When I wrote Shimmy my boys were quite young.  My characters reflected what was going on around me which is why it was so much fun to write my first novel.  If I needed inspiration, I simply had to eavesdrop in on my boy’s conversations and then I could sprint write for hours.  School events, sporting tournaments, the music they listened to, birthday parties, it was wonderful muse for the world that I was creating.

I am currently writing the second book in the series. Volume 1 ends on a cliff hanger. I look forward to sharing how my heroic four teenagers overcome, which at the moment, is an impossible problem for them to solve.   The whole story is in my head and honestly, I love what these four kids are getting up to.  

But I must confess I did have a serious writers block, until this morning.   Now that my sons are grown young men, I just can’t fictionalize their lives.  Besides, where my characters went, no amount of 21^st century inspiration can help.  Today is a provincial holiday.  Family Day is celebrated across most of Canada so I had time to resume my writing.   To get unblocked from a rather tricky scene, I took a break and scrolled through old photos.  What a trip down memory lane that was!  It was fun and made me happy.  But what was really magical was the jolt of inspiration I got from one particular picture.  

At least for this one chapter, the juices are flowing again.  

No matter where you live, I wish you and your families ample opportunity to make memories together.  You just never know what it might inspire.

Spoiler alert – if you are reading Shimmy or it is on your list of things to do, you may want to skip the first paragraph.

Chapter 9 “Did Someone Say Snow?” came as a result of an intense snowstorm that blanketed the island for days.  The heavy snow took out most of the power before, during and for some, after Christmas when my boys were young.   My characters in Shimmy loved it and managed to make the most of getting unplugged from the grid.   The year I wrote the book, we got lucky and at the stroke of midnight, BC Hydro and Santa managed to get the gigawatts flowing again.

Fast forward to 2021, this year has had more weather anomalies than any other on record.  Summer heat waves that literally brought the islanders to their knees, flooding that crippled most of the province and despite how pretty the fat snowflakes are, the sheer amount of it this season, had a few of my friends cooking Christmas dinner on their camper stove while they waited for the power to come back on.   Older island homes like mine weren’t built for this kind of cold, so my frozen pipes at present are annoying, but by nightfall they may be a serious issue.

Everywhere I turn people are lining up to help each other.   This supportive spirit is year-round but especially during the holiday season.  I am very grateful for this generosity.  Neighbors, first responders, hydro workers, electricians, plumbers, anyone who can solve someone else’s problem are stepping forward and helping.  

It is quite literally my day job to sound the alarm bell on climate change and the devastating effects it is having on our planet.  While we all do our part to slow the impact of climate change, it is a great feeling to know we can lean on each other.

Before Taffy, there were a few turtles and budgie birds we called pets at the family home where I grew up.  But it wasn’t until our dog Taffy showed up that I felt we had a real family pet.   Our beloved German Shepherd/Collie mix (more Collie than Shepherd) with her long, golden hair, was quite temperamental but she was one of a kind.  

As a child I completely and utterly loved that dog and felt sad whenever we left her for too long.  We were a big family of seven so imagine how it must have felt for her when the house cleared out on a typical work/school day and Taffy had the house to herself?  Who knows, maybe she loved it – all that space and quiet. 

The summer between grade 10 and 11 I lost Taffy.   My friend Tracey and I managed to convince our parents that we should be able to stay at our family lake property, by ourselves for a week.  Our guardian was Taffy, a 11-year-old dog, mode of transportation was our bikes, and our only form of communication was a pay phone 15-minute bike ride away.   One sunny day, when we thought we had the world by its tale, Taffy wandered off and for some bizarre reason climbed into an open car at a local Provincial Park. The owners were visiting from Alberta, (a very long way from Ontario) and they bonded with her immediately.  They decided to keep her.  Thankfully before they broke camp and headed their car back towards Alberta, their guilty conscience kicked in and they decided to find out if Taffy had a family who was desperately looking for her.  Inquiries were made, police were called, Tracey’s older brother who lived in the area was alerted, and Phil and his wife Shelley returned Taffy to our home in Toronto.  My siblings started to talk to me again only after Taffy was safely tucked in her bed. It took almost losing her to realize how much of a massive part of our family she really was.

Six months later, I was in grade 11 when she became a Shimmy.   I was old enough to appreciate that I had her for my formable years, but I remember thinking I would never bond with a dog the way I did with her.  Thankfully I was wrong. 

The feelings we have for our pets when they are your “sibling” vs when you are their “parent” are different.  One is no less important than the other, but they are different relationships.   My sons grew up with German Shepherds from the time they were born.  Luna, Rubrum, Sniper, Ruby……. these dogs wrapped themselves around their little hearts and taught them to be big brothers/defenders/confidants.  

We dog momma’s feel the responsibilities, worry, exasperation, pride in a way our little 2-legged children do not.  It is ok, but it is different.  I like that. I will always wish that for children.  Let the relationship a child has with its pet be fun, trusting, worry free.

When our pets become Shimmies, it is hard to let them go but we know it is the right thing to do.  We remember them as tiny puff balls, annoying destroyers of everything precious, fierce protectors, goofy playmates, snuggly heating blankets and best of all, non-judgemental loving souls.   No pet is ever forgotten.  They just become Shimmies.

For all who have ever lost a beloved pet, I am truly sorry but please know they are with you always.

The day after I launched my first novel, I left for Paris on business.   I work for a global French energy player who is focused on renewable energy and where we help our clients achieve their publicly stated decarbonization goals.

On my down time I took Shimmy with me to see the best sites in Paris.  I happily explored the Eiffel Tower, watched the river boats launch on the Seine River, explored the Louvre, marveled at the Arc de Triomphe, strolled the Champs-Élysées, I lit up at the Christmas trees and work-of-art window displays at de Galeries Lafayette, felt dreamy at the Opéra de Paris and felted very humbled at the Palace of Versailles.

Many of the places I visited had wonderful old paintings.   It took me a while to start to really notice how many of these paintings had dogs in them.  Even in epic war scenes you could find a faithful four-legged companion messed up in the frenzy of a battle.  I realized that these were probably real pets who loved their owners and who in turn were loved enough to be memorialized forever.  Once my conscience mind noted this, I could spot them every where.   Sitting on laps, far off in hunting scenes, playing with village children, under a table trying to catch scraps….it really was like a game for me.  Instead of spot Waldo, it was spot SPOT!

From the first cave carvings until today, we honour our pets with millions of pictures posted daily on social media.  We pay tribute to our faithful companions and we depict their protection, loyalty, fidelity, faithfulness, alertness, and love.  

Who knows, maybe when we catch our pet’s eyes darting intently back and forth and we think it is dust in the light, maybe they are seeing Shimmies who are reminding them of years long gone by.

By December 2011, I was exhausted but incredibly happy that I had finished the first draft of my novel. It is not entirely clear to me how the little story that had kicked around in my head for ten months expanded into such an epic adventure for my four central characters. I always had a lot to say. I guess it was a by-product of being the middle child in a family of five kids. The lovely teachers at St John the Evangelist in Toronto, where I grew up, often remarked on my reports that “Anne has an active imagination, but it would benefit her to talk less and listen more.” That still cracks me up! No wonder I ended up in sales. 

I had made a promise to four cherub-faced children that the book would be finished and that over the Christmas holiday I would read it aloud over the course of a three-night sleepover. Rubrum was thrilled to have a house filled with kids. He nestled himself at the feet of my sons and their two closest friends, who’d inspired my main characters. The fire sizzled as I cracked opened the binder that had protected my story for over a year and a half. I thought, what if they hate it? I had faced top corporate executives across long mahogany boardroom tables, but I can honestly say that I don’t recall ever being that nervous to read aloud. Wrapped in blankets, sipping hot chocolate, my four biggest critics waited for me to finally share the story of Shimmy. 

You can learn a lot from ten-year-olds and seven-year-olds. For starters, they know what they really like and what they hardly tolerate. Thankfully for me, there was more that they liked about Shimmy. In fact, they had a name for it: “three stars and one wish.” The kids would each volunteer three things they liked in each chapter plus a wish for one change. Some of the best changes I made were thanks to those kids.

New Year’s 2012 kicked off with a bang! I had researched a long list of literary agents who I felt could help me navigate the world of publishing. I was certain having an agent and a traditional publishing arrangement made more sense than indie publishing. My writing would be the cherry on top of my career cake. I had a wonderful, rewarding and very demanding job. So as far as I was concerned, if I could write to satisfy my hobby itch while someone else managed the business side of it, all the better. I came close that year to securing a couple of agents, but for one reason or another, it didn’t happen. 

By 2013 I’d started to wonder if maybe my fantasy of getting published was just a dream that I should shelve, that my passion for writing would be better suited when life was less hectic. My dad’s passing a year later, on November 28, 2014, made me realize that I had gone too far to just give up. I had already started Volume 2 in the Shimmy series, so I shifted my energy and started to write again. Having those beautiful characters back in my head was wonderful. This time the characters were older, in a world of trouble, and facing problems even I didn’t know how to get them out of. It was great! 

Funny what happens when the universe needs you to sit tight and wait. You need to overcome your fear. I now understand the famous quote from James Beard: “The only thing that will make a soufflé fall is if it knows you’re afraid of it.” So, I didn’t share my novel. Dumb, I know. 

The history books will have a lot to say about the COVID-19 pandemic, so I will only say this: thanks to my confinement, I happily picked up where I’d left off, and this time I didn’t stop until my Shimmies were living, breathing, fully edited characters ready to be introduced to the world. The tail end of 2021 will be memorable for so many reasons. Shimmy is officially released, and life couldn’t be better.