Posted on November 26, 2025 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with no comments yet

Direct marketing 101

 

I promise that this will be my last post about my autobiography!

(WARNING – shameless self-promotion)

“You can’t finish what you don’t start.”

Author unknown        

There’s a corollary to this statement and it goes something like this:

“You should never start what you’re not committed to finish”.

I am not going to bore you with the process of writing and publishing a book. Simply put, it’s a big undertaking. If you are a writer and have a publisher, kudos to you. You’re a superstar but for self-published authors like me, it’s a “do it yourself” job.

This is not to suggest that I single handedly wrote, edited, designed and laid out the book and printed it. Not so. There are many moving parts and it’s a team effort to bring a book into the light of day.

One of the most challenging parts of the process is to get the books sold. It is a lesson in direct marketing.

It’s rather odd, but I hadn’t thought much about the end game: people actually reading the book, until I started selling the books.

A few months ago, I sent a rough draft of the first two chapters to a friend and former Hillcrest Street neighbour, Bruce Nunn. Some of you will know Bruce best as Mr. Nova Scotia Know it All. Bruce and the Nunn clan lived at the very end of Hillcrest Street. Our families have known each other forever. Our summer homes were “side by each” at Bayfield.

Here is an excerpt from an e-mail that Bruce sent me a few days ago. I am reprinting it with his permission.

“Your words are a good record to have: a colourful tile in the historical mosaic of Antigonish. And maybe, culturally, they’re important as an archive of a piece of the real past – fond, nostalgic recollections of a sweeter time viewed through the distorting lens of time perhaps, but so meaningful when held up against today’s lesser experience: city neighbours who don’t know each other’s names and kids absorbed in their phones who don’t know the wide open freedom of the Salt Ponds or the fun of an impromptu street hockey game or a neighbourhood ball game in an empty field until it gets too dark or your mother’s literal ‘dinner bell’ calls you home.”

It was a much simpler time and I, for one, am so grateful to have been brought up in that era.

And now, I close the book on this chapter of my life. Book number 8 was a great trip down memory lane.

What’s next?

I have been tinkering with poetry, and I might try and cobble together enough of them for book  number 9! Here’s one I wrote shortly after my books were delivered to my apartment:

 

I WROTE A BOOK

 

When I was young, I liked to write,

Short stories and the occasional poem,

I wasn’t tough, didn’t like to fight,

In my imagination, I felt at home.

 

I was a sportswriter, when I attended X,

I went to every sporting game,

Our editor, a member of the fairer sex,

She was a pro, my writing quite lame.

 

As an English teacher, I taught prose,

Poetry, haiku, and even limericks,

Questions about syntax, I would pose,

My students wrote with Bics.

 

And then my children came along,

I journalled early in the morn,

Their lives to me were like a song,

Ever since the day they were born.

 

On a Florida vacation in twenty-twelve,

I wrote my first story on the plane,

An incident at Pearson caused me to delve,

Into a plot that seemed inane.

 

I shared my story with my friends at The Islander,

They found it funny and liked it a lot,

Channeling my inner Scottish Highlander,

Even though my story had a flimsy plot.

 

I began writing humour columns,

For three known weekly papers,

To incite a laugh, they weren’t very solemn,

Mostly about life’s little capers.

 

I was told that I should write a book,

Compiling several stories,

They were quite simple, not needing a hook,

None about the Liberals or the Tories!

 

Over the years, one book became two,

Then three and four and seven,

Number eight is about “you know who”,

No copies will be found in heaven!

 

It’s been a lark, this writing thing,

It’s kept me sharp and witty,

When my stories dry up, I can always sing,

A ballad or a ditty.

Have a great weekend.

Posted on November 19, 2025 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with no comments yet

 

Cold, hard cash

 

I’m playing with house money.

Most people I know in this part of the world are not gamblers. We tend to be quite conservative in nature even though we are liberal minded. small c. small l! We generally play it safe and if anything, are risk averse. Not many take “the road less travelled”. We take comfort in routine, and we don’t like surprises.

However, deep down, we’re all a bunch of river boat gamblers. We’re suckers for lotteries, scratch tickets, bingo, raffle tickets, and 50/50 draws. We’ll even “chase the ace” over hell’s half acre if we think we can win one of those monstrous jackpots. We would all like to get rich but sadly, our odds of winning are very slim.

A few weeks ago, I went to a hockey game at the Antigonish Arena, something I hadn’t done in a hundred years. My brother was sitting beside me, and I told him that I was one of the very first hockey players to play in this rink when it opened in 1970. I was a member of the Antigonish Junior Bulldogs.

On our way in, there was a table selling 50/50 tickets. My brother laid down a ten spot and purchased 7 tickets. I wasn’t going to be shown up, so I bought the next 7 tickets on the roll. After the first period, the winning ticket was announced. My brother was studying his ticket and his eyes got bigger as the numbers rolled off the tongue of the public address announcer. He was sure that he was going to be the winner. Unfortunately, he was one number off. I held the winning ticket – the next number in the sequence!

There was a very small crowd at the game. Including the janitor and the Zamboni driver, there might have been 50 people, mostly teeth chattering parents. As I walked down to the scorer’s table, I was figuring that, at best, I might have won $50. I was handed an envelope and inside was $210. At first, I thought that this might have been money to pay the referees. At that point, I realized that almost every person in attendance must have purchased $10 worth of tickets.

I put the wad of cash in my pocket.

I was now playing with house money.

If you’ve ever been to the casino, placed a $20 bet and won $100, you know exactly what house money is. You put the $20 that you “invested” back in your jeans pocket and decide to use the house money ($100) to gamble some more.

We should have taken Steve Miller’s advice:

“Hoo-hoo-hoo,

Go on, take the money and run.”

Take The Money and Run – Steve Miller Band

There’s also a touch of greed in all of us. Of course, we roll the dice with the house money, lose all that, and the $20 we started with… and then some!

I’m playing with house money.

The term “bucket list” became popular after the movie The Bucket List starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman.

I must admit that I’ve never had a formal bucket list. Life just happened, and like so many other people, I accumulated a basket of experiences, some good and some bad. However, with the relentless march of time, we see the runway shortening and this is when we start to feverishly try and accomplish things we wished we’d done.

My mother was fearless, and she never shied away from trying new things. I must have inherited that streak from her. I took opportunities when they were presented to me, even when they seemed unreasonable (reckless?) like running 5 marathons after having had 3 knee surgeries. I will happily give you my therapist’s contact information!

This is a very long lead up to the main point of this story.

Ten boxes arrived on my doorstep on Monday containing my recently published autobiography. I was in school at the time of the delivery and my kind neighbours (thanks Yvonne and Ann) lugged the books into my apartment.

Getting a shipment of a new publication is sort of like Christmas morning. There is a lot of anticipation to see how a year’s worth of work looks coming out of the box.

So, how did I feel when I opened the box? My gut instinct was that I was very pleased with the look of the book. I’ll leave it up to you to decide if the contents were worthy of your hard earned $25.

I sat on the couch, cradling the book, flipping through the pages. I started humming the One Direction song, The Story of my Life”.

Yes, there’s a certain amount of satisfaction when you’ve tackled and completed a big project. This one has been in the works for 74 years.  After 10 seconds of self-congratulations, I then felt a sense of relief. I have so wanted to write this book before I died. I know that this sounds a bit morbid, but I wanted to leave something for my children, my grandchildren and those who come after.

I want them to know what it was like growing up in the 1950s and 1960s in a large Catholic family. I want them to know where they came from and what life was like for the Baby Boomers.

While this is my story, it is every bit your story too. So many of us share a common heritage, growing up in small town Canada. The book is laced with family stories, stories about our town, province, country and global events.

I’m playing with house money.

Everything from this point on is a bonus.

My bucket list (if I ever had one) is full. However, I have a small pail sitting beside it so there’s still time for more adventures!

Have a great weekend.

P.S. Want a copy of the book? Drop me a note at  lenpdmacdonald@gmail.com

 

Posted on November 12, 2025 under Wednesday’s Words of Wisdom with one comment

It’s always good to see another sunrise

 

“It’s easy enough to be pleasant,

When life hums along like a song,

But the man worthwhile,

Is the man who can smile,

When everything goes dead wrong.”

An Irish Quote

The days are shorter and darker. The last vestiges of fall lie soggy on the ground. A cold wind is a harbinger of things to come. In our small town, it seems like the traffic gods are annoyed as we sit in endless road construction delays. It would be very easy to feel a bit down.

This is the perfect time to seek out positive people.

Positive people have a few things going for them. They seem to remain unfazed. They have a great attitude and seem to be grateful most of the time. I’m convinced that someone married great and attitude and came up with a child called gratitude.

None of us are eternal optimists. Nobody escapes this life unscathed without some significant bumps and bruises. Some of these are physical. I bumped into a retired physician the other day. I cringed when he told me my physical decline would be most noticeable in my 80s. A quick calculation suggested that I best enjoy the next 6 years of my life.

Many people suffer unimaginable losses, and we all know someone who is dealing with life threatening illnesses. No one can put a positive spin on these situations, nor should we. These people need to have genuine people surrounding them to prop them up when they feel the earth giving way under their feet.

Every so often, I’m sitting in my small but comfortable apartment. I survey my surroundings. I have an affordable place to live. Many don’t. I have enough money to buy nutritious food. Many don’t. Food security is a huge societal issue. My apartment is cool in the summer and warm in the winter. Many people have to make a choice between fuel and food in the coldest months of the winter. I can dress myself, bathe myself and make my own meals. Many cannot. I can go for a walk and feel safe. Many in this world cannot.

You get the picture. Many of us are so lucky. WE might not have large bank accounts but compared to many, we have wealth beyond compare.

I distinctly remember the first time that I visited a slum in India. It was jarring. The slum was literally built in a swamp with a railroad running right through it. The poverty was staggering. These people had nothing except their warmth, kindness and hospitality as they invited us into their hovels for a cup of tea.

There were about 50 homes in this slum, and we tried to visit as many of them as we could. It was getting late and darkness was setting in. They didn’t have electricity of course. One woman pleaded with me to come and see her home. Calling it a shack would be a misnomer. There was one large frying pan hanging from the outside wall. I entered her home and at first, I thought the waning light was fooling my eyes. It had a dirt floor and a fire pit and nothing else. There was no furniture, no bed. Air conditioning was provided by a gaping hole in her roof. Fine on warm days but not so great when monsoons arrived. All she had was the clothes on her back.

I now understand the expression, “dirt poor”.

I know these are tough times and many young families are struggling with the rising costs of everything.

If you have the basics of life and are in good health, then you are unbelievably lucky.

Great+ attitude = gratitude.

Have a great weekend.

P.S. I expect the first shipment of my books next week. An inexpensive Christmas present for the hard to shop for person