Author: andreww (Andrew Wetmore) CAP link: http://cap-test.apache.org/#/question/6 Project: incubator
andreww (binding) voted +1 Comment: This is the one that started it all. I began my professional writing career at The Advance, my hometown weekly newspaper in the summer of 1980. I worked there for thirteen years, and it was an incredible opportunity for a young reporter eager to gain experience and cut his journalistic teeth in a real newsroom environment. It was during my time there, that the idea for the first book in the Crow Series was born, although at the time I had no idea what the story would grow into. All those decades ago, I had no way of knowing what that idea would become or what the book would evolve into, but as I head towards what could be the ultimate conclusion of the series with Thirteen Crows Beware for it’s the Devil Himself, I wanted to look back at this amazing journey which started with the publication of the first book, One Crow Sorrow, in 2010. As a youngster growing up in rural Nova Scotia, I understood how small towns worked. I knew that on the surface, small towns are a wonderous place to live, work and raise a family. People in small towns are mostly friendly and supportive of their neighbours, and they will usually go out of their way to help others in their time of need. I have total respect and appreciation for all who live in rural communities. However, through my newspaper experience, I also learned that people who live in small towns (just like larger communities, I’m sure) often have secrets, some so dark and sinister that they rarely, if ever, see the light of day for those secrets would shed a light on the monsters who usually remain hidden behind the facades, lurking there to feast on their unsuspecting victims and unwitting prey. As my experience grew and I became exposed to some of the underbelly of society, an idea began to formulate and a provocative scenario emerged, an idea that eventually morphed into the plot for One Crow Sorrow. The idea went like this: what if a young woman—a total stranger—arrived in our town on a bus one day and no one knew who she was … but on the flip side, she knew everyone in town and beyond that, she knew all the dark secrets that percolate under the surface, festering there like a puss-filled boil waiting to burst. What if this young woman was the sharp point of the needle that could prick that boil and expose all that poison? Therein lies the secret of one One Crow Sorrow. This has been a long and interesting journey, one that has lasted more than a quarter century, a journey filled with many ups and downs, and peaks and valleys. There has been lots of success over those years, as well as many disappointments, but today (as I write this in February 2026), Eleven Crows for Good Health will soon be finding its way into the hands of those loyal readers who excitedly embraced the series. I remain forever grateful for all those family members, friends and supporters who provided encouragement and sometimes not-so-gentle prodding when it was necessary. There are too many to name here, but you know who you are. I could not have made this journey without you by my side. While I would never describe the writing process as the easy part, I would, however, say putting the final period on the last page of a novel was absolutely the most rewarding aspect of the journey. Of course, holding your published book in your hands provides a whole new level of gratification, accomplishment and fulfilment, as does receiving reader feedback, both the positive and the negative, especially when it’s constructive. If writing the book was cathartic, nothing could have ever prepared me for the ultimate challenge, that being to find a publisher willing to take a chance on a young writer just trying to get his book into the hands of potential readers. Of course, most writers think their work is the best thing ever produced. It’s a shock to the system and a blow to one’s ego when your years of hard work is rejected or dismissed with the all-to-familiar phrase: “Not what we’re looking for at this time. Good luck with your future writing endeavours.” However, just as I was when I began searching for a publisher, most fledgling writers are usually rudely awakened because, let’s face it, publishers are picky—as they must be—when it comes to deciding on which manuscript to publish and which will remain buried in the slush pile. That’s a sort of trash heap in which I am convinced the next Great Canadian Novel remains buried, just waiting to be published … if it is ever rescued from that state of perpetual purgatory. Please take a chance on me, I remember thinking each time I sent out a query letter pitching my manuscript to the next publisher. But my publishing journey is an entire story until itself. It’s an arduous adventure, one filled with lofty hopes and squashed aspirations combined with rejection and disappointment; and it’s a bumpy ride that’s not one that I care to relive right here or right now. Let’s just say that when I have a dream, I am not one to easily give up and if I believe in something, I remain dogged until I find a way to get it done. … After years of digging and pushing and working my tail off (and dreaming), One Crow Sorrow was finally published. Here's a fun thing you might not know about the first book. It was not written to be a series. In fact, it wasn’t even initially titled One Crow Sorrow. It was originally titled The Girl on the Bus and then The Stranger in our Midst. Both catchy titles, I think, but not as visceral or apropos as the final version. Here’s another truth: the book was intended to be a one-off and I will admit that it never dawned on me that I had additional books in me, let alone an entire series. Thankfully, following the initial success of One Crow Sorrow, almost immediately, people began asking about the next book and so, with the encouragement of my wife, Nancy, my first publisher Cynthia McMurray, and my good friend Marci Melvin, Two Crows Joy became a reality, and, in time, the others followed, each story drawing its inspiration from a line in the popular Nova Scotian poem that we learned when we were youngsters. Today, with the support of my current and wonderful publisher and amazing editor at Moose House Publications—Brenda J. Thompson and Andrew Wetmore—respectively, I feel blessed that the Crow Series has been discovered and embraced by a legion of loyal fans. This incredible duo are really the ones who made this dream possible because, what started as a nugget of a story idea way back in the early 1980s, today has become an obsession with the end (maybe) in sight. The characters in these books are like members of my family; they are also good friends who have shared their inner-most personal thoughts, aspirations and beliefs with me. They’ve also shared their struggles and personal turmoil, their successes and their failures. They’ve entrusted their stories to me and allowed me to share them with you. Through these books, we’ve stepped through the door and into their world. We’ve taken this journey together and the people we’ve met in these books are more than just fictional characters to me. They are a part of me as I have invested many years of my time, energy and thought in them. I’ve sweated over them, cried with them, laughed with them, celebrated with them and yes, even mourned with them. It will be difficult to let them go (if I can), but like life itself, these books have and will continue to evolve until they reach their end point, and the characters arrive at their life destinations. Until then, however, sit back and buckle up. This ride isn’t over just yet. One Crow Sorrow Prologue 1: Hysterical callers 2: Beans in tomato sauce 3: When the dreams come 4: The ghost of Sarah Haddon 5: Secrets 6: A brand new day 7: Liverpool Motors 8: A rush of adrenaline 9: Personal and private 10: Nightmares 11: Sam’s dilemma 12: An eerie sea of darkness 13: Looking for answers 14: Murder and mayhem 15: A giant jigsaw puzzle 16: Trapped 17: Men don't show emotions 18: A sense of foreboding 19: From bad to worse 20: If you ask, he will come 21: Lost in her head 22: Spiritual guides 23: No way out 24: Putting the plan in motion 25: A house guest 26: The stench of evil 27: A black blur 28: Some doors are better left closed 29: The sweet smell of revenge 30: Message sent Epilogue Acknowledgements About the author Prologue And so it begins... She is coming. It can sense her, almost smell her. It is like they are one. The early morning sunlight cascades through the damp air, bouncing off its sleek, ebony feathers. Specks of iridescent purple and green shimmering across its majestic head, almost dancing to the rhythm of its heartbeat, it unleashes a guttural, earthy call that shatters the tranquility of the riverbank. As if on cue, an eerie cackling erupts, echoing throughout the treetops. Like a finely tuned orchestra following the fluid twists and turns of its conductor’s hands, the murder of crows glides through the morning mist, shrieking their ghastly call. It is time to rally the troops. The cacophony continues as the flock snaps to attention, obedient soldiers, their senses keen and honed to carry out their orders. 1: Hysterical callers March 28: Day One RCMP Corporal Cliff Graham leans back in his green swivel chair, its worn leather molds perfectly around his over-sized frame. He plunks his feet on his cluttered desk and sends a wave of paper across the coffee-stained oak veneer. He wouldn’t do this during regular office hours, but he is alone on this early spring morning and most normal people are still home in bed. Sipping his black coffee, the first of many he will have today, he begins scanning the headlines on the morning’s front page. Lost in the lead story about a possible summer election, he jumps when the phone rings. “Jesus. Who the hell could that be at this hour?” he grumbles, flipping his legs off the desk to grab the phone. It is quarter to six and he assumes most of Liverpool is still asleep. >From the time Cliff could first form a sentence, he told anyone who would >listen that he wanted to be a policeman and true to his word, he has devoted >his life to the profession. Growing up in Come By Chance, a small fishing port >in rural Newfoundland, the all-star high school basketball player dreamed of >joining the RCMP. As an adult, he considers himself fortunate to have realized >his life-long ambition. The twenty-six-year veteran of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police usually enjoys this early shift. It is a good time to clean up outstanding paperwork and write those pain-in-the-ass, but necessary, reports. It is also a good time to think with few distractions. Since being put in charge of the duty roster six years ago, Cliff has scheduled himself to cover the early shift. He doesn't mind working the later hours when he must, but he prefers the quiet time before sunrise. Anyone else who might be up and about at this hour is either still sucking back coffee in an effort to pry their eyes open or rushing to get ready for work, school and whatever else it is they do to pass the day. As far as the people of Liverpool are concerned, the RCMP are never off duty. But there are no officers at the detachment between midnight and six o'clock when the duty officer arrives. From Monday to Friday, most weeks, that is Cliff. The early-morning phone call tells him things are different today. Normally, there isn't much trouble at this hour, so the sudden ringing immediately puts him on edge. One by one, they start to come in. At first, they are sporadic, still odd for this time of the morning but within ten minutes, the phones are ringing nonstop, and he can't keep up. The people of Liverpool are hysterical, and Cliff has already concluded, as he takes call after call, this is going to be one hell of a day. “Crows,” the callers are reporting. Thousands of crows have come to roost near the common grounds down by the post office. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Cliff sighs as he tugs his bullet-proof vest over his slightly protruding belly, admitting it may be time to shed a few of those extra pounds he’s packed on over the years. He shoves his standard issue 9 mm Smith & Wesson into its holster and inhales deeply. It may still be early, but something has the people riled up and it is his job to check it out. “Dispatch. Liverpool here. I’m 10-17 to those complaints,” he says into his radio. “10-4” the female voice responds. Cliff tries to imagine what she looks like. He has spoken to her every day for several years now, yet he still hasn’t met her, and quite frankly, he is not so sure he wants to. This way she remains a mystery, a glimmer of surprise in an otherwise typical day. As Cliff drives his cruiser toward the post office in the centre of town, he has no idea what he will do once he gets there. He knows nothing about crows, and he tries to think of someone to call to help in case this really is a major problem. “God All-Mighty,” Cliff murmurs, as he slams on the brakes. The tires screech to an abrupt stop in the middle of the main street in front of the post office. “What in Christ's holy name is going on here?” Thousands of crows have invaded the town square and the large black birds are everywhere. Like a storm cloud foretelling an impending thunderstorm, the flock has blotted out the early morning sun, casting a dark shadow over the streets and buildings. The rooftops, telephone wires and trees are invisible, as the birds have taken roost wherever there is an open surface. Cliff shivers. He has never seen anything like this. I need help, he thinks. -- You are receiving this notification because the Apache incubator project uses the ASF Contingent Approval Platform (CAP), an official Apache Software Foundation service for filing and recording the outcome of contingent approval votes. How to respond: * Committers and committee members of the project may cast votes on this question through CAP using the link above. * Only committee (PMC/PPMC) members cast binding votes; all other votes are recorded but non-binding. * Anyone may view public CAP questions through the link above. 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