Tag Archives: Holland and Jaime

Salmacis’ Press: Books Available Here

Dear Regular Readers (of this irregular blog),

You need more short stories in your life. I recommend these:




the author

Kobo in U.K. and U.S.

Broadened horizons…

British and American readers can now purchase my e-books from Kobo–and (they say) pay in your own currency.

If you want a print copy, you still have to go through me, but I’m working on that.

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Visceral Human Cover

On Kobo

I made a decision. (Break out the champagne!) The e-books are now available on Kobo.

You can order my books here. (I’m not sure why Holland and Jaime doesn’t have its cover: it does on my author’s dashboard.)


Holland and Jaime: List of Secrets (an excerpt)

On Saturday, October 1st, 2016, To Be Human Again will be published.  Its first public appearance will be at Culture Days at Mississauga Central Library.

Human may be suffering from a serious case of nerves that day, so it will be sitting quietly on a table… shivering, right out in the middle of the Atrium where everyone can see it….

Despite it being Human’s first day, the public reading that day will be from Holland and Jaime.  Holland and Jaime is comfortable being exposed to the world (and the very broad audience at the library will likely be more comfortable with Holland and Jaime than with Human).

You can keep track of events for both Human and Holland and Jaime here.

Here’s an excerpt from one of the Holland and Jaime stories, List of Secrets:


ERIK KEPT A LIST of everyone who knew about him. On the filthy, worn piece of paper was the name of each of his doctors at the psychiatric hospital. Under each of their names were those of the people they talked to about Erik. Several times a day, he would take this list from his pocket and review it, rubbing his hand nervously through his short, grey hair.

He’d kept the list through twenty of his forty-six years. Every few years, he’d get a new set of doctors and nurses, and he’d have to start the whole list over again: he despised that part. He would carefully put the old list in his locked, fire-proof box, then hand a pen and paper over to the new doctors. Sometimes, the new people wouldn’t understand: they’d write other doctors and staff nurses and consultants. If it was a good day, Erik was able to explain that he needed first and last names, as well as their relationship to the doctor. If it was a bad day, Erik would just walk out and return to his room. He would turn out the lights, draw the curtain around his bed and just wait until someone trustworthy came to get him. In the beginning, they tried to get him to back to the untrustworthy doctors; now, more often than not, they just find him a new doctor.

Only one doctor ever refused to fill out the paper. He’d promised, instead, to never breathe a word to anyone about Erik. As it turned out, he’d lied. When Erik found out, he’d put his list into his fireproof box and had refused to come out of his room for over a month.

Erik wasn’t a danger to anyone, so he was given a green passcard which allowed him to leave the building and walk around the grounds. It was an intern who had actually handed him the pass, and the intern had beamed so widely, so brightly, that Erik had screamed in fear. The intern had been shocked; he explained that he was just proud of Erik and the progress they’d made. He hoped Erik would enjoy the freedom.

Progress. Freedom. Erik had taken almost two years to painstakingly map out every window, every see-through door and every security camera in the building. The new intern didn’t seem to understand the enormity of trying to keep track of those same things out of doors. It was easy to see someone outside, peering in, but it was difficult to see someone looking out the window at you unless the light was right.

Erik didn’t use the passcard for many months.

IT WAS A VERY PLEASANT young nurse who had brought him a map of the new covered courtyard when the construction was finally finished. An overhead trellis had been installed, she said, and covered with artificial grapevines so no one could see down from the windows above. The windows that looked onto the courtyard were in the nursing station and the physiotherapy office. On the map, she had also marked the two cameras, and even where the tables and chairs were. Erik studied the map for days, inscribing the layout into his brain.

They said there was usually no one else in the courtyard between 10:45 and 11:45 because everyone was busy with programmes then. The charge nurse unlocked the courtyard door and held it open for him. He peeked out, comparing the layout to the map the young nurse had given him. He was relieved to see it was identical. Adjusting his ball cap and sunglasses, he gingerly stepped out onto the patio stones, leaning his back against the cool brick wall. Sun trickled through the plastic grape leaves, leaving patterns on the white resin tables and chairs.

“Other than the cameras,” the charge nurse said, pointing them out, “only I can see you through the window. No one is using the physio room right now.” She propped the door open with a chair and left Erik alone.

Outside. He was outside. He wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with it, but he stayed standing against the wall until the nurse called him in for lunch.
Every day, Erik waited for the nurse to unlock the door so he could venture into the courtyard and spend an hour standing with his back to the bricks. On rainy days, he wore his new hooded camouflage rain poncho and Wellingtons. He very quickly became addicted to his one hour of quiet, relative privacy and fresh air. It was an hour of thinking about different things than he thought about when he was inside – nicer things, personal things. Being alone was rather pleasant.

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Holland and Jaime: It’s Back!

Holland and Jaime can now be purchased as an e-book (pdf or e-pub–which will be there shortly if it’s not already) from Glad Day Bookshop.

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Now available at Glad Day!

This book was removed, some years ago, from other digital sites because they were untrustworthy.  If you buy from Glad Day, the money goes to Glad Day and me–i.e. the two noble entities who did all the work.  If you find this book on another site, it’s not supposed to be there: it has been sold into book trafficking and it would very much like to come home.

This is the second edition.  There’s no significant difference between the two editions, other than this one has fewer typos.  (But when you Grammar Nazis find the remaining ones, please do let me know about them.)

Holland and Jaime on Goodreads

Holland and Jaime is on Goodreads, by the way.  You can rate/review it here.  One person has already rated it.  She’s an old friend of mine, but she’s trustworthy (and would have no problem telling me if it truly sucked).

I’m on there, too.

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An Audience

A few of years ago, when I first started doing some serious writing, the other people in the writing group would ask “Who is your intended audience?”  I hated that question.  I just wrote some stories and hoped someone would, someday, voluntarily read them; enjoyment was entirely optional.

My writing process has changed a little.  I have an intended audience now.  This came about not through hordes of readers telling me that they were this-sort-of-person and they loved my stories, but through the writers who critique my writing at workshops. Now,  I’m writing for good writers and good readers, as well as just writing to get the stories out of my head so there’s room for new ones.

Being a somewhat contrary person, I began discovering my audience antithetically; it became quite clear that there were certain people I didn’t want to write for.  I have absolutely no respect for people who don’t read — for whatever reason — so they’re automatically off the list.  People who are too lazy/disinterested in looking up a new word or idea are the sort of people I work with, not the ones I write for, so anyone who isn’t interested in learning or thinking is also a waste of my time.  (This last group includes people who believe my subject matter is shocking or controversial.  If you want shocking and controversial, read this.)

That takes care of a lot of people.

Then I switched directions and started thinking about the people I would be pleased to have read my work: logophiles, people who are drawn more to character than plot, people who like minutiae.  I like those sorts of people. When they tell me I’ve written something worthwhile, I grin like a little kid.  There are also some logistical definitions of my audience: necessarily, they  have to be fluent in English and like reading short fiction.  They have to know the implications of a semi-colon, because life ain’t worth living without semi-colons.

In short, I’m writing for myself and Yann Martel.

Having an intended audience does make the writing easier — or, rather, it makes the revisions easier.  It does throw a wrench into the works, though: I look at things I wrote three or four years ago (like a part of Holland and Jaime) and wonder what the f*** I was thinking.  But I’m also learning more about writing — you can never learn it all — and am delighted every time I discover a new, small thing that will make my audience happy.  The weird thing is that I care about making them happy now, when three years ago I couldn’t have given a rat’s posterior about them.

Aren’t you pleased that you’re now important to me?