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Bookshops and Happy Things

Dear Side Questers,

This past month, a new bookshop was born. Its not a fictional one, but it might be magic. It certainly feels a little magical when you walk in the door, and I did spy some banned books on the shelves.

The bookshop is located in Hillsborough, NB, not far from me (which is almost a miracle in terms of bookshop proximity) in one of the charming Victorian heritage homes the area is known for, and it’s called Fundy Bay Books.

Will my book addiction keep them in business? It’s certainly going to try!

Fundy Bay Books offers new, used, and some gorgeous rare books. It’s a lovely spot and the owner is wonderful. She even managed to draw my youngest and shyest out of her shell to take to a ride on the rolling book ladder installed on one wall. Behold that wonder:

There is a local author section and yes, my books are stocked.

I’m also excited for future author signings and events, and especially… well, if you follow this newsletter, you’ve been learning about my adventures in bookbinding. I brought a few of my creations, hardback, handbound with hand-dyed papers copies of The Little Banned Bookshop’s Guide to Guerilla Bookbinding and showed them to Kourtney, the shop owner. You’d better believe I was holding my breath. Happily, she agreed to carry these as well.

Bookbinding is very much an exercise in patience; glue this section, press for 24 hours, then glue this part, and press for another 24 hours. This is compounded by the time it takes to dye the paper, dry it, and iron it flat so that my printer doesn’t eat it while printing the signatures. If nothing goes wrong, I can make a book in five days, but, you know, things go wrong.

But when it all goes well, it’s so satisfying to see your story go from draft to polishing, then from printing to binding, with all the little embellishments that make my heart glad.

Have a look, and feedback is welcome!

a deer with flowers on his antlers sits beside words that read Jennifer Shelby's nature notes

We didn’t tap our maples this year for maple syrup. Last summer we had a drought that lasted well into fall, taxing our forests terribly, and it didn’t seem kind to ask anymore of the trees but to let them drink heavily of the snowmelt and heal.

Meanwhile the birds have returned. I’ve been seeing red polls and doves, even a few merlins around the yard. I saw a red-winged blackbird at the marsh and closed my eyes while he sang his pretty song, which completely infuriated one of the local beavers, who then smacked his tail in warning and cut off the song mid-note. Of course, my eyes were closed so I didn’t see the beaver, which sent my heart into my throat, fully expecting Jenny Greenteeth to pull me to my doom, until he smacked his tail again and revealed himself.

There are still (small, shrinking) patches of snow in the woods, but there are also crocuses in bloom and pussy willows collecting raindrops.

a golden key with a green ribbon tied into a bow sits as a page break

On the writing front, I’ve been busily formatting and prepping Borrowed Wings and other stories for release. A single chapter remains of A Binding of Spellwork and Story, made possible by a grant from artsnb, and the draft will be complete. I’ve already caught up on the typing of the handwritten draft because I’ve been hemming and hawing over the ending. It won’t be perfect when I turn it in, but it will be finished. Editing will come after.

My books and I will be attending the GMRD Book Fair in Riverview on May 23, along with 40 other authors. Last year was a wonderful event and I’m looking forward to seeing my author friends and reader friends again.

Talk soon,

a signature line has a picture of a woman wearing glasses in front of a writing desk. The words Jennifer Shelby author entangle a stick with a green butterfly resting on it
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Battling for Charity

Happy spring, Side Questers!

The annual charity battle that I’ve been joining over the past three years has come and gone, an exciting and much-needed boost of fun and silliness right when it’s needed most.

It was a unexpectedly dramatic battle, perhaps because the rest of the world is in such turmoil and we were all desperate for something positive. At its essence, we are meant to create memes to get people to buy our team’s sticker, and all of the money raised goes to predetermined ecological efforts. This year there were two projects in the Amazon rainforest to fund, as well as a habitat project for frosted elfin butterflies.

At the end of the battle, the team who has raised the most money through these stickers is named the champion and has bragging rights forevermore. But to keeps things fun, the organizers throw in some chaos. If someone on your team happens to be online when the buttons go live, they can race to buy the button, and, once bought, a mystery goals is revealed. For instance, the team who raises the most money over the next seven hours will get a larger, or holographic sticker. That’s going to give the team a huge boost over the competition, so everyone scrambles. Other times, it’s a riff on a inside joke, like the button that hid each teams behind a crab. It’s absolutely chaotic and fun.

My team has been named Ice Pack for five or so years, and our animal characters are all best on ones that live at the North and South Pole. But this year, in order to not retraumatize any members or risk having any viral memes co-opted by baddies, we were told to change our name. And yeah, there was drama. Some people made very good arguments and walked away. There was tension between members when people started bringing forth new potential names, enough that I had to remind myself that this was meant to be fun. After a vote, we were the Frosty Fiends and we never looked back.

At one point, Pickles the cat flopped over on my keyboard mid-meme, quickly doubling, tripling, quadrupling a meme-story I was working on. The musk ox caught in the middle caught my eye. I cropped him out, doubled, tripled his length again, and the muskoxipede was born.

And sure, the muskoxipede is not a real animal, but we also have a fictional Pedro Pascal as the Mandalorian and Joel from the Last of Us in our gang as “Frost Daddy” because Claire the polar bear fell in love with him three years ago. Sometimes you just have to run with this stuff when your cat flops onto your keyboard.

The difference between writing my stories and the ones I meme for the battle is the team factor. Things move quick in the charity battle, and I wouldn’t get a second chance with the muskoxipede, so I ended up crowdsourcing his personality, and presenting the responses in meme format. And that just exploded. Note to self, when you have an audience, use them.

This ridiculous critter was the highlight of the battle for me, especially when Animalia Marginalia, a team based on the animals found in medieval illuminations, tried to steal him. Fortunately our bloodthirsty stoat, Nat, was on hand to rescue him.

The Frosty Fiends were neck and neck with the Goth Gang for first place for the last half of the battle, but the Frosty Fiends had some allies who stepped in with donations at the zero moment, and somehow, we won!

More importantly, the conservation projects won, with all the gangs raising over 180K USD. You can learn more about the individual projects and charity battle here if you’re curious.

a golden key with a green ribbon tied into a bow sits as a page break

Charity battle side quest aside, work continues on my novel, A Binding of Spellwork and Story, made possible by a creation grant from artsnb. I knew this book would be a challenge when I first applied for the grant, but I did underestimate just how much of a challenge. I’m glad for the freedom to pursue that the grant provides, but as the due date looms, I will also be very relieved to finally complete the first draft.

Sometimes you hear of authors saying “this was the hardest thing I ever wrote” and, for me, that is this book (so far, of course). It’s usually followed by a paragraph on why it was worth it. I really really hope that paragraph happens on the other side of this.

For now, I persist.

a golden key with a green ribbon tied into a bow sits as a page break

That’s it for this month, Side Questers. Hopefully next month I’ll be excited proclaiming The End on this novel and diving head-first into one of the projects I’ve had to put on ye olde backburner. Hopefully the extra burst of energy we get from spring boosts us all.

Don’t forget to take a break from all the terrible to do something for your creative soul. Joy is resistance too.

Take care,

a signature line has a picture of a woman wearing glasses in front of a writing desk. The words Jennifer Shelby author entangle a stick with a green butterfly resting on it
Posted on by JenniferShelby

Requiem for a Cat

Happy 2026 Side Questers! Despite everything, I’m determined to find the joy in this year. Even if I have to dig it up with bloodied fingernails.

It has, admittedly, started out rough.

My family had to say goodbye to our beloved Blizzard the cat. After untold years, his body was failing, his vision poor, and I couldn’t bear to watch him suffer anymore. I was so afraid I would regret it after our trip to the vet, but instead it felt right. I held him on my shoulder, rubbing his head on the spot he liked best, as his purr faded away and he passed. Unexpectedly, I can still feel him there, which has been deeply comforting.

He was a good cat, and well worthy of having a newsletter dedicated to his furry self. So, while the memories are still sharp, let me tell you about my Blizz.

It was twelve years ago, our first winter in the Enchanted Forest. Every so often, I’d look out the window to see a cat sunning himself on the south-facing steps leading into one of the side buildings. Every time I opened the door or tried to approach him, he ran and hid under the building. I didn’t push.

This carried on for the warmer, earlier months of winter, until a nor’easter blew in, our first on the mountain and let me tell you, it was a proper blizzard. At one point I had the door of the front porch open, trying to shovel the drifting snow off in the howling wind, when I looked across and saw the cat peeking out from the side building. I swung the door open behind me. “You should probably come inside,” I told him.

His little head perked up like he understood and he didn’t hesitate, crossing the distance in just a few kitty leaps and shaking himself off in the mudroom. I was secretly amazed, but didn’t want to make a big deal about it and scare him off. When I opened the door to the house proper, he walked right in. Sniffed noses with our dog Kira, who he surely knew from the yard, accepted the hisses he received from our indoor cat Crookie graciously, then wandered over to the woodstove to warm up.

So now you know how he got his name.

Blizzard never accepted the indoor life. He was a forest cat and, among other things, flat out refused to do his business inside a house. That was disgusting, kitty litter was an abomination, and he wanted nothing to do with it.

The thing with Blizzard is that he very much considered the entire forest HIS. Kira and I would go for a hike to the far end, bordered by a line of hydropoles, and he would show up out of nowhere with a happy little chirp, “fancy meeting you here.” Along the way home, he’d bound up and down trees, criss-cross fallen trees like they were secret passages he’d known his whole life, quite in his element and happy for the company.

Once he came across me, alone, in an altogether different spot after I got tired of following the trail and wanted to explore. For whatever reason, he wasn’t having it. After a sound scolding, he insisted I leave at once, which he accomplished by bounding away, stopping, and crying piteously until I reached him, at which he’d do it again. I don’t know what danger was there that day, but it was certainly important to him.

Kira, our black lab, became one of his best friends. He’d catch a mouse and promptly turn it over to Kira, which, to our horror, she would toss in the air and swallow in one gulp. Blizzard also gave Kira’s ears a good internal grooming at least once a day, and the three of them (Blizzard, Kira, and Crookie) would usually take over the couch for naps mid-afternoon.

Crookie and Blizzard took longer to bond, but after a year or two, they could be found curled up together on sunny floors and abandoned beds. Or getting their midnight zoomies out while Kira huffed in frustration.

Blizzard was the last one remaining of their trio and it does feel like a generation of pets has passed. The magical, mythical pets of the kids’ early childhoods. Strange how those generations form in your mind as your own years start to pile up.

When we first took him for vaccines and to be neutered, the vet estimated Blizzard was 5-7 years old, and we had 12 good years with him. That’s a fine, long life for a cat who grew into adulthood as a stray. Despite a few frostbite scars, the forest had been good to him.

Goodbye, Blizzard. You will be missed and you will be remembered, which is a good ending for any story made of fur.

a golden key with a green ribbon tied into a bow sits as a page break

Until next month, thank you for reading and for letting a little bit of my heart into yours.

a signature line has a picture of a woman wearing glasses in front of a writing desk. The words Jennifer Shelby author entangle a stick with a green butterfly resting on it
Posted on by JenniferShelby

Solstice Side Questing

We made it to the shortest day of the year, side questers. Tonight the Wild Hunt will ride, some of us will burn our Yule logs, and tomorrow, the sun will return and the days will grow longer.

I, for one, will not be tempting the Wild Hunt in the year that has been 2025.

But the legends do say it’s a good tradition to eat something yellow on the solstice, to invite back the sun. My version of this will be drinking a cup of the chamomile flowers I grew this past summer, my comfort tea, with a splash of honey. I remember thinking of this every evening as I picked the flowers, and as I kept my lone chamomile plant watered despite the drought we were having. It’s gone now, the garden a skeleton of brown things patched with snow, but the chickadees still flutter there, happy for the birdseed I scatter in the mornings. Feeding birds feels like fighting back the dark as well.

a golden key with a green ribbon tied into a bow sits as a page break

I’m still side questing in bookbinding, though I have extended myself into dying the paper I’m using in more fun and textured ways. Most of this is happening with different types of tea.

It’s easy enough to do: first I blot the pages with the wet tea bags, then I hang them to dry around the woodstove. Once dry, I iron them, though they’re never quite as flat as they once were.

I experimented with soaking the paper on soy milk beforehand, which, I was told, would help the pages absorb pigment, but the paper was so fragile by the time I got to the tea stage, I abandoned the effort.

Because tea is acidic, particularly black tea, this method isn’t exactly archival quality; the acid in the tea will eventually eat the pages, but we’re talking a few decades. I’ll admit this would have given me pause when I was younger, dreaming of becoming a celebrated writer after my inevitable demise. In my jaded present, I can’t help but think of the mountains of garbage we all leave behind that will never decompose and suddenly leaving more seems an almost immoral decadence.

That being said, one can cut the acid by mixing baking soda with the tea when dying the paper.

I’ve gotten some lovely grey-blue pages from hibiscus tea, and shades of textured brown from black tea.

It’s the texture that captures my attention. After I discovered what was possible, I made a few of what I’m calling ‘composition notebooks’ – a few couplets of signatures stitched together without a cover, made from tea-dyed legal-sized printer paper, and alternating the two shades of colour.

After struggling to write in the more “proper” notebooks I made, I kept these composition notebooks small enough that they’re flexible while writing. Since I’m left-handed, I was taught to write with my page sideways, which can mean some notebook covers will stab me in the chest when I’m writing on the left hand side of a page. To avoid that discomfort, I usually use coil-bound books, but I’ve always wanted a handmade alternative and I think these are it for me. I can fold the notebook in half without damaging it and write comfortably, even while sitting up in bed. And I can easily redo the stitches and give these composition books a hardcover once they’re full.

There’s also something to be said for reaching for a notebook that I’ve already been creative with. There’s no fear of the blank page, because they don’t feel blank, they feel heavy with creative history. They feel safe and welcoming for untested stories.

a deer with flowers on his antlers sits beside words that read Jennifer Shelby's nature notes

or a few days, before the snow blanketed everything in winter, a pileated woodpecker kept returning to this well-rotten log on the woods across from where I usually park the truck. There’s nothing strange about seeing one of these birds, as they are often flitting in the treetops, but I’d never seen them on the ground before and I was struck by their size. I thought they were robin-sized, but no, this one was closer to a pheasant’s size.

They were likely feasting on carpenter ants from the old log and I was able to take a few blurry photos of them. I didn’t get close for clearer shots, as I didn’t want to frighten them off. Not an acceptable risk when I can otherwise watch them from afar for however long they’ll let me. And he did seem to be having a merry feast.

I first learned about these birds long ago when I was studying to be forestry technician. They’re what’s considered to be an indicator species, because their presence signifies that the forest is healthy and mature enough to sustain them, which is a fine thing for the Enchanted Forest to be, especially after a difficult drought year.

It felt like a good omen going into the end of the year.

a golden key with a green ribbon tied into a bow sits as a page break

I had hoped to bring you an announcement of my latest published story, but this particular publication keeps meeting up with delays. Hopefully soon! This is short piece, a sort of fictional essay that ties into the book I’ve been working on and I’m very excited to have it out in the world.

In the meantime, I wish you all a festive Yule, keep safe from the Wild Hunt tonight, have a very merry Christmas later this week, and enjoy the longer days ahead.

a signature line has a picture of a woman wearing glasses in front of a writing desk. The words Jennifer Shelby author entangle a stick with a green butterfly resting on it
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Bookbindings and Disappointments

I took a deep dive into bookbinding. And honestly? It’s main quest-adjacent enough that this might turn into a full-fledged hobby.

I’ll preface this by saying that I bought a bookbinding kit last spring, thinking that it could be a fun rainy day project over the summer break. After some initial excitement, the kids decided, after the kit arrived, of course, that they weren’t interested. Since it never did rain last summer, it’s probably for the best.

But it did rain this month. So. Much. And I was writing a story about bookbinding, after all, so I pulled out the kit, queued up some YouTube videos, and dove in. I rebound a paperback of Care and Feeding of Your Little Banned Bookshop to begin with, then I learned coptic and French link stitches, and made these adorable little notebooks:

After that I attempted my first hardcover, also a notebook:

It was time to put it all together, cut up some sketchbooks, and figure out how print signatures from my home printer, and create a hard-bound, pocket-sized short story. I picked one of my longest short stories and got to work.

And… it was fine? It looked just like a little book. Which, at this point, did not intrigue me in the least. Somewhere along the line, I realized that just because I could make a book like a machine made, I didn’t particularly want to. I liked the open stitching of those few notebooks, I liked the possibilities of what I could do. Of how I can make a book look like the story, how it can be an extension of the art. That maybe, if there’s magic inside the book, there’s space for magic on the outside, too.

I’m still working on that, my next bound story half-finished and a feral, artsy little thing. I pulled out the acorn cap ink I made last year, this odd ink that damaged my fountain pens but leaves this lively swirl when it dries, and the pages have started coming to life. It drew everything together for me. When I write, I get these odd, disconnected ideas that I write into my notebooks because I know they’ll find their purpose in a few years, in another story. And here is this ink I made that appears to have been waiting, just like those story bits.

The biggest nature news is… it rained. It finally rained and rained and rained, just like we so desperately needed. Our little pond went from empty to flooded:

It didn’t last, a day at most, before the thirsty trees and desperate ground slurped it all up, but then it rained some more, enough that the local mushrooms finally made an appearance:

And, oh, there were lovely writing days in all that rain. Of course, some other forms of precipitation also made an appearance:

Which I thought was mean, since we’d only just got mushrooms and now they were all hidden again. But what can you do.

a golden key with a green ribbon tied into a bow sits as a page break

And that’s about it for November, folks. I’d love to hear what you’re up to before the season is lost to busy-ness. My next letter will the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year, which seems farther off than close, but will arrive before we know it.

Keep the light close,

a signature line has a picture of a woman wearing glasses in front of a writing desk. The words Jennifer Shelby author entangle a stick with a green butterfly resting on it
Posted on by JenniferShelby

Raindrops and Bookshops

Enchanted readers,

We’re still in a severe drought here, and with it is coming a lot of anxiety of how we’ll handle this through the winter, but also a sense of melancholy for the things we lost. A part of me thinks, no, the world is really bad right now, don’t dwell, move on, but on the other hand, noticing the small things, appreciating them, are what makes us human. So, a short list of everything I will not be taking for granted next summer:

raindrops on cobwebs

the smell of summer rain

soft rainy days that are so lovely to spend the whole day writing

thunderstorms so close they make your heart flutter

hunting mushrooms after a day of rain

But I’ve also gained appreciation for natural springs, little oases of green that make me ponder fairy wells, water elementals, and naiads.

Because the world’s been awful, I haven’t spent much time on social media, stuffing that time with books instead. I saw a movie trailer that reignited a childhood fascination with the Brontës, which lead to a sidequest tracking down a few books that might be the one I read in my middle school’s library once upon a time. Cross your fingers for me?

a golden key with a green ribbon tied into a bow sits as a page break

On the writing front, I’ve set A Binding of Spellwork and Story to the side for the moment to ready my story collection, Borrowed Wings and other stories. The Lunar edition is being launched as part of the Polaris collection of the Lunar Codex “no earlier than December 2025” and I’m timing the terrestrial edition release to coincide and maybe catch a few Christmas shopping sales.

Which I means I’m looking at how to put this kind of collection together. How best to flow from one story to the next, which ones pair well with the last, that sort of thing. Likewise, I’m writing a few new stories to include, ones to pull themes together, and a few to introduce readers to my story worlds. There will a Little Banned Bookshop story, and also a few stories set in the world of a trilogy I’ve been writing in the background and I’m hoping to release in 2027 (I get excited just writing that).

I’ve ordered my cover, sent it back for revisions twice, and if I can squeeze my hands very tight, maybe I’ll be to share a reveal of that with you next month. Stay tuned!

a deer with flowers on his antlers sits beside words that read Jennifer Shelby's nature notes

The garden is almost done. Or maybe I’m done hauling water from the river. The chamomile was my favourite this year, the little ritual of collecting the flat flowers every day sustaining me. But there are still some lovely views:

Sunflowers are remarkably drought-tolerant, I must say. With the exception of a red-tailed hawk that swooped past me one morning and enchanted that entire day with the memory, there hasn’t been much wildlife around. They’re probably staying to water sources. But we did get a visit from Fae, a not-stray who wanders down our driveway a few times a summer to check on us. Sometimes he lets us give him a snuggle, sometimes not. His mood is willful, quick to change, and he has startlingly turquoise eyes that don’t seem entirely natural. We call him Fae because he probably is.

a golden key with a green ribbon tied into a bow sits as a page break

Soon it will be Halloween, and this house is getting excited. Do you have a favorite Halloween-season book? I’d love to read it!

Until November,

a signature line has a picture of a woman wearing glasses in front of a writing desk. The words Jennifer Shelby author entangle a stick with a green butterfly resting on it
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Printing with the sun

Hello Enchanted Side Questers,

I’m afraid this month’s side quest got a little… obsessive. It might have been the heat, which shuts down my brain in many ways, or stress, or just not having enough time to devote to creativity. In fact, it was an awesome creative outlet that really only took a few minutes a day.

My friend Aimee set me the video that started it all, showing someone making anthotype sunprints (like a cyanotype) with turmeric and fixing it with Borax. “Huh,” I thought, “I have that in my cupboard.” Then I did some internet sleuthing to find the full recipe, which you can find here.

It ended up being the most soothing, lovely bit of creativity. There were just so many variables and things that I couldn’t control that I didn’t have any choice but to let go and enjoy the process. It certainly doesn’t hurt that the chemical reaction of the borax + water developer is an immediate and thrilling bit of magic when you brush it on.

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I’ve spent August printing stories with the sun
Jennifer Shelby
Aug 21

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Hello Enchanted Side Questers,

I’m afraid this month’s side quest got a little… obsessive. It might have been the heat, which shuts down my brain in many ways, or stress, or just not having enough time to devote to creativity. In fact, it was an awesome creative outlet that really only took a few minutes a day.

Thanks for reading Enchanted Side Quests! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
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My friend Aimee set me the video that started it all, showing someone making anthotype sunprints (like a cyanotype) with turmeric and fixing it with Borax. “Huh,” I thought, “I have that in my cupboard.” Then I did some internet sleuthing to find the full recipe, which you can find here.

It ended up being the most soothing, lovely bit of creativity. There were just so many variables and things that I couldn’t control that I didn’t have any choice but to let go and enjoy the process. It certainly doesn’t hurt that the chemical reaction of the borax + water developer is an immediate and thrilling bit of magic when you brush it on.

I soon dug out my old microwave flower press (a terra cotta beast I picked up at a yard sale decades ago because it was pretty) and put it to use, drying pressed flowers and vegetation in minutes rather than months or years.

I started appreciating the shape of things in a new way. My eyes tend to hunger for colour and texture, but caterpillar damage and flaws were suddenly beautiful because they could create such visual interest in the prints. A pristine feather is beautiful, but a raggedy one has drama. Yesterday’s squash flowers became candles, petunias became dresses, and a skeletonized leaf became one of my most prized treasures.

“What are you going to do with those?” asked my youngest, as my pile of prints got unweildy.

And… I don’t know. I want to frame some of them. I want to look at them. Like drying herbs, storing squash, pickling cukes, and the flowers I grow because they dry so pretty, it’s another way to save a bit of summer for the dark winter days when you need the reminder of green plants and flowers and a sun that can print a story on a page.

a deer with flowers on his antlers sits beside words that read Jennifer Shelby's nature notes

We’ve been in an extreme drought with forest fires cropping up left and right. The trees are suffering, the bottom leaves shrivelled green and falling off in gentlest breezes. It’s been hard, and autumn is happening very early as trees are choosing dormancy over the risk of remaining for what little summer is left.

I have checked the springs in the enchanted forest, and some are still holding out, providing much needed water for the wild critters. We put out an extra hummingbird feeder after the population at ours exploded. I researched why and it turns out flowers can’t produce as much nectar in a drought, natch. Wow are they entertaining, aggressive little creatures.

Since our rain barrels went dry, we’ve been loading the truck with containers and filling them at the river for the garden, which it has been thriving on. And because it is a little oasis of green, the bees are bumbling happily, pollinating everything without any help from us.

Still… we would very much appreciate some rain. Days of it. Just pouring on the roof while I stay inside and read or write and do lovely, forgotten rainy day things.

a golden key with a green ribbon tied into a bow sits as a page break

Work continues on my Binding novel, made possible by a grant from artsnb. It has grown and stretched and tells me “I think I’d like to be a duology” now. I think it might be right.

The ‘fictional essay’ I mentioned in July’s newsletter, written from the perspective of Binding’s main character, has been accepted for publication! I will share those details as soon as I am able. It’s a nice little boost for my novel, and also a lovely marketing opportunity.

Happily, they don’t require an exclusivity period, so I can also include it in my short story collection that I’ll be putting out to coincide with the Polaris launch of the Lunar Codex in (hopefully) December 2025, in which some of my short stories are being archived on the Moon. The Binding book should be done by then, so it will give me the chance to share that world with a wider audience. I’m also hoping to tuck a Little Banned Bookshop short story in there, the reason being that I think some local reporters will be interested in a local author’s work going to the Moon. Fingers crossed!

a golden key with a green ribbon tied into a bow sits as a page break

That’s all the news I have to share in this letter, friends. I hope you are able to get away from the news cycle and make some magic to protect your heart and creative spirit. Did you find any new side quests this month? I’d love to hear about them!

Talk soon,

a signature line has a picture of a woman wearing glasses in front of a writing desk. The words Jennifer Shelby author entangle a stick with a green butterfly resting on it
Posted on by JenniferShelby

Writing news and owl feet

You know it’s summer when you lose track of the date, then look over and realize you missed sharing your newsletter to the blog until it was almost time to write the next one *nervous laughter*

Anyways, there’s owl pics in the Nature Notes this month, so don’t skip that. I’ve mostly spent my month tearing my hair out over my Binding of Spellwork and Story book, which I’m writing thanks to a lovely creation grant from artsnb.

I’ve rewritten my first chapters multiple times and just couldn’t get them right. The typical advice I get in this situation is that I should just leave them and go back and fix them later, and that’s good advice that never works for me. When I get blocked and start mentally fretting over a section, there’s a reason. And until I figure it out I’m that ridiculous fly that keeps bumping into the window when there’s an open door right beside him.

So after a solid week of fretting, I took the problematic character by the arms, shook him, and begged him to tell me what he wanted. “I wanted [REDACTED] to remain a secret until a later part of the book,” he admitted, mid shake.

“Oh.” I said. “Huh.” I crossed my arms. Paced a little. “You know, that could work. It would take care of that cringe-y part that was bothering me, too.”

“I know.”

My eyes widened. “Oh, wow, you know, that adds so much potential drama to your connection with that other character, too.”

“I know.”

So now that I’ve got THAT figured it out, I took the original and the rewritten chapter, and sort of frankensteined the best parts of them together into a new chapter, without revealing character’s secret. All the fretting evaporated and my mind has given me the green light to proceed. Phew.

had a bit of a mini side quest when I wrote a writerly advice article written by one of my witch characters in the Binding book. It was actually a really fun little exercise that let me push the envelope of my theme. It was inspired by a submission call, and I sent it in, so we’ll see what happens. If it’s not accepted, it will absolutely be a fun freebie to send out with the book, as bonus contact, and I’m thinking it could also be a fun little tiktok series that would give me a fun excuse to dress up like witch to promote the book.

My other side quest is that I’ve been sharing a photo of my book, Care and Feeding of Your Little Banned Bookshop every day on my author facebook page because books are still actively being banned. Here is one of my favourites from the series:

The typewriter is a lawn ornament at my friend Tiffany’s house. Someone welded the old beast to a base with legs, which is a pretty creative use of an old typewriter. But I’m not showing this to my beloved old Underwood just in case it gets offended.

a deer with flowers on his antlers sits beside words that read Jennifer Shelby's nature notes

I got to see a barred owl up close and learned that they are absolutely fascinating:

Those grippy feet! I’m going to imagine dragon skin is textured like this from now on. Also, these owls have feathers with hearts on them:

I wrote a poem about barred owls a while back. Rattle Poetry has a “Poets Respond” feature whereby a poet can submit a poem based on a news article released in the past week, and every Sunday, they publish the best one online. I’ve never had one published with them, but I like that the possibility gets me writing a poem about a news article that strikes me in a particular way.

The following poem was written in response to a news article about a culling of barred owls in the U.S. It’s a bit of a complicated conservation subject, but when I read the number, half a million barred owls to be culled if this plan was approved, the number just staggered me. Here’s the poem I wrote, unpublished as it was except for on my social media, but heed the subject matter as a CW:

Half a Million Owls

Barred owls call back and forth across the forest

And something inside me stills

Something reverential, primal, superstitious,

That insists this is a mystical moment

Maybe it’s the darkness, the gleaming of the stars,

The way the rummaging sounds in the leaf litter cease.

“Half a million owls will be culled…”

My mind stumbles over the number. Glitches.

Stops rummaging through the litter of my thoughts.

“Hoo-hoo. Hoo-hoo,” call the owls, all unknowing.

“Who cooks for you?” I learned as a child,

The same barred owl call I’ve taught my children,

“Who cooks for you? Who cooks for y’all?”

Half a million dead barred owls. Shot.

I try again to grasp the scale and fail

Instead, I imagine feathers scattered across a clearcut

“Who kills for you? Who kills for y’all?” the corpses call

And something rummaging through bullet casings stills.

a golden key with a green ribbon tied into a bow sits as a page break

That’s it for this month’s newsletter, Enchanted friends. I’m currently working on a quilt square for the Nova Scotia Grief and Solidarity Quilt for Palestine, a bit outside my wheelhouse, so hopefully I’ll be able to share that next newsletter. I’m stitching a poem onto it, which is proving the most challenging aspect, naturally.

Wishing you lovely summer weeks,

a signature line has a picture of a woman wearing glasses in front of a writing desk. The words Jennifer Shelby author entangle a stick with a green butterfly resting on it
Posted on by JenniferShelby

The Great Chipmunk Rescue

Welcome to the not-quite summer solstice edition of Enchanted Side Quests. Summer is arriving a little late hereabouts and we’ve only been spotting the fireflies for the past two-three nights, while off the coast, they’ve been out for weeks. I was relieved to see them, worried some unseen pollutant had disappeared them like so many insect populations you hear about. They’re an important source of magic for children and writers.

I am steadily plotting A Binding of Spellwork and Story, for which I received a grant from artsnb to write, and I know what you’re thinking, “Still?” and yeah, I am not fast at this. Plotting for me includes multiple notebooks filled and every scene broken down to the very best version of itself. I end up with a very messy not-draft of some 50 000 words, and then I get to writing in earnest.

I started taking photos of my plot board so I can SEE some progress beyond notebooks filling up. The one below is from a few weeks back and wow, it’s very heartening to know how much fuller it is already. And maybe I can sequence them all in a video for social media purposes? Like a time lapse of a slow motion plotter.

There is no rhyme or reason to the colours involved, I just like chaotic colour. What DOES matter is the order. Here you can see I have a lot of beginning, a bit of a middle, and some ending stuff.

Life is still chaotic and some family members are still in crisis, but I’ve forced myself to spend a few hours every morning working on my writing despite it all, and it’s helped a lot. My mental health is better and my anxiety lower, which makes me an all-around better parent and better equipped to handle the day’s crises as they come.

I felt a nice inner glow when I saw someone post about my book Care and Feeding of Your Little Banned Bookshop on social media with a caption that read “I think of this book whenever I see a little free library.”

Now I’m grinning again, thinking of all the little library magics in the book and outside of the book, like when a friend of mine took a copy of Bornstein’s Hello Cruel World that I sent them to put in a Little Free Library in Florida during a visit. That book plays a pivotal role in Care and Feeding, so this felt like making magic. I’ve also had friends buy copies of the book specifically to put inside Little Free Libraries, knowing how magical it would be to read this book if that’s where you found it.

Writers, I tell ya. We can’t get enough of that magic.

Which brings us to this month’s side quest: my chipmunk rescue adventure.

So. We all know (one hopes) that if you have a big tub to collect rainwater in, that you put a stick in it in case any critters or bees fall in, they can climb out. For some reason, I put in one of the kids’ snow shovels this year, thinking it would suffice. It didn’t, I think the plastic was too slippery for wet paws. This is important.

I was on the phone with my friend from BC (because I am old and still use the phone for such things) and outside because we tend to get loud and silly when I wandered to our rainwater tub. And there, floating, was a drowned chipmunk.

My heart got heavy with dread. (Please put a stick in your tubs if you haven’t already).

I put the phone down, cursing the shovel for not doing it’s job, and then I took the shovel to remove the small, furry corpse before the kids could see it, which is when the little fella blinked.

Shovel be damned, I scooped the little critter up in my hands and put him on the grass, where he lay there, shivering or maybe shaking with shock. I told my friend I’d call her back and picked him back up to hold against my chest in case he was cold and went around to the front door to ask my partner for help finding something to put the poor thing in.

The chipmunk was moving significantly more already, which was a really good sign.

Mike brought out a box with a t-shirt to hold him and the chipmunk immediately flopped over, probably from exhaustion.

Then came the internet searching of nesting material and food. The kids picked him some wild strawberries to eat while Mike found some clean sawdust and old grass. Little chippy was started to move more still, made himself a cozy nest to hide in, and rested.

Its hard to get closure with stuff like this, because it does have deep affect on the mind to experience this with a wild critter. Last summer I found a baby snowshoe hare in rough shape that we took to the wildlife vet and I still wonder what happened to her. This time, success is waking up to an empty box and a hope that our chipmunk returned to his forest home.

But when nature give you the opportunity to be kind, you also get the chance to rescue yourself a little bit, too.

It has been a WILD month. The hummingbirds have returned, the garden is planted and happily growing, and the critters are out and about.

You can imagine my shock when I was at my desk, working through my morning plotting hours, when I saw something dark through the window, out of the corner of my eye. Was that a bear?

I went around to the front of the house, going out into our mud room which has the only place with windows facing the direction the bear went in. Sure enough, there was the bear, sauntering over to our compost barrel. And then INTO our compost barrel.

Where he pulled out the remains of a half-rotten squash rind covered in coffee grounds.

He then lost interest in the rotten squash rind and compost entirely, choosing to saunter over the vehicles, give them a sniff, then wandered up the driveway and into the woods.

While cautious, I’ll admit it was exciting to be able to watch a young, wild black bear explore from a safe location. It was also a good opportunity to teach the kids some safety stuff and while I was worried we’d have to stop composting, the bear hasn’t come back a few weeks in. We do live in nature’s home, and big wild animals come with the small ones.

That said, I do prefer the smaller ones when it comes to my kids, who have asked to keep thousands of snakes and toads as pets so far this summer.

And with this flurry of pet requests, there is a small feeling of finally. THIS is why we wanted to raise them here, amid the fireflies and the toads and the sometimes bears. My youngest is terrified of snakes, UNLESS the snake is being held by my eldest, who has suddenly started channeling Steve Irwin for reasons unbeknownst, but welcome.

That’s it for this month’s newsletter, Enchanted friends. What adventures have you been having? Have you read any books I should add to my TBR?

Posted on by JenniferShelby

Shh… don’t scare the story

Do you ever decide to ignore that little voice in your head that says “I’m not sure this is how the story is supposed to go” and plough ahead anyway? I know better, but I do it anyway. Sometimes I think I need to shake the story loose, but all it seems to do is make the story hide deeper in the shadowy depths of my mind.

That’s what happened with my “Binding of Spellwork and Story” novel that I’ve committed to write AND received a generous grant from artsnb to do just that.

I wrote about 22 000 words, hemming and hawing, poking and prodding. Maybe it’s too writerly. It probably is too writerly. This is a word I use that intend the same way that the art world uses “painterly” for techniques that makes the painter real and present in the final artwork. Painterly gets a whole term in art, while writers are not supposed to present in the finished “product” (here the quotations are to represent me cringing because I referred to art as a product). Writers are told things like “never break the fourth wall.” As a reader and a writer who delights in any sort of authorly asides, I co-opted the word painterly back in grade 11 art history class and wrote things are writerly as my rogue heart desired. Look at my brush strokes! An author was here, a human, a (gasp, horror) WRITER wrote this.

Then I had to stop that if I ever wanted to get published. There’s a whole thing about this, “first you have to learn the rules before you can break them,” but you also have to PROVE you know the rules, which is a whole other thing.

Then along comes AI and I’m thinking it’s time to get writerly AF. Forget about creating a story where the writer is ignorable, now is the time to make writers a FEATURE rather than a bug.

So when it came up when I workshopping those early chapters, I got quiet and paid attention to what was being said. “I’m not sure how appealing this will be to non-writers,” one writer told me, “but I like it.” This gave me pause, because that’s the trick isn’t it? Convincing non-writers to like something deliciously writerly.

And I think I need a challenge like that to really lose myself into a project. So these past weeks, I’ve been dismantling the story that was starting to feel forced and stalled, and instead, I’ve been gently coaxing the story it wants to be, and I want it to be, to come out of hiding. Some writers call this plotting, but it feels more like trying to soothe a feral cat so they come out of the hole they’ve hidden themself in after I tried to pick them up before they were ready.

Which requires I put my ego aside and learn oh so much patience. Bless the writers who don’t need to plot before they write; they clearly sacrifice to very different gods than I.

As I write these words, the feral story has started responding to my pleading mews and is revealing itself, however slowly. It nibbles the food I’ve left out for it when I’m sleeping. Patience. We’ll get there.

Last month I mentioned that my first ever book fair was coming up and on this side of time, I’m happy to report that it was a smashing success.

It wasn’t without its tense moments. The first few hours, as readers trickled past, not interested in me or my book and the smile on my face started to ache, my heart began to sink and oh gods what if I don’t sell a single book. But then the cozy fantasy readers, who had apparently just slept late (very cozy of them, if I’m honest), arrived and everything got much better after that.

I was especially thrilled when an academic of banned books picked up a copy of Care and Feeding of Your Little Banned Bookshop. I hope they leave a review!

The real stars of the spring ephemerals are the fawn lilies (aka trout lilies or dogtooth violets) and trilliums, followed by the tiny white violets that grew in the Lover’s Lane of the woods where I grew up and now, my lawn. But this year, I was all about the inedible cinnamon fern fiddleheads.

As they grow, they huddle together, a tightknit little fern family. Encouraging each other, no doubt, as they gather their bravest thoughts and slowly unfurl.

My family’s been doing a lot of this this spring. Leaning on each other, supporting each other through difficult things. It hasn’t been easy, but we’ve got each other.

And of course I have one of those brains that sees faces everywhere and cheerfully assign characterhood to just about everything so the horsey little fella eyeing us in the picture above while his hair flops downward and a line of drool escapes him unbeknownst, well, that’s just joy.

That’s my news for May. The leaves are just about half-sized here and I get a lovely gasp of green delight still when I look out a window or go outside. The hummingbird feeder is up and my laundry basket is full of tomatoes and petunias traveling inside and back out again while we get through the final frosts of the year. I’m excited to get the garden in and welcome the fireflies this June. What are you most looking forward to this summer?

Until then, keep writing, keep reading, keep dreaming.