Hello Nanaimo! Hope to see you tonight at the Portfolio Reading Series, where I’ll be presenting my latest book:
November 22, 2022 · 5:40 pm
Explore a Dark Part of Canada’s History: Hangman
Vancouver author’s new book explores a dark aspect of Canadian history
Halloween has become a light-hearted celebration of all things ghoulish. But as late as 1910, members of the public, including children, entertained themselves by attending real hangings.
New Westminster, BC (October 21, 2022) – Hangman: The true story of Canada’s first official executioner, from Vancouver author Julie Burtinshaw, examines capital punishment in Canada through the lens of John Radclive, a notorious figure who both fascinated and repelled citizens across the country.
A former British sailor, Radclive was appointed Canada’s first official executioner in 1892, a position he held until his death in 1911. In BC, he executed criminals in Victoria, New Westminster, Kamloops and Nelson. Over the course of his career, Radclive worked tirelessly to bring mercy and dignity to the condemned. He was an outspoken critic of selling tickets – a lucrative and widespread practice that resulted in several riots – and eventually succeeded in establishing private, indoor hangings. A family man, Radclive was also a bombastic figure who enjoyed being a public figure, never wore a mask, refused to apologize for his profession and delighted in pointing out the hypocrisy of the elites. He eventually came to oppose capital punishment and died of cirrhosis, abandoned by friends and family.
Julie Burtinshaw is the award-winning author of seven books for young adults and teens and is an active participant in the local writing community, having served as a judge for the BC Book Awards and Red Cedar and mentored many emerging writers. Hangman is her first work of creative non-fiction, published by New Westminster-based Tidewater Press.
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FOR INTERVIEW REQUESTS:
Please contact the author directly at jburtinshaw@gmail.com or by phone at 604-785-8004.
FOR REVIEW COPIES:
Please contact the publisher at info@tidewaterpress.ca.
Filed under Events and Readings, Uncategorized
Hangman Demands Attention ~ Vancouver Sun Review
This morning, my dog and I went for a long walk breathing in the sweet smell that comes with rain. I didn’t think my day could get any better, until, post walk, with a coffee and a warm fire, I discovered a review of Hangman, The true story of Canada’s first official executioner,
in the Saturday Vancouver Sun. All writers fear that their book won’t get reviewed. All of us also fear our book won’t get reviewed, so I took a few deep breaths and read it.
I can say now, it was a positive review and one I can be proud of. Phew. Perfect Saturday!
Filed under Uncategorized
ABC Bookworld Biography: Me
I loved that this popped up, but have to admit, I don’t think I look like this anymore!
Still, I’m very grateful they for the mention of my books, especially the new one, soon to be in bookstores everywhere!
Burtinshaw’s first creative non-fiction novel, Hangman: The true story of Canada’s first official executioner (Tidewater, 2022) tells the story of John Robert Radclive. After immigrating to Canada in 1890, Radclive became the country’s first professional hangman in 1892. He proved to be a reluctant hangman and took on the job to ensure that death came quickly to convicts sentenced to hang. In Birtinshaw’s story, Radclive comes to question the Canadian justice system and his role within it. From publicity: “Based on extensive historical research and contemporaneous newspaper accounts, Hangman recaps the history of capital punishment in Canada and the ambivalence of public attitudes toward it through a highly personal lens.”
Filed under Events and Readings, My Books Reviewed
Word Vancouver, 2022
Calling all writers! I’d love to see you at Word Vancouver, 2022 on September 25, where myself, Andrew Chesham, Laura Ferina and Joseph Kakwinokanasum, will be Demystifying the Publishing Process with moderator, Rob Taylor.
About This Event
In this panel on demystifying the publishing process: working with a small, independent, or ‘micro’ press, four published authors, two of whom teach at SFU’s Writer’s Studio and two who have recently graduated from the program and have new books out with a local BC press, continue the conversation initiated on our Read Local Blog. The discussion will move from the act of writing to the work of getting your work noticed and published. Panelists will share their insights about working with a small, independent BC publisher.
Location: SFU Harbour Centre, Labatt Hall
Type: Panel
Moderator: Rob Taylor
Guests: Andrew Chesham & Laura Farina, co-editors of Resonance: Essays on the Craft and Life of Writing (Anvil Press) | Julie Burtinshaw, Hangman (Tidewater Press) | Joseph Kakwinokanasum, My Indian Summer (Tidewater Press)
Get your free ticket here!
Filed under Events and Readings, Writing Tips
SFU Writer’s Studio Reflections
It should have been a difficult year.
On January 28, 2020, the British Columbia government announced the first presumptive positive case of COVID-19, when a traveller returning from Wuhan, China tested positive for a virus the world knew little about though rumours swirled of an epidemic flu type illness alarming in its ability to not just spread quickly but to kill.
Two months later, the Health authority in British Columbia, where I live, announced the first community, non-travel case of COVID-19. Three days later, the first of too many deaths occurred in a care home in North Vancouver. BC declared a state of emergency that is ongoing as I write this.
Six months into the virus, September 2020, I embarked on a ten-month writing program at Simon Fraser University. By then, I’d become accustomed to C-19 protocols, not surprised, but disappointed to find out the course would be online. I’d miss the opportunity of face-to-face learning, though I looked forward to filling the long Covid hours pursuing my writing.
On the first day of ‘class’, I felt both excited and nervous. Excited to meet the group of people I’d be sharing the next ten months with and nervous, afraid my unfamiliarity with the tools of COVID-19 might prove daunting. Slack, Zoom, BB Collaborate, online forums, online discussions, an alternative way of learning for me. What if I couldn’t figure out the audio on my computer? What if I actually looked as awful on their video feeds as I did on mine? Instructions about how to look good on zoom contradicted each other. Background is important, put a beautiful painting behind you, advised one website. Background is a distraction, sit in front of a plain wall, advised another. Correct screen height is essential to your appearance, as is lighting. Different experts recommended different techniques. Look up to the camera, look down to the camera, look straight at the camera. Use natural light, or back light, or sidelight, or dimmed light or bright light. Mute when someone else is talking, mute when you chew, mute when you cough, and mute at any hint of bodily function sounds. Triple check that your video is off. Horror stories of people unknowingly leaving their camera on while undressing during zoom calls went viral.
Already challenged by the intensity of the program, I tried not to think about all the things that might go wrong, but I needn’t have worried. Our first meeting, led by our talented scribe, Claudia Cornwall, and assisted by our wise and kind TA, Maryanna Gabriel, set a tone of encouragement and support that would last the duration of the course.
The speed at which our cohort absorbed our new reality astounded me. Humans are adaptable, whether it be normalizing runs on toilet paper or debating the merit of cloth versus disposable masks. In this viral world, new phrases and words entered our vocabulary: Social distancing, airborne spread, Covid bubbles, variants, VOCs, isolation, quarantine, N95s, Long Haulers, mRNA, lockdowns, herd immunity, vaccine passports, virtual happy hours.
In that first year of Covid, many people, cut off from family and friends, became lonely and depressed. Some faced job loss, illness, and hospitalization, as the virus claimed lives indiscriminately, targeting the most vulnerable in society.
None of those things happened to me. Instead, in the first year of COVID-19, something magical occurred. The magic of building new relationships.
With age, making friends becomes more difficult. As the bonds formed in childhood, high-school and university strengthen, forming fresh relationships becomes challenging and living in lockdown, withdrawing into our private bubbles, means the opportunities to meet and foster new friendships are scarce.
There are nine of us in Memoir Writing, bringing our total to eleven. All are women, some younger, some older, from a variety of backgrounds and countries. We meet virtually, two or three or times a week, on Zoom or BB Collaborate to workshop our stories, to provide feedback and encouragement to each other as we mine our memories to bring our past to the page.
Mental time-travel is hard. Some stories bring joy, some tears. Every time I hear someone read, I’m awed by their talent, their survival skills, their sense of humour, their courage in telling their story. Initially, we knew nothing about each other. We still know less than if we’d met in a classroom or a bar or a café. These have been slow-growing relationships, where every week, every reading, every word adds a piece to the puzzle of the whole person.
Through our stories, we’ve come to know each other, to trust each other, sharing intimate chapters of our lives, usually for the first time.
Our Tuesday morning chats, our Saturday mentor readings, and our Tuesday evening workshops have become the highlight of my week.
Writing is often described as a lonely occupation, but because of my cohort, I’ve never felt alone.
As I sit and write, these women sit with me, poised on the edge of my imagination, their fingers flying over the keys, tapping out their hearts in beautifully crafted sentences. I am thinking about them now, as the course nears its end.
There is Engeli, who brings me sunshine and warmth, both in her lyrical words and her tropical travels. There is Jenny, coyote whisperer who has taught me to understand and appreciate the dedication and passion of a field scientist. There is Ellen, whose brilliance shines a dazzling light, softened by the golden glow of her commitment to saving lives. There is multi-talented Leesa, whose extraordinary ability to capture my imagination takes me on the wings of fantasy into her world. There is Kate, the Truth-teller, who stories tug at my heart long after I’ve heard them. There is Kae, whose tales of discord and harmony accompany me on a musical journey into a world of sound. There is Karen whose courage to write and fight for the environment reminds me I can make a difference to the planet. There is Nuia whose courageous story of upheaval and beauty reminds me the importance of kindness and love.
Lately, aware that our time together is waning, we talk of the future. Words like ‘seeing’ each other creep into our vocabulary. The possibility of ideas we once took for granted resurface. “Maybe post Covid, we could all get together.”
We reminisce of the past, when humans sat together, touched, shared meals, and inhaled the same air. We imagine talking to each other, not on a screen, but in person.
That intimacy, once familiar, now seems distant. On Zoom, spontaneity is lost, while our ability to listen mindfully improves. Online we dress from the waist up, run a quick brush through our hair, and if we remember, a bit of mascara, but in real-life we’ll toss our slippers and pajama bottoms, dress again as whole people.
There will be no more props. When I picture the writers in my cohort, each one has a personalized backdrop. Leesa triumphs for pure aesthetic value. Ellen for her well-stocked library, Kate for her house-in-progress, Jenny’s blue walls, and affectionate dog, and Kae’s softly painted office, Karen on a boat or in an Airbnb, Engeli’s sun drenched abode, and Nuia wrapped in a warm housecoat, puppy at her side, Maryanna haloed by yellow light, Claudia, with large, black ears. The background’s we chose is a part of how we now visualize ourselves and each other. Imagine Mona Lisa backdropped by a kitchen, instead of a landscape or The Lady of Shallot backdropped by a high mountain, instead of a green and blue Lake, or the girl in Manet’s Bar at the Folies-Bergere without the bar?
I long for the time when I can meet my writing cohort, my new friends in person, and I hope they will forgive me, if I forget to say “Hello,” and instead shout, You’re muted. I can’t hear you. Your screen is off.
If so, it will only happen once. After all, we are human and we adapt quickly.
Filed under Events and Readings, residencies, Stuff to do, Writing Tips
I’m Going Back to School!
Learn as if you were to live forever.
Mahatma Gandhi
This fall, in just a few days, I’m going back to uni! I’ll be attending the SFU (Simon Fraser University) Writer’s Studio Program, working under the mentorship of talented Claudia Cornwell.
Here is a brief description of the program:
“Our one-year, part-time creative writing program emphasizes learning in community.
Striking a balance between a formal, full-time MFA (Master of Fine Arts) creative writing program and individual writing courses, we offer training in the theory, craft and business of writing.”
My cohort includes writers from all over the planet, and I’m excited to work with people as passionate about turning sentences into stories as I am.
Covid 19, seems the perfect time to bury myself in words. The long winter ahead suddenly seems much more appealing. I’m not ready to talk about what I will be working on, but it’s new, and it’s challenging, and I’ve got a lot to learn.
I hesitated in applying, not wanting to be the oldest ‘kid’ in the class, but as a close friend recently pointed out to me as we played on the beach, “you are like a little kid.” This is a compliment for a writer. We need to access that childlike imagination. I’m good at that, so I think I’ll fit in with the other students, no matter their age, young or old.
Just to prove my point, when we were little kids at the beach, we’d dig in the sand for hours, because our parents said, “If you did deep enough you can get all the way to China.” I think this was a distraction method to keep us busy, but I believed them. China seemed an exotic land, and it lay just beneath my feet. We never made it to that enchanted place, but despite this, I learned an important lesson: It’s easier to dig yourself into a hole than out of one. This video, taken on the sly, proves my point! It never hurts to laugh at yourself, does it?
Filed under Uncategorized
St. Peter’s Abbey: Day Four
St. Peter’s Abbey is oldest Benedictine monastery in Canada. It was founded in 1903. In the early pictures, there is a distinct lack of trees, but over the years the Brothers have created a green oasis in the middle of the sweeping prairie. I have not done much outdoor exploring though. I enjoy the greenery mostly from my window and that’s because this whole area is tick-infested and I don’t want one of those creepy parasites digging into my flesh. When I do walk, I stick to the gravel roads, which are apparently safe from creepy crawlies. There are always surprises on residencies, but this was one I could have missed.
A great surprise was discovering that my Old friend Art Slade was here for three days giving a workshop on writing YA fiction. All of us enjoyed talking to and teasing Art. I love reconnecting with writers, especially those who write in the same genre!
Last night, Father D gave us a tour of the Abbey, including the college, and the cellars. I’ve posted a picture of him below. The Abbey is always on the lookout for fresh Monks. Male, over eighteen, Catholic, Find out information here. I can actually see a lot of advantages to being a monk, of which I won’t list at the moment. Of course, I don’t qualify on so many levels, but others will.
All of this peace has given me some much needed time to reflect on loss and love and out of that I’ve remember that the pain never outshines the love. Not in the end. Love is too strong. We won’t ever replace our Kitty Moffat, but one day we will all be strong enough to bring another four legged friend into our lives.
Just not yet. But a friend said to me, “Pets are temporary. They are given to us for a short period of time. During this time, they need a home and love, just like anyone else. That’s what we give to them and we get so much more back.” So, if you are suffering the loss of your four-legged friend, close the door for as long as you need, but keep it unlocked!
Yikes, metaphors… that’s what happens at a writing residency.
I’ve been working hard on new ideas, researching those ideas and getting about a thousand words a day down on the page. Not all good words, mind you, but I’m forcing myself to do what I always tell new writers to do. I’m showing up at the page EVERY morning. Something great will come out of all of this work, I know.
One of the poets asked me what it felt like for a West Coaster to be way out here in the prairie. I replied, “I feel safe and protected like I’m in the middle of a soft, King-sized bed and no matter how much I roll around, I can’t fall off the edge.”
Saskatchewan is like that. Our nearest village is Muenster, a five minute walk up the road. The abbey is surrounded by huge farms; fields of purple and yellow and green and gold. The nearest town, where there is liquor store (which we all care about), is Humboldt. Humboldt is a city recovering from terrible tragedy, filled with warm and friendly people.
The Brothers and Fathers here at St. Peters’s were and continue to play a large part in their acceptance of the bus crash that took so many young lives from this area.
Next time, I hope I get to tell you about the wind.
St. Peter’s Abbey 2019
This is a very brief posting, but more to follow over the next week.
Quite a few years ago, I spent a couple of weeks in Muenster, Saskatchewan at a writing colony at St. Peter’s Abbey. At that time, I made incredible progress on the book I was working on and I met a handful of Canadian writers, some of whom I am still in touch with.
Now, late into the hot, languid days of July, I’ve returned. It’s been an impossibly difficult week, since we had to euthanize our Kitty Moffat last Sunday (July 20, 2910) and the anticipation I’d been feeling for my week at St. Pete’s all but disappeared when Kitty’s eyes closed for the last time. But now that I’m here, in my monastic white room with its narrow single bed and windows looking out at grove of maple trees dancing in the warm Saskatchewan wind, I think that being here and surrounded by quiet and nature is exactly what I need.
I sent my last book out to a publisher a few months ago and I am patiently awaiting word. I’d hoped to have heard by now, so that I could work on editing, but alas, nothing. I can only hope that in the next few days, I’ll find something to write about.
Otherwise, I’ll have lots of time to reflect under the wide prairie sky. For that, I am thankful.
Love.
Filed under residencies, Travelling In the World, Uncategorized, Writing Tips
Julie Burtinshaw 