Stories with a Soul 

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Welcome to Helena's Blog 

How Big Is Your Shovel?

Frolicking horses, cute kittens, flocks of chickens—misleading images of farm life. Honestly, no one advertises the other side of nature. Cleaning Rosie’s stall is part of my mornings. I love her milk. The other presents—not so much. Shovel in hand, I worked around my Queen of Goats the other day, her watchful eye ensuring I didn’t miss a thing, while my thoughts took me back to a long-ago conversation. I have met Doctor Joel Freeman at Write!Canada. His credentials astounded me. A man with a long list of qualifications, achievements and involvements, yet when we sat down to talk, he was happy, open, and ready to listen. His interest in my life was so disarming, that I, uncharacteri

Becoming a Storyteller

I have been asked many times how I become a writer. To be honest, I’m not sure. The love for words came to me naturally, and was nurtured by my doting grandparents. Living in their villa, adorn with a tower, life was a fairytale to me, filled with stories, endless dress up, supplied by the old wardrobes in the attic, peculiar objects worthy of a front window placement in an upscale unique store, and most importantly their garden. Grandma and Grandpa, both widowed, married a few months after I was born. She was sixty, he ten years her senior, didn’t think that living in a same household, as an unwed couple, would be proper. Of course I don’t remember their simple wedding ceremony; the only me

I Promised to Like Fall

Some ten years ago I made a conscious decision not to resent fall. Until then, every time someone named autumn as their favourite season, I cringed at their short-sightedness. Didn’t they know what followed the two short months of splendid glory? A couple years into my conversion attempts, I decided to escape the horrid season and took a September trip to Nevada. Even there, the local merchants, obedient to the calendar, rolled out their autumn stuff. In 35C+ weather. Trust me when I say, Pumpkin Delight plug-ins turned positively nauseating in such heat. With not even one red maple leaf in sight, the displays seemed so fake I longed for home. For the first time I missed fall. I promised