Carol Anne Shaw
Bio
I live on Vancouver Island in beautiful BC. I am a hybrid author of seven novels, mostly for young people. I also work as an audiobook narrator and have the honour of bringing other people's stories to life. www.carolanneshaw.com
Stories (13)
Filter by community
Saying Goodbye To My Mother
My mother died just over two weeks ago. She was 95-years-old, and while I knew she was near the end of her life, it still came as a shock to learn she’d had a massive stroke. Earlier in the day, I’d spent an hour with her in the garden of her care home. We’d marvelled at the birds and counted all the spring flowers that were popping up under the almost-blossoming cherry and plum trees. It had been a lovely visit — one of the most enjoyable we’d shared in months — and after I’d kissed her goodbye and started the twenty-minute drive home, I’d felt myself relax. Mom, it would seem, was settling in.
By Carol Anne Shaw5 years ago in Humans
COYOTES
Sometimes a thing's not a thing until you say it out loud; until you hear the words with your own ears. Coyotes. They show up in November. It's all Alderton talks about. That, and the fact everyone thinks they're a bad omen for our town. Alderton is like that. Too many people leading boring lives, grabbing drama whenever they can.
By Carol Anne Shaw5 years ago in Families
WHEN THE WELL RUNS DRY
Three years ago, I quit my day job to write full-time. With two books published and a third in its final editing stage, I decided there would never be an ideal time to "take the leap." The planets were never going to be perfectly aligned; I would most likely not win the lottery, and I was pretty sure no big-time publisher was going to come knocking on my door with a hefty advance and a six-book deal. Nope, that was crazy thinking. But I did know I had to make a change. I had been working at a job that challenged my value system daily. I was complaining too much, and I felt depleted and powerless at the end of each day. Sure, the pay and benefits were good, but living exclusively for the weekend just didn't (and still doesn't) make sense to me. So, I took a deep breath, and with the support of my artist husband, took the proverbial plunge. (And if you're shaking your head at the thought of two bumbling artists trying to make a go of it under the same roof, well, yeah, shake away.)
By Carol Anne Shaw5 years ago in Journal
THE ROCK IN THE HARD PLACE
I am nine when my father runs off with his 23-year-old secretary. He leaves a note on my mother's pillow: I just don't love you anymore. I know this because I find the crumpled piece of paper in the garbage can after my mother falls asleep on the couch. Then I read it in my closet with my Mickey Mouse flashlight.
By Carol Anne Shaw5 years ago in Psyche
TEN SURE-FIRE WAYS TO NAIL YOUR FIRST DRAFT
I’ve been writing for a long time. Some days are wonderful. I’m sure you know what I’m talking bout—those days when the words flow forth like a river in spring. Those days when you are convinced you are the next Margaret Atwood or Stephen King. But then, there are the other days; the ones that aren’t quite as lovely. On those days, we’re left staring at our blank computer screens, keenly aware of our own faint reflections staring back at us. “Ah yes,” we mutter. “Hello, self. You’re here again, I see. And yet, you have no words to show for yourself. You should maybe leave and go and do something useful. Clearly, you are an imposter.”
By Carol Anne Shaw5 years ago in Journal
THE DEER TRAIL
When I walk off the ferry, I know two things: that I wore the wrong clothes, and that Tessa is worse than I thought. I see her right away, but only because she is standing apart from the crowd. She is waiting by a bike rack, a green umbrella in one hand and a leash attached to a dog in the other. I am grateful that I see her first.
By Carol Anne Shaw5 years ago in Humans
THE TIME SUCK OF SOCIAL MEDIA
Do any of you guys remember what writing was like before the Interwebz? Pre-1998? I do, and I'm trying to decide if it was better. I know, I know; I’m dating myself. But seriously. The Internet was supposed to be a time-saving thing, freeing us all up to do extraordinary things like skydiving and spinning flax into thread and whatnot. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t jumped on that crafty bandwagon yet.
By Carol Anne Shaw5 years ago in Journal
