I blame my mother. If Francine hadn’t left the online course catalogue lying about, I’d never have taken the class devoted to writing stories about your children.
It was the perfect course for me.
Life swerved when my husband died. Our two children were still very young and I was determined his premature demise wouldn’t define their lives; he’d expect nothing less.
My primary focus? Ensuring they’d not miss out on experiences he would have introduced them to.
With the three of us soon rocketing between ice rinks, pools, playing fields and local mountains, we enjoyed tight, busy lives. Toss in the fact I’m a quirk magnet, and yes, I had stories galore.
The positive feedback from this online course gave me the confidence to seek out a larger audience. I began writing for an online newspaper and my stories were soon published in community newspapers across Canada, on websites and in various anthologies.
I launched my own blog, Just TypiKel, initially writing about how my two survived being raised by me. However, once I introduced posts about Francine, my often busier-than-me nonagenarian mother, readers clamored to know more about her.
Just TypiKel’s success got Francine nudging me to write a book about the decade we survived working together in her iconic Vancouver Asian antique store.
Never, Never, Hardly Ever was published a few months before Francine passed away at the age of 101.
Cheers, Mom! And thank you. Your online course catalogue changed my life.
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I’ve got some rather special news to share that all came about because of the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop. I just returned from an enriching, inspiring and really motivating experience
What, Doesn’t Everyone Travel With Their Bunny? Longtime readers may think that I do operate under the sincere “What, doesn’t everyone travel with their bunny?” premise. Yes there was that
Merciful Heavens. After a 12 month search and never ending angst I’m delighted to report: my 92 year-old mom snags purple pants. Finally. Where? Read on …
Last night was one of those nights. You know the ones. Comprised of an endless series of tossing and turning, flipping of the pillow, and checking of the clock yet
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Kelly McKenzie worked at her mother’s Vancouver Asian antique store for over a decade. After struggling to make her first sale, she went on to become her mother’s dependable right-hand gal, picking up bookkeeping skills, marathon running and a husband along the way.
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