The Old Fashion Chain Letter as Blog

  Pat Zick contacted me about participating in this Author Blog Chain. Being a child during the old chain letter era, I told her it made me feel 16 again, so I would. Pat and I met when she invited me to write a guest blog for her Author Wednesday blog post, and we’ve kept in touch since. I relate to her love of natural places and her voice, often speaking through her novels, which encourages greater stewardship of the natural world....

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Another Gift from Mary Oliver- Blue Pastures

by Christina Carson I am not given to review books very often, partly because I don’t get to read as much as I would like, and partly because I’ve been around for a while, and it now takes a deeper order of thought to get my attention these days, a writer who makes me sit back, scratch my head and comment, “Wow, that’s fascinating.” Having been a fan of Mary Oliver since the very first volume of her poetry I read...

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A Reviewer’s Look at “Suffer the Little Children”

Stop over at Writing Whims today to check out author and reviewer, Patricia Zick, and her site.  Every Wednesday and Friday she gives the stage over to authors either through interview or book reviews.        Today, you can travel to the heart of western Canada’s wilderness and read about Patricia’s experience of Suffer the Little Children, my debut novel and answer to the question: What is it we do that drives our...

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A Review of Patricia Zick’s, Trails in the Sand

A new release by Patricia Zick, recently promoted through her book tour.     Patricia Zick is a woman of conviction and passion where environmental issues are concerned. So much so, that she weaves these issues into the books she writes to help her readership acquire not only the facts of some of these destructive events, but also metaphorically how the struggles of creatures in the wild are not unlike our own. Trails in the Sand,...

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The Irreverent Daniel Ladinsky

by Christina Carson Daniel Ladinsky, an American born poet and writer, reminds me of a boy that sat behind me in Latin class in grade twelve. His name was Marshall, and he had as much use for Latin as a dog has for fleas. Let’s face it, Latin, for a bunch of seventeen-year-olds was not a riveting subject, and the Latin teacher, Mrs. Thomas, a tiny woman, reed-thin, was an archetypical schoolmarm. Marshall was squirming in his seat from day...

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