MIDDLE: Joey Moss and Lorna Schultz Nicholson at the Edmonton Down Syndrome event in October of 2019. Copyright by Lorna Schultz Nicholson.
BOTTOM: Lorna Schultz Nicholson and writer friend Alison Hughes in November of 2021.
What is the date you began writing this piece of fiction and the date when you completely finished the piece of fiction? This is an interesting question, and a hard one to answer. I often think about a book long before I start writing it. This book, WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT, started with a conversation with an editor at a publishing house. Somehow, we stumbled on the topic of the sport of rowing, which I did in high school and university. I also had a traumatic experience when I was coaching rowing and suddenly that just flooded back to me. For years, the memories of that experience were pushed down and now they were right there, making me realize I’d never allowed myself to think or deal with what had happened. I sat down and thought about how I could write a rowing story using some of my experiences and drafted an outline which I sent to this editor on March 5, 2018. So…many drafts later, (many, many drafts), I sent her a full manuscript, which the publishing house ultimately rejected. That was on November 16, 2019. The editor loved the book, and the acquisitions team had nice things to say, but the publishing house had decided not to do any more YA novels. Things like this happen in this business and you can’t take them personally. My agent then submitted it to other houses, and it was picked up in the spring of 2020, but something called Covid halted that sale for at least four months. All offices were closed so again I was sitting and waiting. In the fall of 2020 Red Deer Press decided that they would indeed publish the novel. The last final edits were in March 2021 and the ARC of the book came out in August of 2021 and the book was published in November 2021. Once it was sold, I had a really quick turnaround and lots more edits. But I can honestly say, this story was in me for years before I wrote it and I didn’t know it.
Click on the link below to read The First Line Interview with Peter Carver, former editor at The Red Deer Press.
https://firstlinefiction.blogspot.com/2011/08/author-interview-peter-carver.html
Click on the link below to visit The Red Deer Press’s website
Click on the link below to view Amy Tompkins’s bio on
Transatlantic Literary Agency.
Click on the below link to visit the website of Alison Hughes
https://www.alisonhughesbooks.com/
Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work? And please describe in detail. And can you please include a photo? I did my writing for this book in Edmonton, Alberta at my desk, and in Penticton, British Columbia, where I spend most of my summers. We lived in a condo in Edmonton and we’ve since moved to another condo, and now we are on the 53rd floor with an amazing view. I did the writing for this novel in both of those condos. And I also wrote parts of this novel in Penticton where we have a house with a view of Skaha Lake. I’m lucky to have such great places to write.
What were your writing habits while writing this work- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? I am a morning writer and love to get up super early (maybe 5:00 am) especially when I’m in a first draft. I do love my morning coffee as well. I have a notebook for notes, which I jot down before I start my outline and the first draft. I do like to do a draft outline, so I know where I’m going. Once I start the outline, I’m on my laptop. The notebook is by my side, and I jot things down as I’m working on it. Then once it’s done, I start my first draft. I’m a linear person so once I start, I keep writing and just push forward until I’m done a draft. If I find something that needs working on in a chapter, something where I say to myself, “I need to add that, or this isn’t working,” I use the notebook and write it down so that I can keep going on the first draft. For me, in the beginning, it’s about getting to that finish line. I write until I’m finished, even if it’s bad, then I go back and edit. I am not someone who listens to music as I write. But I do eat. I love chocolate and candy. And those Cadbury Mini-Eggs are hard for me to resist. I buy bags of them once they are out, even though I shouldn’t.
Please include just one excerpt and include page numbers as reference. This one excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer.
WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT (first ten pages)
THE START
My mom once
laughed
and told me
that the start of a
rowing race
sounded like
a baby being born.
I was
fourteen,
at the time,
and thought that was
the stupidest thing
I’d ever heard.
I probably rolled
my eyes.
But … are they similar?
A rowing start and
the birth of a baby?
Heavy pushes and grunting, I guess.
I exited Earth
too early
to experience
birthing a
baby,
and I don’t remember
my own birth—
only moms can do that.
I was a lucky kid.
Parents,
two of them,
together,
a family.
Loved.
They wanted
only me,
no other baby.
Now … I wish there was
someone else,
for them to love
besides
me.
CHAPTER ONE
HOLLY
My heart pounded right through my spandex singlet. I sat halfway up my rowing slide, with my oar angled and buried in the water. My entire body vibrated in anticipation of the word “go!” Water splashed against the side of the boat. The sun beat down. Polarized sunglasses, secured tightly around the back of my head, hugged my face.
Today was the last day of tryouts for the Junior Canadian Rowing Team, and this was the last race of the day. My making the team was down to this one last seat race. I’d made it through three days of racing on the rowing course in St. Catharines—home of the Henley and Canadian Secondary School Regatta—and now I was fighting with one other rower for the last spot.
One spot was left. That’s it; that’s all.
And there were two of us competing, our fates still undecided. After this race, one of us would secure that seat. I sat tall in the boat and focused my gaze on the rower in front of me. I didn’t dare look outside the boat.
Breathe, Holly, breathe.
One of us was going home after this last race. The others, who made the team, would travel to the World Junior Rowing Championships in Lucerne, Switzerland, later in the summer. Ten rowers had already been selected, and I’d had to live through their squeals and happy celebrations. I’d also witnessed the devastation of others who were cut and already sent home.
I inhaled and exhaled, trying to calm my rapid breathing. I was sitting bow seat in one of the two coxed four boats, and Keira, who was from Vancouver, was sitting bow in the other boat. Only two boats were racing today. The schedule was two races and, out of the eight of us rowing, Keira and I were the only ones competing. The format was for me to sit bow seat in one boat and race, then Keira and I would switch boats and race again. The two race times would be added up, and whoever had the fastest time would be the lucky one.
I’d already lost the first race.
And we’d already switched boats. I had to win this race. This was it for me. I needed a win and I only had one more chance.
My body shook. I quickly looked down to make sure I was in the right position. I was good, still sitting only halfway up my slide. Both boats, to make it fair, were starting the race with a half-stroke and had the exact same start sequence. My knees were bent, like I was in a squat, and I sat tall, ready to push back and use my legs to power the oar through the water.
I wanted this so badly. For so many reasons.
I tried to suck in oxygen, to get rid of my jitters.
Stop shaking. You can do this.
I desperately wanted this … so I could travel to Europe and compete at a high level. Be a national team athlete. But … I also needed this … so I could be gone all summer from the new family that had been dropped on me. I didn’t want to go home. Home wasn’t home anymore.
I had to win. Please let me win.
My hands were clammy as I gripped the oar, but I didn’t dare wipe them off. Sweat was already dripping from every pore in my body.
I had this. I could do this.
I blew out air again to stop the hammering in my chest. I couldn’t look out of the boat, at the maple and willow trees lining Martindale Pond, the water we were rowing on. No, I had to stare ahead, keep my focus inside the boat. We were lined up in the starting gates, and the stern of the boat was being held by a boatholder, meaning we were ready to go at any moment.
“Half-slide, rowers.” Eleanor Ing, the Canadian Junior coxswain from the year before, spoke into the microphone, her voice coming through the speakers of the coxbox that ran the length of the boat. She’d been the coxswain for the Junior eight that went to the World Championships last summer and won bronze. She knew her stuff. I tried to swallow, but there wasn’t a lot of saliva in my mouth. My heart kept thumping, but I exhaled and sat tall.
I wanted the race to just start. Now.
All my training, all my work on the indoor rowing machines, all my focus and dedication and time, and going to bed early and getting up with the sunrise, it all came down to this. One more race.
My legs still shook. And my arms. And my upper body.
And my brain.
You got this.
I looked forward, focusing on the elastic in the ponytail of the rower who was sitting in front of me. Oh, God. I wished the race would begin. I had to explode off the start, push, drive my legs. I tried to even my breath, as I waited for the start command.
“Bow seat, touch it up, please.” Eleanor spoke to me.
I pulled my oar just a little to help straighten out the boat for her. The wind was tricky today, coming from the port side, so the boat was being pulled. The water also had a bit of chop. My heart still pounded, out of synch with the chop. Even though my throat was dry, I couldn’t take a sip of water now.
“Okay, bow. That’s good,” she said. “Rowers ready?” She spoke in this clear, calm voice, so unemotional. She was following the rules. With her experience, Eleanor had already made the team, so she wasn’t in the fight. Not like me. Every coxswain I’d ever known was small, skinny, and tough as shit, Eleanor included. She would call out our start, then steer the boat with a rudder to make it go straight. I didn’t know Eleanor that well, as we didn’t even live in the same province. She was from Halifax, Nova Scotia. She had been instructed by the coaches to call the race with no emotion, so there was no advantage. Normally, the coxswains were the motivators, coaches in the boat. Not today.
With my oar in water, I was ready. Please. Just start the seat race, already! Beside us, the motorboat chugged, the gas fumes circulating in the air.
“Boats, are you ready?” one of the coaches called out from the motorboat.
“Ready,” said Eleanor.
Next thing I heard was the French command: “Attention!”
I sat tall. Focused on that elastic.
“go!”
“Half!” Eleanor called out.
I drove my legs hard, pushed back. Snapped my knees. Got my oar through the water and out, using my wrist to turn the oar, flatten it. Up the slide again.
“Half!” Eleanor spoke with authority.
Another half-stroke. Again, I pushed back, helping to move the boat forward.
“Three-quarters!”
Longer stroke. The first few seconds had my heart rate in overdrive. The water churned beside the boat, little swells that slapped against the side of the shell. My legs pushed down. My hands moved around and out over my knees. I started up the slide again, following the rower in front of me. Where was the other boat? A look out of the boat could cause disruption, unnecessary movement, seconds on the time clock. Only the coxswain could look.
“Half!” Eleanor spoke rowing language. “Sitting at forty-two,” she said.
We had the boat moving at forty-two strokes per minute! No wonder I was gasping. High for a four. That high a stroke rate usually only lasted for the start.
“Full!”
I drove back hard on that first full stroke of the race. My breath was as frantic as the pace. Everything needed to slow down, catch the cadence, so I could breathe.
“Give me ten hard ones!” said Eleanor.
We’d done our five-stroke start, and now the boat needed momentum. And the ten hard strokes would do that. She started at one. Where was the other boat?
Don’t worry. Keep pushing. Keep driving.
“Eight!” Up the slide, push back.
“Nine!” Up the slide, push back.
After she called out, “Ten,” we settled into our race rhythm. “We’re at thirty-four,” she said. “Bow, take over the race.” Eleanor talked calmly.
Now I had to call the race. Me. Those were the rules in a seat race. I would call and so would Keira. Eleanor could only give us where we sat in comparison to the other boat. The pace was okay, and I was hanging in there. Was everyone else? After the ten, we seemed to settle too much, though. Sure, the boat took on a rhythm that I was comfortable with, but maybe too comfortable.
“They’ve got half a boat on us,” said Eleanor.
Half a boat? Already!!!! I had to do something.
“Take it up,” I called from the bow.
The rower sitting in the stern, in stroke seat, the seat that dictates the pace, accelerated, and I dug in hard to follow: pushing, sliding, pushing, sliding, pushing, sliding.
To five hundred meters.
“They’re still half a boat ahead,” said Eleanor.
“Twenty!” I called out. Come on, twenty hard strokes. Did I do the right thing? Twenty at the five hundred mark was risky.
Please. Make it the right thing.
We pushed through the twenty, then the boat fell flat. I could feel it. Fatigue set into my legs, my hips, my upper body. My brain.
Finally, a thousand meters. Halfway done. My breathing was ragged. My legs were on fire, quads burning with every stroke. Should I call for another hard twenty? I could see the other boat out of the corner of my eye, but it wasn’t good. They were definitely ahead.
Come on. Keep going, Holly. Don’t die. Please don’t die.
“Twenty,” I called out in a gasp.
The boat picked up a little. My legs seared and my breathing was like rapid bursts. In and out. In and out. I kept sliding and pushing.
Keep going, Holly. You can do it! Dig. Dig. Dig. Find that last reserve.
Fifteen hundred meters.
“Less than half a boat,” said Eleanor.
We were catching them! Could we? I had to push just a little harder. Harder. Harder.
“Last two-fifty,” said Eleanor.
“Take it up!” I yelled.
We were moving. Pushing. Could we do it?
The horn blared, announcing a boat was across the finish line. Then a second horn.
Click on the below link to purchase WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT from Amazon
Why is this excerpt so emotional for you as a writer to write? And can you describe your own emotional experience of writing this specific excerpt. This is a novel that is written in both verse and prose. The first verse section was difficult for me to write because of the traumatic experience I had as a rowing coach, over thirty-three years ago. I can’t say anymore as it gives away the story, but the reader will understand once the layers to the plot are revealed, and they figure out who the voice is behind the verse. The first chapter is an experience I had as an athlete – a rower- and a tryout I had for the Canadian National Team when I was eighteen. I channeled my experience and remembered all the emotions I felt and, of course, manipulated them to suit the character of Holly. Holly is not me, doesn’t have any of my home life, has more determination than me (I think) but her experience of trying out, and desperately wanting an outcome comes from my own experience.
RIGHT: The university rowing team. Lorna Schultz Nicholas is FAR RIGHT.
Were there any deletions from this excerpt that you can share with us? And can you please include a photo of your marked up rough drafts of this excerpt. This verse section was in one of my first drafts and I deleted it and changed it for the one that I put in the excerpt. The verse that is now in that excerpt is the final version that is in the printed novel, sitting on shelves and available online.
Here is the deleted verse.
Click on below link to watch Lorna Schultz Nicholson talk about When You Least Expect It
Lorna Schultz Nicholson has published children’s picture books, middle grade fiction, YA fiction and hockey non-fiction. Her books have been nominated for many different awards and are often on the CCBC’s Best Books for Kids and Teens list. Lorna loved sports as a child and she also loved to read and write. She is thrilled to be able to combine her love of literacy with her sport background. WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT is a novel that is close to Lorna as she rowed for West Park Secondary School and the St. Catharines Rowing, and she also coached rowing at the University of Victoria. Lorna now lives in Edmonton with her husband (Go Oilers Go) and Mexican rescue dog.
Most of the INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION links can be found at the very end of the below feature:
http://chrisricecooper.blogspot.com/2021/03/stephenson-holts-arranged-marriage-is.html