surrey campus. She has read her work at a wide variety of venues including Granville Island, Surrey Muse, Cottage Bistro, and Renaissance Books. She is also a member and sometimes a facilitator in the Renaissance Writer’s Group, the M2 Writers, and a board member of the Royal City Literary Arts Society.

She is currently working on two novels. One, A Death in the Buffyverse deals with murder, mayhem, and diehard Buffy the Vampire Slayer fans. The other, Almost Canada, is a work of mythic realism crossed with a murder mystery that plays in Point Roberts and the Greater Vancouver Area. It features a shapeshifting raccoon who turns detective in order to clear a friend of arson and murder charges.

#sadinsapperton

By Antonia Levi Ten-thirty. I’m getting up earlier now that I’ve started following Lisa. That’s a good sign, I think. I’m almost eager to get out of bed these days. I can hardly wait to see if there’s a tweet. I can hardly wait, but I do. Lisa is not the most prolific poster, so I try to ration myself.

I make a little ceremony of delay in the morning. I grind the beans and spoon the rich black powder into the basket of the espresso maker. I add the water and flip the switch. When the machine starts to gurgle and spit black fluid into the pot, I fill my little pitcher with milk and steam it until it’s hot and frothy. Then I pour milk and coffee into a hand thrown bowl I got in a pottery village in the Japan Alps.

The bowl is one of the bits of my past that my mother sneaks in on me now and then. I've managed to destroy most of them, but some, like this bowl, are too beautiful to remove from this world, so I relent and work them into my routine instead. When the latte is finished, I make a heart in the foam with a chopstick I keep just for that purpose. It’s a little lopsided, but it’s the best I can do.

Yas made perfect hearts. Lots of other designs too. Yas took coffee seriously. “Kohi-noyu,” he used to call it. The way of coffee. His way wasn‘t really Japanese though. He got his skills as a barista working in a coffee shop in New Westminster while he was a student at Douglas College. But the delight he took in small perfections was very Japanese. Yas always added sugar to his coffee: three cubes.

I don’t use sugar, myself. Not in coffee. But I loved it when he would offer me one of his cubes, dipped in the coffee until the white cube turned a light brown. He would hold it out to me and I would take it from his slim brown fingers with my mouth, sucking out the coffee first and then engorging the whole with my lips and pulling it from him.

I could ask Mom to buy sugar cubes the next time she brings my groceries I suppose, and dip them for myself, but it wouldn’t be the same.

When my coffee is ready, I take it to the little table where my laptop is waiting. I take a long swallow of warming caffeine, then go on-line to check my twitter page. There it is. Not one tweet, but two. I don’t usually have such luck. Not in the morning. It’s about two-thirty in the morning for Lisa in Kyoto. Two-thirty and tomorrow. Lisa posted these yesterday, or rather, today. The international date line always confuses me.

The first tweet is simple, thumbed in on her phone as she rides home on the Eiden line, one of the last urban electric railways left in Japan: LisainJapan eiden train goes clickedy-click. so old-fashioned in the land of the bullet trains. gorgeous day. will skip bus and walk home. #eidenline That hash tag is how I discovered Lisa. I used to ride the Eiden line when Yas and I lived in Kyoto. I got off at the same station I know she gets off at: Hachiman-mae, so named for the Hachiman shrine that‘s nearby. Hachiman is the Japanese god of war, but also of peace, agriculture, and a protector of children. The shrine at Hachiman-mae offers services to cure children of bed-wetting. That always made me laugh. Yas could never understand why.

“It’s a serious matter for a child,” he would say, his eyes dark with compassion for some imaginary child with a wet futon. “Embarrassing, and causing much trouble to the family.”

He understood why I often walked home though, even when I was tired. We both loved our neighborhood, an old-fashioned suburb with a long street of shops and shop-keepers who knew your name and called out to you as you passed. Yas often walked home too, even though he was more tired than me. I worked in downtown Kyoto: fifteen minutes on the train. Yas had a much longer commute: over an hour and a half each way and three train transfers. He worked for the Canadian Consulate in Osaka back before it was closed. We sometimes talked about moving to Osaka to make it easier for him. English teachers are in demand everywhere. I could have gotten another job in Osaka within a week or so. But we never actually got around to moving.

The truth is, we loved Kyoto and we especially loved our house.

They don’t build houses like that in Japan any more, and for good reason. Yas called it one of the last standing monuments to Japan’s postwar construction boom: substandard materials and no housing codes to speak of. It was damp and moldy in the humid summers, and drafty and cold in the winters. But it was down a side street and protected by a wall with a gate, a private kingdom for me and Yas. In my mind, I go as far as the gate before I have to stop. Lisa’s first tweet has taken me as far as it can, so I follow her to her second tweet posted about three hours ago: LisainJapan yas came home late and drunk. drinking is part of working he says. truth in alcohol. if you don't drink you must be hiding something. #japanesebooze Lisa’s husband’s name is Yas too. That doesn’t mean anything in and of itself. Yasuo is a pretty common man’s name. Yas for short. My Yas said the same thing about going out for drinks with business associates too. “’In vino veritas,’” he told me. “We Japanese believe that too, so we do not trust a man who does not drink. What is he hiding, we wonder. What dark secrets live in his heart that he fears will emerge if he loses control?”

When he first told me that, I thought he was just making excuses for coming home sloshed, but I soon found out it was true. Women can get away with drinking less, but guys pretty much have to plead doctor’s orders to get out of the regular nights on the town that are part of working life in Japan. There’s nothing new for me in Lisa’s tweets, but the casual references to a way of life that was once mine makes me feel close to her, to this other Canadian woman teaching English and living in my old neighborhood, this LisainJapan.

I look at the clock. Almost noon in New West. Four a.m. in Kyoto. There will be no more tweets for a while. Lisa is no doubt sleeping soundly, curled up contentedly beside her snoring Yas. I, however, am awake and restless.

The phone rings, a welcome distraction even if it is only my mother.

“I’m going to do my shopping tomorrow,” she says, her voice deliberately cheerful and ordinary. “Do you need anything?”

“Milk,” I tell her. “KD, potato chips, chocolate. You know my tastes.”

“You need to eat better,” she says. “I’ll bring you some nice fresh fruit and veggies, and this time, I want you to eat them.”

“I won’t eat them. It’ll just be a waste. Dr. Brewster said I could have what I wanted.”

“That was because you weren’t eating anything.”

“And now I am. So Brewster’s treatment is working.”

“You’ve made progress,” she agrees, “but that’s no reason you can’t make more. I’ll bring some applesauce. That keeps and maybe you’ll eat some of it.”

“I still have the last three jars you brought.”

I hear my mother sigh.

“I’ll be OK, Mom. I just need time.”

“I know, sweetie.”

I can hear the tears she is pushing back. I pull us back to the real world where she is more comfortable, a world in which help can be given in the form of practical action.

“Coffee,” I remind her. “Dark roast. And lots of milk. Milk is healthy. Nutritious too.”

“So it is,” she agrees, “but possibly not as a staple.”

“It’s the best I can do.”

“I know. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom,” I tell her, hoping it doesn’t sound as lukewarm as it often feels.

Mom deserves better, but I don’t have better in me.

My hands are shaking as I put down the phone. I curl up on the sofa bed and cover myself with my blue and white silk quilt, another memento from my past Mom sneaked in on me that I can’t bring myself to destroy. I know she went to Japan and closed down the house in Kyoto, although she never mentions it. She probably has most of my stuff stashed in a storage unit somewhere. Or at least, whatever Yas’s mother didn’t make off with.

I check the clock again. It’s four forty-five. Perhaps I slept without realizing it. Four forty-five in the afternoon in New West is eight forty-five in the morning in Kyoto. Lisa’s first class starts at nine. She’ll be on the train or actually at school by now. More to the point, she may have posted another #eidenline tweet.

I check and there it is: LisainJapan all dolled up this morning. going to dinner with Yas's parents tonight. they say come as you are, but i want to make Yas proud. #eidenline Come as you are? That’s one thing my Yas’s parents never said to me. They never said much of anything friendly or even polite to me. They criticized my clothes, my height, my weight, my ignorance of Japanese customs, the lot. They never asked me over to dinner either. They hadn’t wanted Yas to study abroad to begin with. That was his first rebellion. Coming home with a blonde Canadian wife in tow was his second. An outrage.

Lisa’s in-laws aren't like that. They invite her over often, once a week at least. Her Yas’s mom is teaching her to cook her Yas’s favourite foods. Her Yas’s parents want their son to be happy in his marriage and in the bi-cultural, bi-national life he has chosen. I’m a little jealous of this sometimes, but mostly I’m happy for Lisa. Intercultural marriage is hard enough without

hostile in-laws.

The only moment of accord I ever had with my mother-in-law was after Yas died. We sat side by side in uncomfortable chairs facing the representative of Yas’s life insurance company.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend. The insurance company representative was our enemy, and for one brief moment, my mother-in-law was my friend.

“You understand that we must ask these questions,” said the representative. “It is not unknown for desperate men to take their own lives by jumping in front of trains. They hope that in this way, the families will still be able to collect the life insurance.

“My husband was not a desperate man,” I told him.

“He had recently lost his job.”

“He called me an hour before he died. He was happy. He said he thought he’d gotten the new job with Baird Consulting. He was a bit drunk, of course. They took him out after the interview. He thought that was a good sign.”

“It was,” the representative admitted. “I have spoken to the company. They did intend to hire him. But it is no small thing for a Japanese man to lose his job in his late twenties as your husband did. It is a matter of pride as much as money.”

“Yas understood that Canadians don’t hire for life the way Japanese companies do,” I told him. “We discussed that when he took the job at the consulate. He liked the idea of being more international in his life, and he didn‘t mind that it was a bit less secure.”

“My son said he wanted to live his life on a larger stage,” his mother chimed in. “An international stage. It was his choice and he found pride in it.”

I was surprised by the accuracy of her advocacy. She had certainly never indicated that she understood, let alone approved of, Yas’s decision to avoid the stultifying security of corporate life in Japan. Perhaps now that her son was dead, she was beginning to understand what a remarkable person he had been. Perhaps she and I could even become friends. Yas would have liked that.

“He wasn’t worried about finding another job,” I told the insurance representative. “He had a business degree and nearly perfect English skills.”

“He got another job less than two months after the consulate closed,” Yas’s mother added.

“You have verified that for yourself.”

She glared at her husband, Yas’s father, who was seated beside her on the other side from me, doing his best to blend invisibly with his chair. He took the hint.

“It is very crowded on the subway platform at that time of night, and my son had been drinking,” he said. “Despite the best efforts of everyone, accidents do happen.”

His speech sounded as rehearsed as it was, but it was enough to induce a moment of male bonding. The representative nodded, no doubt recalling nights he too had lurched onto packed subway platforms. He pushed the papers forward. Our attorney, who had stood quietly at the back of the room during the interview, checked them over and nodded. We signed the papers, and the representative assured us that the money would be transferred to our accounts within days.

Half for me, half for Yas’s parents.

Together, we left the office, took the elevator down to the lobby, walked out into the pale sunshine of an early spring day. There, we paid a formal farewell to the lawyer who, in my opinion, hadn’t done much for his money. On the other hand, if he had not been present, the company might not have surrendered so easily, so I offered my thanks in my best formal Japanese. It was not until he left that I realized his presence had spared me something else. The moment he was gone, Yas’s mother turned on me.

“It was you!” She showered me with spittle as she shouted. “You took him from his family, his friends, his culture! You and your country. You made him nothing! Not Japanese. Not Canadian. Nothing. And then you took even his job. You left him nothing except to die. And even then, he did it in a way so you would get the money! You have no right to that money. It should all be mine.”

People turned to stare, then hastily looked away. Japanese rarely stage scenes in public, and it makes everyone uncomfortable. Yas’s father tried to blend into the building beside him.

Why did I let her get to me? Why didn’t I just get angry? Why didn’t I tell her once and for all that she was the one who made her son unhappy? Why didn’t I tell her flat out that I didn’t believe for a moment that Yas had taken his own life, but that if he had, it would have been because of her, not me?

Was it because I wasn’t sure myself? I’d seen the strain it caused Yas whenever his mother called to express her dissatisfaction with his life, with his wife. He would go silent for a long time after those calls, and I learned to leave him to it. In time, he would pull himself together and come to me. He would take me in his arms, not with passion, but with a stubborn desperation, holding onto me so tightly that he sometimes caused me pain. But I never pushed him away.

Perhaps I should have. Perhaps I should have divorced him when I saw how things were with his mother. He might not have been happy, but he might still have been alive. Those are the last thoughts I can recall about my final moments with Yas’s mother.

I know what I did after that, because I watched myself doing it. I watched myself turn on my heel and walk away without another word or a second glance. Was that restraint? Dignity? Or just cowardice. I have no way of knowing. I was an observer by that time. I watched myself as I went into a bank, withdrew our money from our accounts, and arranged for the insurance money to be transferred to my Canadian bank as soon as it arrived. Was I being practical, or just ensuring that Yas’s mother couldn’t get her greedy little mitts on it? I watched myself take the trains to Osaka airport and I watched myself buy a ticket to Vancouver. Did I realize how lucky I was to get a seat at the last minute? Or how fortunate it was that I had brought my passport and other important papers to the meeting with the insurance agent on the off chance that they might be needed?

I watched myself sit quietly in the middle seat of a jumbo jet, watched myself get off the plane and explain the lack of luggage to a suspicious customs official. I think I told her it was a family emergency, which was true in a way. I watched myself go to the money exchange and cash in my yen for dollars. I could barely fit them into my purse. Did I wonder about the wisdom of wandering around with that much cash on me? In Japan I often carried large amounts of cash, but Japan’s crime rate is much lower than Vancouver’s.

I watched myself get into a cab and give the driver my mother’s address in Queen's Park.

I know I never got there. We took a detour through Sapperton because of a traffic problem on the Patullo Bridge. That was when I saw the sign:.

FOR RENT GARDEN STUDIO APT. Inquire within I knew then what I needed to do. I paid the cab driver and sent him on his way. The place wasn't an apartment house. It was a private home. The woman who answered the door was middle aged and supremely uninterested in me except as a potential tenant. She took me to see the flat which was not so much a garden apartment as a basement, a single room with a private entrance.

It was dark, small, and sparsely furnished with an armchair, a slightly grubby sofa bed, and a tiny table with two chairs beside the only window. The kitchen consisted of a mini-fridge and a hot plate. I nodded. The woman seemed surprised that I agreed so quickly, and even more surprised when I offered her two months rent in cash, but she took it and wrote me a receipt.

Then I watched her leave.

When she was gone, and I was alone, cushioned by the silent anonymity of my newly acquired den, I returned to my body. I sat down in the armchair and called my mother. She came at once.

“You can’t stay here,” she said, surveying my seedy surroundings.

Without waiting for a reply, she took my arm, opened the door, and pulled me out. The problem became apparent as soon as my foot passed the threshold. Removed from the dampening effects of my dowdy, anonymous little nest, my emotions broke free to work their will. I stood on the concrete slab outside my new domain, shaking and helpless howling my grief and doubt at the shabby little garden while my poor mother looked on, appalled. She caught on quickly, I’ll say that for her. She turned me around and marched me back into the little apartment.

Even with the dampening effect of anonymous furnishings and yellowing beige walls, remembering all this takes a lot out of me. Time has passed too, I notice. It’s dark outside.

Almost ten. Almost two in the afternoon for Lisa. After lunch. She often posts at lunch. I check and find that she has: LisainJapan glad i dressed up nice. yas called. change of plan. his mom wants to eat chinese in Kobe tonight. OK with me. it’s good to go out. #koberestaurants “It’s good to go out.”

I repeat the phrase to myself several times.

“It’s good to go out.”

This is a message. I’m sure of it. Lisa has never sent me a message before. Not directly, anyway.

I rise from the table, pushing my laptop away as I do so. Keeping my mind as blank as possible, I go to the door and open it. I step out. One step. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Halfway across the concrete toward the path to the street. That’s as far as I get before the shaking and wailing sets in, but I still have enough sense left in me to turn and stagger back to the safety of

my apartment all by myself.

I collapse into the armchair, exhausted but also triumphant. Tomorrow, perhaps I will try for seven steps or even eight. Lisa will tell me. All I have to do is follow Lisa.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Copyright Antonia Levi

Workshops In Review "Message in a Bottle�

Facilitator: Fran Bourassa June 6, 2015 New Westminster Photos by Sonya Furst-Yuen

Workshops in Review "Format and Upload Your E-Books"

Facilitator: Perry Wilson June 16, 2015 New Westminster

Photos by Janet Kvammen

"Format and Upload Your E-Books" with Perry Wilson, June 16, 2015

From Notes Compiled by Sonya Furst-Yuen There are several ways for an author to publish their books independently.

Some of the places to research are:       

Smashwords E-pub Bookbub Good Reads Calibre Kindle Amazon

An ISBN # is important to get and to keep because it establishes your brand.

Once you register your ISBN # with Collections Canada, you then must register your e-book with Library Archives.

Look for the following when your e-book is published:  

public lending rights (as the author, you will receive royalties when your e-book becomes available at the library) access copyright (register once your book is released)

You may want to market your e-book as an author, but showing as the publisher, as well.

If you want to publish as an author, then use the "author account".

Other things to remember are:  a BIO (a short blurb - 400 words, a long blurb - 2400 words)  a DRM (prevents people from stealing your book)  choosing simple fonts and correct formats  picking a proper category where your book fits in  deciding pricing  marketing media  choosing someone to review your book Suggested reading: "Let's Get Visible: How To Get Noticed and Sell More Books - David Gaughran "Let's Get Digital: How To Self Publish and Why You Should" - David Gaughran

Visit Perry’s website today http://pawilson.ca/

Workshops In Review "Wow Them With Your Website�

Facilitator: Sylvia Taylor July 11, 2015 New Westminster Photos by Sonya Furst-Yuen

"Wow Them With Your Website” with Sylvia Taylor July 11, 2015 From Notes Compiled by Sonya Furst-Yuen All writers, self-published and traditionally published, need to meet the challenges of self-marketing so it is important to have a website with a good design and brief, engaging text to grab people's attention. Clear, creative, concise communication with lots of open space, descriptive headings and simple catchy points that draw readers in.

An electronic presence is vital, as most people engage with some forms of social media and a website is now considered a basic communication tool and credetial, like an extended business card or resume.

The opening text on your website landing page plays a crucial part in informing people about who you are and what you do. You have less than 10 seconds to grab their attention.

Even in promotional writing, it’s all about engaging people in ‘story.’

The sense of who we are, the person behind the page, is significant in connecting with the reader.

Be sure to visit Sylvia’s Website http://sylviataylor.ca/

Workshops in Review WRITING FOR CHILDREN 101 Facilitator: Jacquie Pearce July 21, 2015 New Westminster Public Library

Photos by Sonya Furst-Yuen

Writing For Children 101 Advice from Jacquie Pearce The same rules apply to writing good books for kids as apply to writing for adults (need strong characters and plot, consistency of voice & characterization, believability within the parameters of the story, etc).

Kids' book genres are pretty much the same as those for adults (contemporary fiction, historical fiction, non-fiction, science fiction, fantasy, poetry, verse novel, even horror to a degree). The difference is in approach and language rather than in subject and theme. With children's books, you can write about difficult subjects, but you need to give the reader hope (a sense that the main child character can overcome the difficulties).

The main character is usually a child (or childlike). The child needs to solve his/her own problem (adult can't do it for him/her).

Fiction for children usually has a "through line" that is clear from the beginning, and which propels the main character and the reader through the story (show the reader what the main character wants ─to make friends, to keep family together, to win a race, to find something that's lost, or whatever the goal might be─ and present obstacles the character will need to overcome to achieve that goal, or which will lead to character growth and a revised goal).

Don't under-estimate your reader (kids are smart, savvy, demanding readers).

Don't try to follow trends or guess what the next big trend in children's books will be (it will probably change by the time your story is published). Write the story that interests you (your readers won't care unless you care).

Read recommended children's books to get a feel for what makes a good children's book, in which category your own writing for kids might fit (picture book, chapter book, middle grade novel, young adult novel), and which publishers are doing which kinds of books.

Answers to the three most commonly asked questions about children's book publishing:

 Do I need an agent? Not in Canada. You can submit directly to most Canadian publishers (see guidelines on publisher's website). However, most large US publishers only look at submissions received through an agent.  Do I need to find an illustrator for my story? No. Publishers want to see story text without illustrations. If your story needs illustrations, the publisher will choose an illustrator.  Can I make a living writing kids' books? Probably not. Most Canadian children's book authors do other work as well (often related to children's books, such as teaching, library work, giving school presentations and workshops, etc).

Recommended resources: 

Canadian Children's Book Centre (CCBC) – provides info about the latest & best Canadian books for kids, sells Get Published: The Writing for Children Kit ($18.95) & list of Canadian Children's Book Publishers Accepting Unsolicited Manuscripts and/or Artwork (included in the Get Writing Kit, or $3.95 if buy separately), organizes TD Children's Book Week, etc: http://www.bookcentre.ca 

Canadian Society of Writers, Illustrators and Performers (CANSCAIP) – professional organization that also has a membership category for unpublished writers & illustrators, newsletter, Blue Pencil Mentorship program, sponsors a writing for children competition (next deadline is Sept 30): http://www.canscaip.org 

Website/blog post of children's author Tara Lazar, which answers questions about writing for kids (from a US perspective): http://taralazar.com/2014/06/03/your-kidlit-questions-answered-part-i/ 

Jacquie Pearce's website: www.jacquelinepearce.ca

Photo by Jacquie Pearce

Call for Workshop Proposals for 2016 Submissions accepted until September 15, 2015

Royal City Literary Arts Society is seeking proposals for exciting interactive workshops to take place in New Westminster in 2016. Selected workshops will be scheduled in 2016 for either predetermined weekday evenings (6:30-8:30pm) at the New Westminster Public Library (with open attendance) or for a Saturday afternoon at the local MLA office (with a pre-booked audience).

Proposals should be centred on the art of writing; successful proposals will spark interest in either a wide variety of learning writers or in a highly-engaged niche. Topics may include (but are not limited to) the business of writing, prompts, screen & stage, poetry, fiction, and non-fiction.

Please include the following when submitting a proposal: 1.

Title

2.

Presenter’s name, brief bio (50-100 words), relevant CV (this may include references, testimonials, or video clips, particularly if working with RCLAS for the first time), and photograph 3.

Workshop description (250 words or less)  Please emphasize audience participation and interaction

4.

Workshop objectives

5.

Equipment needed. These are limited to:  NWPL: Multi-media projector, laptop, DVD player, slide projector, flipchart, whiteboard, blackboard, Wi-Fi  MLA: Small size flipchart, felt pens, Wi-Fi

6.

Marketing suggestions and insights

Presenters will be paid for their work. To submit, or to seek more information, please email secretary@rclas.com with the subject line “Workshop Proposal”.

Deadline: September 15, 2015.  Submit early! We will be booking appropriate workshops as they come in until all slots are full.

Royal City Literary Arts Society: http://rclas.com

WORDPLAY AT WORK FEEDBACK & E-ZINE SUBMISSIONS

Janet Kvammen, RCLAS Director/E-zine janetkvammen@rclas.com Antonia Levi secretary@rclas.com

Open Call for Submissions - RCLAS Members Only Poems & Prose Call for Submissions on the following themes/features November Themes: In Remembrance and Autumn. Deadline Oct December Prompts: Holiday Memories, Family, Winter and Nature. DL Nov 5 Open Call: Poems, Short Stories, Book excerpts & Songs are welcome for submission to future issues of Wordplay at work.

Submit Word documents to janetkvammen@rclas.com Please send us your latest news, feedback on our e-zine and any ideas or suggestions that you may have.

VOLUNTEERS NEEDED!

RCLAS Workshop & Volunteer Coordinator: Sonya Furst-Yuen If you would like to participate in a single event, or make an even bigger contribution, please contact our volunteer coordinator. sonya.yuen@rclas.com

RCLAS POETRY IN THE PARK QUEEN’S PARK, NEW WESTMINSTER

Thank you to our Sponsors 

Arts Council of New Westminster



Judy Darcy



The Heritage Grill



New Westminster Public Library



City of New Westminster



Renaissance Books

“Nothing can dim the light which shines from within.”

- Maya Angelou

Songwriter’s Open Mic & Poetic Justice RETURN SEPTEMBER 13 See schedules at www.poeticjustice.ca www.rclas.com

September 2015

Wordplay at work ISSN 2291- 4269 Contact: janetkvammen@rclas.com RCLAS Director/ Newsletter Editor & Design