Join me for a last-minute adventure!
This was originally sent via newsletter. I don’t usually duplicate on my blog, but I wanted to make sure no one missed out on this fun!
When I was fourteen, my cousin and I were wandering the Old Port of Montréal when, looking at docked freight ships, she asked: “Hey, you wanna see if we can sneak onboard?” (Except in French.)
Boy did I! The gates were closed so we figured the crew was away. Of course, that meant we had to go over the fence stopping us from falling into the St-Laurent, walk on careful tippy-toes so as not to tumble into said terrible waterway, not get knocked down by the loose piece of fence (surprise!), and jump on the other side.
Having no more fence between us and that alluring plank, we cheered and walked toward it…only to have the Russian Chief Engineer step off the ship, having witnessed our not-so-graceful shimmy across the plummet of doom. (Apparently the whole crew never leaves the ship, probably to stop stowaways and teenagers with bad ideas. Wise.)
He spoke some English, as did I, so we kinda communicated. (I learned the word “bold” that day, after looking it up in the dictionary once I got home. I needed to know if I should be insulted. I was pleased, instead.)
Remarkably this did not turn into an episode of Unsolved Mysteries as he only gave us a tour of the ship, offered us tea in the captain’s quarters, kicked us off, and opened the gate with dire warnings of never doing anything so stupid again. (He would be so disappointed.)
Fast-forward twenty-ish years, and I’m in post-Revolution Tunisia, ducking barbed-wire and tanks to represent Canada at a conference on luring youth to the skilled trades. (They didn’t position it that way, but that’s essentially what it was.)
Last day of the conference, last day in Tunisia. A woman sits beside me at the closing ceremonies. With her small amount of French she deciphers my bemoaning that I’ve not yet seen a camel. She tells me that there is one camel in all of Tunis, and that she will take me to it. (I readily trust people I can’t quite communicate with.)
Cue getting into her car (pre-smart phone era), going toward the Mediterranean, (her) arguing in Arabic with a burly man, (us) racing through market stalls with fluttering curtains, (me) debating if we’re about to be kidnapped following said argument, arriving on sun-dipped sand, and standing before a camel eating wilted vegetables out of a cardboard box.
It was terrifying and magical. Then I met her niece, had almond tea in a small village overlooking Tunis and the Mediterranean, and she drove me back to my resort. We hugged.
Fast-forward another, um, fifteen-ish years? Last Friday, in fact. My friend Megan Postin, Executive Director of the Galilee Centre, calls to ask if I’d do a week-long retreat as Keynote Author. Despite the fact that we can communicate perfectly fine in two languages, I decide to trust her and immediately sign up. Then, possibly to use as shields if this is the adventure that finally gets me kidnapped, I rope in some other local authors, including Lydia M. Hawke, Kate Heartfield, and Brandon Crilly!
Although this adventure will (probably) not have camels or Russian engineers, it is also rather last-minute, as it all begins on Friday, July 5.
Come have this adventure with me! (It's one of my most sane and safer ones! This might not happen again!) I’ll do workshops during the weekend (as will other authors) and I’m offering one-on-one coaching during the week. Sit down with me, and let’s talk story. I love this, so much.
Join me for a day, the weekend, or the week, and please share this sparkling event with the writer(s) in your life so we sell out of seats!
Let’s have a completely last-minute adventure together!
Glittery regards,
Marie (still not kidnapped)
