WRITERS’ GUILD PEI NEWSLETTER

PEI WRITERS’ GUILD
NEWSLETTER
November 2014
A splendid time was had by all
in attendance at the two Cox &
Palmer Island Literary Award
ceremonies on November 1st.
This, despite a prolonged power
outage before and during the
Rotary Club of Charlottetown
Royalty Creative Writing Awards
for Young People. All in
attendance were great sports as
our special guests – His Honour,
the Lieutenant Governor Frank H.
Lewis, the Minister of Education
and Early Childhood Development
J. Alan McIsaac, and MP for
Charlottetown Sean Casey –
offered torchlit greetings to award
recipients, their families, and our
donors and partners.
The results for the Rotary Club of
Charlottetown Royalty Creative Writing
for Youth awards are as follows:
 Early Elementary: First prize Abbi Melvin
and Shanelle Jadis, and second prize
Hope Affleck.
 Late Elementary: First: Keridwen
Campbell, Second: Seth Dockendorff,
Third: Milla MacVicar, and Honourable
Mentions to Julia Doucette, Emma
McQuaid, and Rebecca Ford.
 Junior High School: First: Grace Hickey,
Second (tie): Meghan Morrell, Jaden
Nantes, Third: Olivia Mullins, and
Honourable Mentions: Eliza Weatherbie,
Nicole Lukeman, and Shannon Murphy.
 Senior High School: First: Hayley
VanIderstine, Second: Emily Pass, Third:
Emily McClean, and Honourable
Mentions: Petra Larsen, Sarah A.
MacDonald, and Maddie Harding.
At the gala evening event, attendees were
greeted by jazz music from Ken
Fornetran, Patrick LeClaire, and Isaac
Williams, who was also our
photographer. The session was MC’d by
CBC host Karen Mair. Charlie G. Sark was
the special guest reader.
The results for the Adult Island
Literary Awards are as follows:
 Milton Acorn Poetry Award:
First: Ann Howatt, Second:
Ashley Prince, Third: Charity
Becker, and Honourable
Mentions: Margot MaddisonMacFadyen, Margo Connors,
and Olivia Robinson.
 Maritime Electric Short Story
Award: First: Adam St. Pierre,
Second: Margot MaddisonMacFadyen, Third: Chris Bailey,
and Honourable Mentions:
Stephanie Halldorson, Paul
Barton, and Philip Macdonald.
 L.M. Montgomery Writing for
Children Award: First: Tanya
Nicolle MacCallum, Second:
Sarah Elvidge, and Third:
Michael Conway.
 Clary Pottie Creative NonFiction Award: First: Stephanie
Halldorson, Second: Margo
Connors, Third: Anna Karpinski,
and Honourable Mentions:
Ruby Madigan and George
Curtis.
Special awards were also given
to the following:
 The School Participation Award
for the most student entries
was given to teacher Allison
Giggy and Queen Charlotte
Intermediate School;
 The UPEI Réshard Gool Award
for Creative Writing was
presented to Ruby Madigan;
and
 The Distinguished Contribution
to the Literary Arts of Prince
Edward Island was awarded to
Orysia Dawydiak.
We extend our sincere thanks
to our sponsors, partners, and
donors: Cox & Palmer, Rotary Club
of Charlottetown Royalty; Maritime
Electric; Clary Pottie Family; Acorn
Family; *Heirs of L.M. Montgomery;
Department of Education and Early
Childhood Development; City of
Charlottetown; The Investors
Group; The Guardian; The Buzz;
P.E.I. Literacy Alliance; Provincial
Credit Union; The Acorn Press; The
Bookmark; P.E.I. Teacher’s
Federation; P.E.I. Public Library
Service; Dunes Studio and Gallery
and Peter Janzen; Home Hardware
Charlottetown; Hearts and Flowers;
KKP Charlottetown; Orysia
Dawydiak and David Sims; John
Smith; Ed MacDonald; Wendy
Shilton; Geoffrey Lindsay and Joy
Tremblay; George Curtis; and our
anonymous community donor.
We also thank the folks who
participated in concretizing the
2014 Awards: MCs Karen Mair and
Lee Ellen Pottie; Judges: Valerie
Compton, Sheree Fitch, Don
Gayton, Susan Glickman, Allyson
Trainor, and George Curtis;
volunteers, and all those who
submitted their work or contributed
their time and effort to the 27th Cox
& Palmer Island Literary Awards.
Don’t forget the contest to win a
free year’s membership with the
PEIWG. See next page for details.
L-R Robert Acorn, Mary Hooper,
Dep. Mayor Stu MacFadyen, and
st
1 place Milton Acorn Poetry
winner Anne Howatt
PEI WRITERS’ GUILD
NEWSLETTER
Upcoming Events/Workshops/Calls
• NOVEMBER 25:
Carriage House,
Beaconsfield, 7
pm. Judy Gaudet
will be launching
her new book of
poetry,
Conversation
with Crows,
published by
Oberon Press.
Everyone
welcome.
• NOVEMBER 27: Newfoundland
author Michael Crummey, who has
just been nominated for the
Governor General’s 2014 Literary
Award for fiction, will be reading
from his new novel Sweetland.
Venue is the Confed Centre Gallery
of Art, time is 7:30pm. Hosted by
UPEI’s English Department and
supported by the CCA and CCAG.
• DECEMBER 1: Briarpatch is now
accepting submissions of original,
unpublished writing for their
creative writing contest in the
areas of creative non-fiction and
poetry. Award-winning writers
Candace Savage and John K.
Samson are judging and there’s
$750 in cash prizes. Check out:
http://briarpatchmagazine.com/an
nouncements/view/creativewriting-contest.
• DECEMBER 6: Deirdre Kessler will
be launching her new book, Mother
Country (published by Oberon
Press) at the Confederation Centre
Public Library from 2:30 to 3:30.
Deirdre Kessler is from an American
family for whom home was a set of
ideals: socialism, union solidarity.
Her grandfather was buried in
unconsecrated ground. Her mother
was put in jail. Long ago Deirdre
made a home on Prince Edward
Island, where she found a new
world of old ways and long
memories. This book tells her story.
• DECEMBER 13: Stratford author
Roger Gordon will be signing copies
of his new book, Starting to Frame a Memoir at The Bookmark,
Charlottetown, 11 am to 1 pm. The
book describes the author's life
growing up in a working class home
in Sheffield, England, during the
1940s to 60s, and being forced to
deal with social stigmas of the era
such as divorce, marital infidelity,
and mental illness. It conveys
messages of inspiration and
resiliency.
• JANUARY 15: (deadline extended)
Nova Scotia has Eastword and we
have Newsletter. With all the
creative folk out there, someone
must have a catchier name for this
monthly
sheet. Send your
nominations
to
[email protected] and,
by mid-December, the Executive
(not eligible to enter) will have
voted on a name. Winning entry
will receive a free one-year
membership in the PEIWG.
JANUARY 22, 2014: The Port
Bickerton and Area Planning
Association is pleased to announce
they are currently accepting
applications for the annual artist in
residence programme at the
lightkeeper's house in Port
Bickerton, Nova Scotia. For details,
check out:
http://www.portbickertonlighthou
se.ca/artist-in-residence-program/
• MARCH 1, 2015: The Royal Society
for the Protection of Birds (RSPB,
England and Wales) is holding the
2014 Rialto Nature Poetry
Competition. For a look at the
lovely cash prizes and to see more
contest details, visit:
http://www.therialto.co.uk/pages/
nature-poetry-competition-2014/
 APRIL 15, 2015: Get your
unpublished student writing, short
fiction, poetry, children’s writing,
creative non-fiction ready, or start
writing now. The 28th Cox &
Palmer Island Literary Awards are
moving back to the spring. Details
on our website soon.
 ONGOING: Are you looking for a
writing group or a book club? Are
you looking for members for your
writing group or book club? If yes,
get in touch with us at
[email protected]
and
we’ll try to match you up. We have
someone currently looking for a
writing group – are you
interested?
PEI WRITERS’ GUILD
NEWSLETTER
2014 Winner of Maritime Electric Short Story Category
27th Cox & Palmer Island Literary Awards
The Old Sadogue
By Adam St. Pierre
I could barely read then but even I
knew how the story of the Old
Sadogue began.
"Wherever he goes, the fish follow
in his wake."
They said he was fat like a walrus
and had tusks like them too, hidden
beneath a great white beard that
put every other beard to shame. He
sailed in a dinghy along the coast,
stopping in each harbour only a few
days. He would drink with the
sailors, dance with their wives, settle
disputes, and recite poetry of the
north, where men fought bears and
people lived in the ice itself. In his
absence those comforting words
were often repeated by everyone in
the outport, a little prayer to our
neighbour deity, filling a ll otherwise
caked with worry.
I looked up from the book of black
leather and yellow paper and asked
if the thing about the tusks was true.
Da said words that had a way of
shiftin' shape as they went from
mouth to ear, but if it was written
on the page it was the truth. I was
only eight then and I believed him.
We were sitting on a wet shore just
after dusk, the cold wind coming in
off the water and following the river
inland. Down a ways I could see the
glow of the outport over a hill,
silhouettes of the tall, empty trees
winding like cracks in the sky. It
would be my first time meeting the
Old Sadogue and something wild
and delirious beat within my chest.
"You think he'll come?" I asked.
"We're in need."
"We needed last year too."
"Not as much."
I believed him. Da said he planted
me in mum when the Old Sadogue
last passed through because he
knew the fishing would be good for
that season and the next. When
families could eat, families grew,
and there were lots of boys and girls
my age around the outport. But for
the last three seasons the boats
were coming back hollow and the
sailors grew ever more sour. By the
time the leaves turned and the ice
collected in the harbour that year,
they had spent more time in the pub
than at sea, drowning in something
other than the waves. Every kid
knew the Old Sadogue would soon
return and our eagerness to see him
never faded even as we starved.
Outside the schoolhouse, while our
teacher slept, we took turns as the
fat fisher king, holding court in the
barn around back. The boys would
come to trade sticks or rocks for
cod, while the girls sought blessings
to marry their crush. The older kids
hogged the stage but we didn't
mind, for they said they had seen
the Old Sadogue, and their
excitement was something real and
contagious. We knew we'd be older
soon, our voices just as booming,
our joy just as real. One time Little
Eld McCoy said he didn't exist, that
it was all a dumb secret the adults
kept. A group of us trapped him in
the loft and ran home, laughing all
the way.
Da was breaking down old lobster
traps with his bare hands. He
snapped the thin planks of wood
over his knee and tossed them into a
fire he lit with his lamp. He said the
Old Sadogue would come in on a
bout of fog, but when I squinted
past the flame out on the ocean I
could see the stars and the horizon
and what mum called the Spilled
Milk rushing over it. The fire grew
tall as he added log and splint until it
was our beacon on the shore.
"Mr. Batt said he could bring the Old
Sadogue back." I said.
"Mmm?"
"He said if I brought the older girls
from class round his shack, the Old
Sadogue would be here tomorrow."
"Well," he tugged at a stubborn bit
of rope stuck in a trap, "You forget
bout Mr. Batt, he's a bad drunk and
PEI WRITERS’ GUILD
NEWSLETTER
a liar too it sounds."
"Oh." It was supposed to be a
secret. I felt bad for mentioning it
and even worse that it was a lie.
"Mac said he could help us, said he
knew a sure way to get 'im come
around."
"Maybe, but Mac don't know what
we know."
I wasn't sure what we knew and
looked back down at the book in my
hands. There was nothing on either
cover save for years of scuffing and
bend marks. It was thick, each page
a torrent of loops and weaves
spilling over each other and shoved
in at all angles. I recognized a few
capital letters, but others were
written like waves, turning pages
into storming seas of ink.
Da wiped his hands and came
around the fire to me. "You
hungry?" It was the first thing he
asked me all night. When I nodded
he smiled and said, "Not for long."
He gave me his salt crusted pea coat
to brace against the cold and took
the black leather book. You could
number the ribs through his shirt
and trace the muscles weaving
down his arm but he stood tall and
proud as I ever seen him. He dove
between the covers, deft fingers
dancing over pages, mumbling the
words in a venerable tongue for
ritual and guidance. When finished
he handed the book back and lifted
his lantern from the sand. He walked
down to the tideline with his pants
rolled up then waded out further
and stood there with the water
lapping over his knees. He swung his
lantern three times, the reflection
like a wisp of ghost light rippling
around him, bathing him in yellow
glow.
We waited and the fire whipped
with the wind, burning bright but
slowly subsiding to the blowing cold.
I watched Da just standing there,
looking out on the water, until the
fire was nothing more than a scab in
the sand. I could hear dogs barking
from the outport and the dark was
creeping into my vision. He swung
the lantern a few more times, just a
speck now, and I could tell he was
shivering and the tide was coming
in. A curious moon peeked from
behind some clouds overhead as he
came plodding back up the beach.
He was grumbling all the words he
saved for sailors and bottles, the
ones I wasn't allowed to say. He
kicked sand over the humble embers
that remained and swiped the book
from my hands, gripping it between
his finger and thumb. It was the
same way he held any small cod or
crab before tossing it back into the
sea and I saw him look back out over
the water, judging the distance. I
wanted to say something to make
him laugh, but knew better than to
say anything at all when he was like
that, and instead buried my face in
his coat sleeves. I listened for a
distant plunk but heard only the
wind and a choking sigh taken with
it. When I looked up Da was looking
down at me, his face full of worry in
the lantern light.
"Lets head in." He said, the book
stowed under his belt.
"Not this season?" My stomach
groaned like it knew.
"Next season." He said. And I
believed him.
The Author: Originally from
Charlottetown, Adam St. Pierre
is a liar, a thief, and occasional
writer. He blogs at
thesaccade.com because that's
the only place that will publish
him. He currently lives in
Halifax. (ed. This is the
biography that Adam shared.
We didn’t make it up.)