Author and Inspired Writer

About twenty years ago (!) I wrote a Christmas song for my choir at Assumption Chapel, called Star of Hope and Freedom. I wrote the words and music, and my choir director Illyana Vermeersch, arranged it for choir. We performed it once, and then the Chapel closed and we all went our separate ways. This morning my director emailed me after reading my article on Vanessa Shields‘ web site, said she loved the article (why, thank you!) and that she wanted to buy my book, holy cards: dead women talking (why, thank you VERY MUCH!) and then mentioned that a church choir in PEI wanted to record Star of Hope and Freedom on a CD and would I give permission? Uh, YEAH! So how ’bout that? I’m going to get a composer cred for my CV!

So.  Just had another visit from Carlo, The Wonder Tech, who found the magic pixie dust to make FireFox and WordPress like each other again, and I can now announce that this morning I learned my poem “crazy over ninety” has been accepted by Windsor Review for their Whiskey Sour City anthology coming out in April.  The anthology is the result of the 3 Days In August Contest where poets were to write about their experience of Windsor, the good, the bad, and the uncomely.  It’s the brain-child of Poet Laureate, Marty Gervais, and guest edited by Vanessa Shields.  Needless to say, I’m tickled pink!

Excellent day so far!  How’s yours going?

I’m still radiating that BookFest glow and will be for some time to come, I’m sure. On Thursday evening, I was captivated by Marty Gervais’ account of the seventh son of a seventh son, warmed by Peter Hrastovec’s unabashed love of family, alternately tickled and saddened by John B. Lee’s story of the 87 year old hockey player, entranced by Bruce Meyer’s uncommon insights into why the dog wags his tail, and so intrigued by Ray Robertson’s reference to his book “Why Not? Fifteen Reasons to Live” I went right out and bought it.

Friday evening, I sat in the cool darkness of the Pentstar Theatre and caught the fever of John Ralston Saul’s passionate patriotism.

Saturday afternoon, I listened to Thomas Lynch read with such vividness from Apparition and Late Fictions, a scene of a debauched minister singing his love to his bewildered congregation, I had to hold my eyes wide against tears.

Finally, the Poetry Cafe, where I was born again in the powerful verse of George Elliott Clarke, transfixed by Phil Hall’s elegiac words and plainschant singing, and transported back to the Trojan War by E. Alex Pierce’s enchanted Vox Humana.

I left the Capitol Theatre with books in my arms and many more gifts in my heart, and grateful, oh so grateful! for it all. If you missed this year’s BookFest, my sympathy. If you have resolved to attend next year’s, my congratulations on a wise decision.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. That nasty ole Penny-Anne is bragging about losing a few pounds. Well so what? Big deal! And just who does she think she is anyway?!
Steady, gentle reader. I have not, sadly, lost any weight, and that remains a mysterious and ongoing struggle for me. But I did cut my hair! Those of you who know me to see me, know that my hair has been halfway down my back or longer for decades. Usually, I’d wear it up in a bun during the day and then braid it at night until finally I said, “What is this, Little House on the Prairie? Maybe it’s time to try something other than the “Pioneer Woman look.” So, before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed the scissors and chopped off a couple of handfuls.
Lo and behold my straight, straight hair went curly, curly, curly! The women in my choir say I look ten years younger! One of them said I looked like a teenager, but, well, her loves me! The new do feels good and looks good, and when asked how he liked it, The Mister replied, “That’s a keeper, Missus.”
‘Nuff said.