An excerpt from the novel, Past Due by Jo Eversight
A mix of turmoil and elation entered before her, prompting Mr. Popov to tear off a strip of paper wrap. With stumpy grease pencil in hand, he drew a now familiar stick figure in the fourth position, en avant of the arms. She smiled, looking down at the scribbles responsible for putting a stop to what had become an utterly chaotic mind, and set down her bags, studiously copying the illustrated form, becoming still.
“Excellent.” Mr. Popov’s chest swelled with pride and sank when the light shifted, bringing Dean’s handiwork into view.
My Work
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A working-class woman, unseen in all that matters, becomes captivated by a turtle who vanishes on whim, and a shopkeeper who draws ballet figures she copies to calm her chaos enough to hatch a plan. After staging a crime scene to consume her husband with saving himself, she disappears from her life of torment in search of peace, anonymity, and a suitable position in the city.
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Ezra struggles with longings for herself in marriage, the prospect of motherhood, and her passion for business. When a child seeking refuge in the ballet house ignites a tragic chain of events, grief threatens to tear her marriage and world apart. Without Joseph by her side, Ezra flounders, trying to find her way until she happens upon a wee friend who unwittingly winds his way into her heart.
Excited to have outlined this novel, and consider what’s next for Ezra, Joseph, Jane, Frank, and Betts!
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Youngling Harish has nothing but bad days under his father, King Banoka's rule; be best or be gone. Caught in a struggle between being a loyal friend and showing respect for his father, Harish's attempts to oppose his father's ways seem hopeless until a little spit called Denk goes missing. When Harish forms a group of less-than-best rescuers, their loyalty causes Banoka to question his methods enough to form a party of his own. Harish's crew set out on their search through the Grassy Flats, then the cliffs, increasingly unsure they will find Denk before Banoka with every move they make.
Once thought complete at 30,000, Son of Banoka is a middle-grade reader used as my final project for the Certificate in Creative Writing at the University of Toronto with mentor Trilby Kent. I look forward to returning to this work, representative of my voice and Harish's mantra, 'Nut in the Hole is a good game. Games of the mind that trick the heart are not.'
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High powered, April McAlister’s shopping trip with daughter Lori ends in turmoil when they spot husband David kissing one secretary with his arm around another.. April struggles to console Lori while grappling with David stepping beyond the terms of their marital agreement - encounters with strangers in different cities, never involving their children. Unwilling to endure further humiliation, April sees David’s death as her only option until Lori accidentally drinks one of her father’s poison-laced smoothies. The scare halts her plan, so when David turns up dead weeks later, is justice being rightly served with April behind bars?
This domestic noir novel, complete at 75,000 words, is work I consider a learning piece, which prompts much argument with my writing group and eldest daughter. Mentor Giles Blunt at the Humber School for Writers pushed me to elevate my writing to a standard worthy of admission to the University of Gloucestershire. There, I continued to work on Beautiful Blue with tutor Duncan Dicks and successfully achieved my lifetime goal and distinction, Master of Creative and Critical Writing.
Testimonials
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"You’re a wordsmith!"
The Team, SCRIBBLER
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"A pleasure to work wth: highly professional, motivated, receptive to feedback, dilegent and organized."
Trilby Kent, Mentor
UNIVERSITY of TORONTO, CONTINUING EDUCATION
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"Past Due is a superbly written novel and one which I'd recommend to friends and associates who enjoy this genre.
Declan,
WRITERFUL BOOKS
Micro Stories
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Should she or should she not have answered the door? Days, weeks, and months later, the question rattled about without intension of settling. Were there coin for each indecision that seemed to come with age, there would be money enough for a man to attend the chore. Not to mention a cook preparing delicacies remiss in layering the hips, and a girl to fill the copper tub for luxurious, hot, soaks on whim. Failing that, without sensibility or foresight, she grasped the handle, and refrained from fully completing the task once her brother-in-law came into view.
An oddity and a tidal wave of emotion held her tongue. Contempt had left the green of his eyes, making the gold flecks shimmer brighter. The absence of a hat alarmed her not only for its departure from convention but how straggles of hair, perhaps tied back in haste, refused to stay back, softly framing his face. A long day or two left stubbles, peppered with grey causing her to falter with the memory of his lips, again, tongue again, and again, and the afterburn that stayed on her cheeks and inner thighs long after.
A sly grin sprang to his face as he settled into his right hip taking the familiar stance that left her bare, certain her thoughts were as clear to him as if spoken. He leaned towards her, the moonlight revealing a night shirt carelessly tucked into haphazardly buttoned pants sparking worry quickly lost to his reach bringing her to him with urgent kisses that stripped away the years, walked them backwards into the hallway, pausing only to shut the world out, lift his nightshirt, then hers, and cry out in madness when his flesh touched hers.
“Tilly, quiet,” he struggled as much with his words as his buttons, “your mother sleeps light.”
A new madness took hold. “Matthew? Mother’s been dead for years.”
“No, she despises me for loving you.”
It wasn’t right. Had she ever stopped loving him, and now, if the desperate wanting of any part of him pressed against her would cease, she simply would not care.
“Where is your man, Tilly, your girl? Your confusion calls for a drink.”
Until that. Fury launched an answer. “You rid me of them Matthew. When you rid yourself of me.” Words not enough, she grabbed the vase from the entrance table, devoid of stunning arrangements his passion once filled, and hurled it in his direction, “as you well know.”
“That is the trouble my Tilly. I remember only loving you.”
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Between the arching birch branches, whiter against the ever green of its spiky neighbours revealed a sandy beach, densely treed paths, and still water often disturbed by the townie’s visits. For years this place bore witness to a life of joyful family frolics, picnicking, then long thought filled walks wrestling pains of growing, and finding love. The distance of her travels mattered not, for the memories drew her back constantly, all her life until it took his. Until now.
Grace curled her toes around the banks edge and peered over acknowledging the slope likely equaled the treachery of his final moments, the scuffle, his silent decent with concealed gems of phenomenal cost, nowhere near the value of her lost heart.
When it became apparent neither body nor gems would be found, Mounted Police went at her regularly, dishing out threat and shame, while they endeavored to piece anything that might fit together. A marvelous plan, surely, had she known anything of him other than the urgent ways he took her, more times than days she’d know him.
“I wonder if he’ll catch me,” she ventured, questioning the state of her mind before the words escaped her.
Not far off a woodpecker hammered on his gavel encouraging her to lean out too far until a cardinal chimed over it releasing her from sin as if that were the matter. It was his chiseled nose, longing green eyes, and promise of lasting love that did, all taken with his deceptions, and made desperate with perceived shift of blame. So, she jumped, not knowing if would meet her, turn away, or if answers would come before reaching the water.
No answer would come for the impact of her head against sold rock took consciousness, and with it, the rivers welcoming temperature and promise.
A Little bit about me
When the shades are off, I'm inside, writing, editing, and dreaming of my book on the shelf at a Toronto Public Library.
Much of my writing inspiration comes from time spent exploring the incredible green spaces and waterfronts in the province of Ontario.
I'm a life long learner, proud mother of three very grown children, and a former Girl Guide leader, who pledged to always leave things better than you found them.
Those close to me know I don’t particularly like hyphens, but I've come to respect and understand their importance.
Contact me.
If you have questions or comments, please fill out the form or email me directly at joeversight@gmail.com
Thank you!