Blog contains a new story called, International Women’s Day show at Comedy Bar Danforth and my writing class info.(ONE SPOT)

This is an excerpt from my upcoming book: A Woman of No Fixed Address:

Chapter 1.

Miracle McGrath.

Miracle McGrath always hated her name. When you have a name like Miracle people automatically think you’re a spiritual type of person. Or at the very least a magical thinker. The name was given to her because she was the last child of five children and was born incredibly small. Barely four pounds in the days when NICUs hadn’t been invented. When the nurses saw how tiny she was everybody called her, “A little miracle.” Her mother who was still out of it from the Demerol, told the doctor to put that name on the birth certificate. 

Being called a Miracle was a terrible burden for anyone. Everything that happened to her in life she had to be thankful. It was exhausting.

Despite the name she didn’t believe in god, the church or any of the mysteries of life. She was unable to be hypnotized. Ghosts didn’t haunt her. They wouldn’t dare. The one and only psychic she went to said she couldn’t read her mind. She was at her sister Joanne’s hen party years ago and a psychic called Madam Kerry declared she didn’t have an aura. Miracle wouldn’t have been insulted by such a declaration except for the fact that Madam Kerry had said it in front of all of her drunk cousins, who still razzed her about it to this day. “Miri doesn’t have an aura. How can someone not have an aura?” Every family reunion, for forty years they had to bring it up, like it was proof of something a big joke. “We’re only joking Miracle” She would always say, “How is it a joke if the person who is being mocked isn’t laughing?”

People found her lack of humour and her bluntness difficult to be around but given the current state of the world these days: a world where truth was a negotiable commodity, she thought her black-and-white thinking was one of her best qualities.

Miracle hated fiction. She liked the truth. Unvarnished and straight up. She didn’t go for murder mysteries. She had loved the documentary channel until she read an article online and found out the producers created false scenarios to recreate actual events. They didn’t write the dialogue for the people they interviewed, but it was a ruse just the same. “It’s all a bunch of phony baloney,” Right before COVID began she cancelled all her TV channels, and streaming networks but she did allow herself to watch the occasional YouTube videos on her phone. She especially loved the ones with small animals sitting on large ones. She also loved laughing babies until her friend Cynthia told her that all these toddlers were AI. generated. Apparently, Cynthia had Googled it. “Google ruins most things as far as I am concerned.” Miracle rebuffed her. Cynthia laughed it off and said “They are still cute,” But Miracle was furious at herself for being so gullible and to avoid temptation she got rid of her Smartphone and dug out her old flip phone which meant she had no apps.  Cynthia was horrified. “If you don’t have a smartphone, how can you tell how long you walked?” Miracle pointed to the watch on her wrist. “Well, I walk forward for thirty minutes then I turn around and go back.” 

Miracle had worked in health care for forty years. She was only a clerk in hospital records and billing,  but people she knew assumed she had medical training.  Every time she went home her sisters Ellen and Joanne would complain to her about how the healthcare system was broken. Her inlaws and nieces and nephews showed her their warts and bumps and grilled her about why their doctors had prescribed this or that.

She loved her job until the pandemic hit. Miracle was finding it hard to keep up before that but when they sent her home to work, she thought she might go crazy. Working, eating and sleeping in a bachelor’s apartment was claustrophobic. Every week there were new rules and new ways of doing things. They had more and more team meetings on Zoom.  At first, her boss was like a cheerleader keeping up their spirits but eventually, she gave in to the despair the rest of them had. Most of the ideas didn’t make sense at all. Each week they changed to some new system. There was no getting it right.  While the medical staff worried that they were going to kill somebody due to the virus, or the shortages and ineptitude Miracle worried she would bill OHIP incorrectly. She began to have nightmares about it. After one particularly bad dream, where she’d run around to government agencies with hundreds of 5 dollar bills in her pockets trying to pay back all the money she had lost to the taxpayer, she gave her notice. She was 64. She had one more year to go but she couldn’t make it and took a small financial hit. She should have felt bad about it, but she didn’t. Not really,  because it was time. Most people work one year longer than they should and usually spend the last shifts complaining about the system. She didn’t want that. She was done.

Her retirement party was on Zoom, and her boss made a big fuss over her. She shipped her favourite vanilla cake with a note that said she couldn’t open it until her final day of work. When her team met all on Zoom and sang “For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow” she choked up. Tears almost ran down her face, which surprised her. She didn’t like most of them. It was a strange way to say goodbye to people that she’d worked with for over 40 years. She guessed everything at that time was strange that way.  The world was upside down. They all blew her kisses yelling “Goodbye Miracle.” Then Miracle shut the computer and ate her retirement cake alone. She worried about how she’d pass the time.

But then a week later she was driving back to her childhood home in Burke’s Landing. The reason for the trip was because of a fight, her sisters had had. As unpleasant as it was going to be the referee what was going on between those two. Miracle woke up excited. A fight was better than nothing. It gave her something to look forward to, something to solve.

After their Mother Nora had gone into the home, Joanne her youngest sister, had been hellbent on selling the place, pronto. “The market is hot and it will go well over asking,” The way Joanne talked, Miracle didn’t think she’d get a chance to say goodbye to her childhood home. But now she would.

Even though she hadn’t lived in this area for decades as soon as she signalled off the highway, she felt better. Instantly things became instantly simpler. She loved the water. She grew up next to the river, upstream from the falls. As she went down the backroads her grandparents Nana and Grandpa who lived next door. After thrashing hay all day Pop would come down to the house to take her sisters for a swim. “Get your duds on before I change my mind.” A threat that never came to pass. He’d hop into the cab of his truck and Miracle and her sister jumped in the back. Silver was there, a German Shepherd that came along for the ride. Silver would howl if you’d sing to her, so they’d sing and Silver would howl back down the bumpy laneway to where they could swim.

The memories stopped when Miracle hit the driveway. A driveway that had so many potholes you’d get stuck in one of them during the rainy season. The place their mother lived in long after it was safe for her to do so. The place was so remote tucked down in the valley, that nobody could get to her if they ever needed. That last year, she lived there, the ambulance got stuck there more than once.

She opened the door of her car and only silence greeted her. The grass hadn’t been cut in nearly a year, the weeds had taken over. And many of the outbuildings looked like they might fall over, but the property itself was spectacular. People that lived here would be lucky to have this place.

Before she unpacked the car Miracle decided to walk down to look at the river. It was January, half frozen over. It was a rusty colour and there were still minnows and frogs. She dipped her hand in and had the same thought she’d had for decades. A river is always in a hurry to go somewhere.

Miracle walked out onto the flat icy rocks and looked across the water. A strip of light bounced off the tin barn, across the way. As she put her face up to the sky, soaking up the last of the winter sun when out of the corner of her eye she saw a person emerge from the brush at the edge of the property.

They were wearing a farmer’s one-piece overalls. Barely 100 feet away they waved the phone above their head trying to get a signal. There was never a signal in this gully. Miracle thought. With their hood up and a baklava on, she couldn’t see their face. “Hey there. Hey, what are you doing?” No answer. Either they had hearing issues or were ignoring her. Miracle walked closer and yelled a little louder, “Hey you. This is private property.” To the right, another person with the same hooded clothing emerged from the woods carrying a hunting rifle. They pointed it at her and said in a low voice, “One more step and you are done for.”

The First Chapter of my New book A Woman Of No Fixed Address: ( More chapters will be on SUBSTACK NEXT WEEK). DO NOT REPRINT THIS!

What are you doing for International Women’s Day

MARCH 8th Save The Date

 

SIX WEEKS OF WONDERFUL WRITING CLASSES FOR YOU!

Are you ready to write your stories?

Would you like to take the stores you have written to the next level?

Do you need a writing community with a coach that only wants you to succeed?
Please join me for my annual winter memoir retreat.
The Best Ever Memoir Writing Session is 6 Sessions s in total: Delivered over seven weeks.
All Six Classes Are ON Sunday from 10 am to 1 pm (EST) 
Exact Dates: Feb 23, March 2nd, March 9,  March 16, (March 23rd no class) March 30, April 6th.
Great for all levels of writers. “Whatever your ability I create a safe space for you to learn and I will meet you where you are at. I will make sure you get the tools you need to succeed.”
Price is 329.00 plus HST.
HOW DO THE CLASSES WORK?
Classes are a combo of inspiring lessons, hacks from a writer with 4 decades of experience, with tips for writing for the stage and page. You will be given focused prompts, with both group reading and break-out room discussions. You will receive hands-on coaching that is kind and helpful. A select group of writers will be able to read more developed work. ( Please let me know if that is of interest)
All classes are recorded which you can download (up to a month after the class.)
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BONUS: THE SEVEN-MINUTE WRITER TOOLKIT DELIVERED AS SOON AS YOU REGISTER.
E-transfer 337.50 ( includes HST) to debkimmett@gmail.com ( ONE SPOT LEFT)
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