The Mother of All Degrassi takes us on a voyage through time and place in this, her memoir. Most Canadians will have heard of Degrassi at some point in their lives, whether they watched the television series themselves, or with their children, or borrowed episodes to use in the classroom to teach their students about life. But how Degrassi originated, its transformations, its effect on those it touched and those who were involved in its growth, and on the woman herself, is the subject of this story.
This is a tale of an ambitious, energetic, feisty, risk-taking woman who listened to her heart and her spirit, who played the game to win, transforming disastrous moments into a multi-million dollar empire. It is the story of a woman who touched the lives of millions of viewers over a period of forty years, and changed the lives of countless child stars who found their start at Degrassi.
Her memoir is about revelation and risk-taking, daring and dogmatic perseverance, inspiration and hope. And I bet you’d never even heard her name before. Linda Schuyler stood strong behind the scenes, cradling her young actors, and leading her team. I’d certainly never heard of her until recently, though I knew of Degrassi. Living near Toronto, Ontario in the early 70s, 80s, and 90s gave me an edge because that’s where it all began. Or did it?
Entangling business with personal, Schuyler’s memoir is structured somewhat chronologically but supplemented with natural turns and flashbacks when she’s touched by a certain moment or brushed by a special person, and life changes. Yet, she returns to one pivotal moment time and again.
Schuyler wanted to be a mother more than anything else yet was unable to conceive. She suffered with endometriosis, possibly caused by a bodily wrenching in a near-fatal car accident in 1968. She was working at a pub in England when she met Simon, a handsome young man who offered to take her water-skiing in the Lake Country. They were joined by his friend, Elliott. Afterwards, while driving back to London after a long playful day in the sun, their car collided with a double-decker bus. Schuyler was the lone survivor but wore the scars of that moment forever. And from that wreckage emerged a filmmaker, storyteller, teacher, and businesswoman.
Her “giddy, schoolgirl sense of excitement” (47) permeates the text. Flush with media terms like blue-skying, footage, rough picture edit, 16 mm, and Bolex, Schuyler interjects the more technical edges of film production. If you’re at all interested in media studies, this book is for you. In fact, I’d make it part of the syllabus. Yet far beyond that, in its very heart, it’s an emotional story, and a quick and entertaining read that feels real and genuine. Even moments of name-dropping feel natural—that’s just how it was when you happened to be seated next to Hugh Laurie at Bob Newhart’s table in L.A. picking up a Television Critic’s Choice Award (2005).
Rife with teachable moments—Schuyler is at heart an educator—she reminds us that writing for kids means confronting the issues of the day. Degrassi was real and raw. From the beginning, no issue was taboo, and over the years the episodes involved all manner of sociopolitical topics that affected teens. “Our serious subjects for the first season were underage drinking, parental abuse, adoption, bullying, and teen pregnancy . . . pills being sold as drugs, bad date advice, a thwarted pornographic viewing, and the formation of our one-song-wonder rock group — The Zit Remedy” (90). Later stories involved racism, homophobia, and the impact of social media.
Schuyler experienced bullying beginning in grade three, when her family moved from England to Paris, Ontario. The taunts of “Limey Linda—slimy Limey Linda” haunted her. “I consider Degrassi to be probably the world’s longest running anti-bullying campaign,” she revealed at Wilfrid Laurier University in 2020. Perhaps, Degrassi was in-part her revenge. Because Schuyler’s family were immigrants like so many of the children she taught, she understood their experiences and dilemmas, and she wanted to tell their stories. In her first low-budget film, Between Two Worlds, she told the stories of her inner-city Toronto class as she taught them about media. The film was broadcast internationally, and Degrassi was born. Schuyler’s elements: “casting age-appropriate actors, taking chances on fresh talent in front of and behind the camera, naturalistic settings and dialogue, and setting the stories in a lower-middle-class environment” featured in five hundred episodes (60).
Schuyler’s memoir is a celebration of a life well lived, of a woman who loved and lost, followed her heart, then fell and rose again.
I’m thrilled to announce that LURE: Jesse & Hawk just won a National Indie Excellence Award. I’m proud of LURE and how far it’s come. It was the first book I ever completed way back in the early 1990s when I deep into Indigenous Studies at Trent University. I wrapped it in brown paper and carried it around through many moves over many years. A couple of years ago, I rewrote it and launched it.
It’s hard for Indie authors these days. We’re often seen as inferior because our work hasn’t been accepted by a big publisher, so an award like this really makes me feel good.
Write what you know. That’s what writing coaches tell us. In the case of former small-town journalist Maureen Brownlee, the advice rings true. Her latest novel is set in the interior of British Columbia, 1995 – “Cache Creek to Kamloops and north” (65) – an area close to where Brownlee grew up and worked at her own small-town newspaper during the time the mountain pine beetle was rampaging through the forests of western North America, destroying millions of acres of pine forest. Brownlee’s insider’s view breathes life and truth into this literary text.
“When the beetles attack, they bring a fungus with them, and the fungus spreads into the tree and makes it easier for the beetles to chew through the cambium . . . It stains the wood, blue streaks all through it. The lumber buyers downgrade it” (156). With its blue cambium, prices drop, even though there’s nothing wrong with blue wood if it can be harvested before it dries out and cracks. There’s a metaphor here somewhere.
https://natural-resources.canada.ca/
An unscrupulous developer (aren’t they all?), smelling the potential for a quick buck, comes to Beauty Creek to romance the Creeksters into letting him cut the timber and build his townhouse development before it’s too late. The problem with development is that the locals end up being priced out of their own land. We’ve seen this time and time again as gentrification has crept through this province. But what else can you do when you’re about to lose the only resource that keeps your town alive? And so the debate begins.
The narrative meanders through the distinct voices of three central characters: Maggie, the widowed editor of the Chronicle, struggling to keep her late husband’s dream alive; Stevie, a bright, uneducated single mother of two, bent on independence; and Nash Malone, poet, junk aficionado, and veteran of the Spanish War of 1935. These three strong, independent characters come together when Maggie offers Stevie a decent job at the Chronicle and sends her off to interview Malone. In an unlikely pairing, the older wounded veteran and the young wounded woman strike up a friendship. When the gloves come off and the town experiences its own insidious violence, we are reminded that evil manifests itself in many forms and doesn’t always appear as strangers or insects. Small towns have a unique heartbeat, sometimes fluttering, sometimes pounding with the force of an axe.
As the mountain pine beetle threatens the economy of this small resource-driven town, we see how quickly a community can be brought to its knees. With a voice and writing style reminiscent of Barbara Kingsolver, especially her Prodigal Summer and Poisonwood Bible, Brownlee spins a tragically beautiful tale. A monstrous blue sadness chews its way through these pages, while the haunting memories of Nash Malone weave through the text like a magnificent memoir. I must confess that I was captivated by Malone’s richly sensual writing, but found the typeface, which I know was intended to evoke an old-fashioned smudgy typeface, very hard on these aging eyes. But that has nothing to do with Brownlee’s brilliant eco-fiction, and Nash Malone is a truly tragic hero.
Cambium Blue is a slow-burn winner and destined to become a B.C. classic. It has been shortlisted for the George Ryga Award, an annual literary prize for a B.C. writer who has achieved an outstanding level of social consciousness in a new book.
Cherie Dimaline never fails to enchant and VenCo is the start of something spicy, warm, and wicked. At least, I hope so. The prologue features three bad-ass hipsters collectively known as the Oracle—the Maiden (a Tender), Mother (a Watcher), and Crone (a Booker)—who reveal the stakes and premise. A sixth witch must be found and once she is, she’ll have seventeen days to find the seventh witch and complete the circle. In case you missed it, VenCo is a play on Coven. “She better be some kind of living-at-Hogwarts, spell-work-in-her-sleep legacy witch,” says the Maiden.
What sets Dimaline’s work apart is her original and impeccable writing style, which is both literary and lyrical, casual and raw, as befits the characters and situation. Vivid descriptions of urban grit pepper the pages, along with references to pop culture, and symbols such as little yellow witchy birds. In this magic carpet ride of a romp, we fly to various locations: Toronto, Salem, the California desert, and New Orleans. Chapter headings are casual, detailed, and comic. For example: “A Complete F* 180 over General Tso Chicken and Shitty Rice.”
I feel like the first half of this book offers a crucial backstory to a series and world-building as Dimaline introduces the members of VenCo, and we hear their individual tales. Circles within circles, stories within a story. We begin with protagonist Lucky St. James and her charming, dementia-prone grandmother, Stella Sampson. After her Métis mother dies a drunk, they are about to be evicted from their grotty home in East End Toronto when Lucky finds a key to a hidden basement room in her wet laundry. When she unlocks the door, she discovers a dirty, rocky, tunnel, and inside it, a tiny silver spoon engraved with a Halloween witch and the word SALEM. Lucky is the sixth witch. The other five: Meena Good and her Anishinabe partner Wendy; blond, gender-queer Freya; artist and rare-book collector Morticia from New York; and Louisiana Creole woman Letitia and her son, also joined the coven via enchanted spoons. Freya offers Lucky a writing job at VenCo and with nothing to lose, Lucky and Stella drive to Salem where they join the others whose personal tales are embedded within the larger narrative.
Jay Christos (obvious play there) is the smarmy antagonist taxed with stopping the coven from forming and keeping the Patriarchy in place. This immortal, bisexual, misogynist, Benandanti (witch hunter/killer) hunts at night through streets and dreams, and has mesmerizing skills of his own. Once he starts to move on Lucky, things heat up. This is a feminist kind of book; at least the job of VenCo is to “Hex the Patriarchy” of whom JC is the kingpin. This matriarchal coven has much work to do, enough to fill several more novels. With shades of Thomas King and Eden Robinson, this book will delight and enchant with its quirky, irresistible characters.
A member of the Georgian Bay Historic Métis Community, Dimaline is an Indigenous Canadian writer. Her YA book, The Marrow Thieves, won the Governor General’s Literary Award in 2017, was named Book of the Year by CBC, Quill & Quire, the NY Public Library, and was selected by Time magazine as one of the top 100 YA reads of all time. She followed it with the disturbing sequel, Hunting by Stars. Her stand-alone novel Empire of Wild was Indigo’s #1 Best Book of the Year and was featured in the New Yorker and the New York Times. Without giving too much away, “f* you” is the last phrase in VenCo. That takes courage and a certain amount of bravado.
Since it’s Mother’s Day here in Canada, I’d like to celebrate a daring Adventure Mom. I first discovered Capi Blanchet’s British Columbia adventure classic in a thrift store way back in 2002. Her literary tales captured me then, just as they do today.
The title derives from Maeterlinck’s theory that Time is a fourth dimension, relative to each of us, and can be plotted on a curve. This speaks to me. Time is anything but linear. It travels in circles and spirals weaving in and out of other dimensions. Capi says:
“Standing in the Present, on the highest point of the curve, you can look back and see the Past, or forward and see the Future, all in the same instant” (1).
The Curve of Time
This small, yet significant, book is a compilation of stories remembered by Capi—a nickname she took from her boat, Caprice—that chronicle her adventures exploring the British Columbia coast in the 1920s-1930s with her five children. I say loosely because I just read that her stories were highly fictionalized. Still, what she wrote is travel memoir and something now lauded as Creative Nonfiction.
According to Cathy Converse, author of Following the Curve of time: the Untold Story of Capi Blanchet, Capi’s depressed husband sailed off alone to Saltspring Island in September 1926 and never returned. The empty Caprice was discovered with his clothing onboard, but his body was never recovered. Blanchet was in her mid-thirties. To earn money to support her five children, Capi rented their seaside Little House near Sydney for four months each summer and took them boating. The 25′ Caprice was so small, they were only allowed to bring one bathing suit, one change of clothing, and one set of pajamas each. For the most part, they lived off land and sea, fishing and gathering, and were fortunate to meet generous homesteaders who sometimes offered them all the fruit they could pick and carry.
Capi was not only a risk-taker and independent woman, her prose is beautiful crafted and interwoven with natural history, archaeology, and dialogue AND she can fix a boat engine—something I’m most impressed with. Honestly, I’d love to pilot a boat but the thought of a breakdown out around the islands terrifies me. There were times too, that Blanchet was forced to row the dinghy for hours with Caprice in tow. She writes of lighthouses (most were built then), adverse weather and seas, and navigating tide rips like Skookumchuk and Seymour Narrows. They traversed rugged inlets with steep mountain walls and channels too deep to set an anchor, sighted bear and cougar, and survived all the strait threw at them.
Like her contemporary, Emily Carr, Blanchet discovered abandoned Kwakwaka’wak and Coast Salish villages, big houses, white shell middens, post carvings, hanging tree graves, artifacts, even bones. Out of respect, she doesn’t reveal the locations of these places.
The book began as a series of articles Blanchet sold to yachting magazines, Blackwood’s Magazine in Edinburgh, and the Atlantic Monthly. Perhaps that’s how they became fictionalized. In the 1950s, she compiled The Curve of Time which was published by Blackwood & Sons in 1961. It’s sad that only six months later, Capi died at her typewriter while working on a second memoir of their adventures at the Little House. She was just seventy years old, but it seems to me, most of those seventy years were packed with adventure and daring.
My 30th Anniversary Special Edition was published and introduced by Gray Campbell in 1968: White Cap Books, North Vancouver, B.C.
For more information, here’s a Tyee Review of Converse’s book, Following the Curve of time: the Untold Story of Capi Blanchet.
I am a Spring. I was also born in the spring. Perhaps that’s why I awaken at this time of year when birds call to their mates, creeks overflow their banks, and buds burst from branches.
Years ago, when Carole Jackson first published Colour Me Beautiful, I thought it was the coolest thing ever. I’m surprised to find this book is still in print and available. I had the colour chart taped up in my closet for years. Have you ever had your colours done? I think it actually works.
Colour theory is based, not on colours you like, but on skin tones. I’m going to use my sister as an example. She is a Summer because she has more of a blueish skin tone. This means she can wear pastels. While I, with my yellowish skin tone, wash out in pastels. As a spring, I need warm, vibrant colours: orangy reds rather than blue-reds; coral, clear violet, turquoise, royal blue. I shouldn’t wear black; though if you know me at all, you know it’s my go-to. What colour palette works best for you?
It’s unfortunate that stores usually only offer seasonal colours. For example, in fall and winter, it’s all russets, dark greens, and wine tones, all of which don’t work for me. Thrift stores are the exception because there you can always find a rainbow.
As a child, I cocooned all winter in Ontario. As soon as spring came, I was out in the bush in my rubber boots, wading through creeks and searching for sprouts. Yellow dogtooth violets. Purple violets. The first trilliums. I still love to wade in ditches and creeks. Here in B.C. skunk cabbage is our first woodsy shoot and I saw some last week.
I’m desperate for spring as the last month, I’ve been sick more than I’ve been well. I lost a month of time and energy. I caught one cold from my grandson and we’d just barely recovered when he gave me a second virus from hell that’s hung on. After three solid weeks, I’m still coughing. Skaha and I went for our normal hour walk in the woods last week, and I needed a rest after. The last two nights I’ve been able to sleep all night without Buckley’s! Yay! How did you fare this flu season?
Bring on the sun. I want to dig in the dirt, rake leaves, play in the stream, walk the beaches, and plant.
If you’re curious about Spring Equinox (March 20th) We’Moon offers this beautiful page of facts and suggestions. Saturday, in the bright sunshine, I cleared the leaves from my garlic. Then put up my mini greenhouse and planted seeds. It feels so good to dig in the dirt.
Meet Barry Bear!
Skaha has a new housemate. Barry arrived on March 9th by plane from a shelter in Regina. He’s about six months old, a sweet gentle giant, wearing a full Canadian winter coat. We think it’s part Great Pyrenees. Right now, he’s about the same size as Skaha (around 60 pounds) but time will tell. The two of them are having a great old time together!
1) Many contests are bogus. They pocket entry fees and no one reads the entries. They randomly choose a winner. If you’re looking for vetted contests, Alliance of Independent Authors (ALLi) posts a lists of reputable awards.
2) Many awards are not open to Indies, or are open but traditional publishers with big bucks throw money at the books they choose to win.
3) Some contests have a zillion categories so you basically make up some random award and win it.
4) Some Indie award contests and some book reviewers, both whom I will not name, look down on genre-writers and only cater to what they call “literary” works, as if authors who write in a genre like mystery or romance or fantasy can’t also be literary.
5) At Wishing Shelf, two teams of real readers (one in London and one in Stockholm) actually read the books and make the decisions. There is one category for Adult Fiction so it’s competitive. For your entry fee, they do significant marketing for you, and they support Blind Children UK.
*This is the audio book cover for LURE. All of my books are now available on Google Play and on Kobo in audio. WhooHoo! I had a ball listening to my old British man read my stories as I corrected his pronunciation.
News and Musings
To Dance with Destiny. I wrote the first draft of Hollystone Book 5 faster than I’ve ever written a book before. I started in November and finished around mid-February. I left it for a full month (mostly because I was so darn sick) and just finished the first series of revisions. It’s always a blast to read your book again for the first time all the way through. Did I write that?
Yasaman has the paragraph about the tattoo and is starting her magic tattoo cover! Yes, someone will be getting a new tattoo in this book!
Ghostlight. I just spoke with the editor of Ghostlight and will be starting revisions soon. A couple of the teens I sent it to for a beta read said it needed a better title. Scary. Funny. Weird. Unique. Attention grabbing.
There’s a lighthouse, a family mystery, and a young woman who can’t tell the difference between ghosts and real people. Any ideas?
Craft Market. The first public market of 2023 is coming up on Saturday April 2nd at Union Bay Community Club. If you live mid-Island, do come by the say hello.
