Doug Stevenson in Halifax April 10, 2008

PRESS RELEASE
For immediate release
March 31, 2008
More information available from Pam Robertson, 902.222.9212, or leave us a comment below.

Doug Stevenson, bestselling author and speaker, in Halifax for one night only!
If you are committed to making your speaking memorable and captivating, this workshop is for you.
The Story Theatre Method – How to Develop Signature Stories That Stick and Sell

A great story is more like a movie than a report. Doug Stevenson’s Story Theatre Method combines acting, comedy and storytelling techniques within the context of keynote speeches and training in a way that markets the speaker while simultaneously making a powerful point. You can transform your stories from good to AMAZING using this proven method!

• Learn how to craft a story using the nine steps of story structure
• Learn why you must show and tell rather than just tell
• Learn specific humour techniques that work for everyone
• Discover the power of “Emotional triggers”
• Witness how subtle acting tips make a story more compelling
• Brand your point with a Phrase That Pays


About Doug Stevenson:
Doug is a former professional actor, now speaker, trainer and speaker’s coach. He is the creator of The Story Theatre Method. He is also the creator of The 21-Step How to Write and Deliver a Dynamite Speech System. Doug has presented Story Theatre in the US, Canada, England, Ireland, Denmark, Germany, Sydney and Singapore.

Super-Session Pricing means great value for small investment!
$40 CAPS members $60 non-members

You can check Doug out on this video clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GQ3BDkMN1LY
Join CAPS Halifax on a special night April 10, 2008, 6:30 P.M. at Future Inns Halifax on Lacewood Drive, just off Highway 102 at exit 2A.

CAPS Halifax is the Chapter of the Canadian Association of Professional Speakers that serves the Atlantic Canadian community of experts who speak. See us on the web at www.capshalifax.ca, or leave us a comment on our blog at http://capshalifax.blogspot.com

The Joy of Mail

Ever delay a trip to the mail box because you know that you will be bombarded with junk mail or bills?
My grandmother has been a consummate letter writer throughout her life. A war bride who came to Canada after WW2 to marry a Canadian soldier, she wrote beautiful flowing letters to her family back in England, which they always responded to in familiar curves and lines of love, inspiration and newsy chit chat. When I was younger (pre mass access to e-mail) and in the army, my mom and sister wrote me beautiful letters. Always wanting to pack in as much news as possible, they included pictures or news clippings, and then found things to chat about that went over the pages so that sometimes they had to squish things in along the margins. I can remember my mum writing epistles to her family abroad, ten and twelve pages of news, stories and anecdotes about family life, the kids or the length of winter. You could tell that she enjoyed the process of writing itself; choosing pretty paper, steeping a cup of tea, and taking the cap off of her favourite pen, shushing our prattling mouths so that she could get on with the task of writing. She always finished them with big curled x’s that stood for a kiss.
XXX
My Aunt’s from afar would send birthday cards and holiday greetings. I remember distinctly receiving Christmas cards from Australia and begin dumbfounded; I had always thought that everyone’s Christmas cards looked like mine; scenes of snow and frost. But it’s summer in Australia at Christmas, and we’ve got the cards to prove it.
There is something really satisfying about getting a real piece of mail. The weight of a few pages tucked thoughtfully into an envelope. The rushed comments on the back of a post card sent from someone’s adventures far away. A picture. A few thoughts. A moment in time to connect to someone far away from us, by sending them a little written morsel. The kindness of a note that sincerely says thank you, or thinking of you or happy day, even from someone that we have only just met.
My sister has started creating a monthly newsletter that she sends to our 86 year old grandmother. It takes a bit of work, probably 3-4 hours per month, but it has photos and goings on that our grandmother loves so much that she has started to keep them in a scrapbook. I have kept every single hand made card that my aunt has sent over the years. They are a connection to her, a dedication to people that touch our hearts. If there is someone on your list that you’ve been thinking about writing to it, now’s the time. Get out that pen, rustle that paper. Make their day by offering them a part of yourself that they can see, touch and drink in with their eyes.
From me to you,
XXX

In this day and age

I am so disappointed, and not a little confused. A bunch of students rumble in a high school; 26 suspensions, 2 sent to hospital. It isn’t the first problem this year, or this decade or the previous one come to mention it. Parent, community leaders and even the media are hinting that the solution is to build a new school. Separate the warring factions. That there are long standing issues with two groups, and one parent interviewed on the news even said that sometimes people “just don’t learn to get along”. What?! Am I hearing this correctly? Is this 2008 or 1688? Racism flourishes in a high school and kids are ready to bloody, maim and beat one another, face suspension or even expulsion, arrest and jail; and the community’s answer is to split them up? Surely I am not the only person who is confounded by all of this.

Students that they interviewed for the news even said that yes, the issues are racial. However, those same kids – our future community leaders – also said that the issues are not rational, that it makes no sense to carry on this way, in this day and age.

It appears to me that the students have got the problem figured out. The tensions are racial. They need to be dealt with.

To me, that says that some of these students want help. They don’t know how to solve these problems on their own; the tension builds, tempers flare, text messages start flying and then there is blood, police and mayhem.

Instead of having them traumatized by threats of more violence or idiotic thoughts of superiority, class or intolerance, get some leaders in there! Not the local constabulary, and not the bloody parents or community members ready to build a wall around these kids and isolate them from one another. Real leaders. The kids have leaders among them; involve them and also include people the kids will listen to as well. People that understand the problems, and can help bring real peace and security to that community.

Why are we not raising them to read, write and articulate? Why are we not raising them with a commitment to respect and community. Why are they not, after all this time, coming closer together instead of still feeling divided. Give them a CAUSE WORTH FIGHTING FOR like poverty, racism or unemployment instead of one another. Lead them to healthy ways of expressing their frustration with one another. Bring people in who have seen and survived genocide, war and insurrection. Show them that they are not alone, but that there are ways to survive and thrive. Get this sorted out and help these young people live to be old people.

Blye Frank from Dalhousie University completed an intensive study in 1997 and made a raft of recommendations on how to resolve the problems. Most of the recommendations were never addressed or only partially implemented. Not enough money? Raising kids out of the abyss of racial tension not sexy enough to spend the money that is needed? Not noteworthy enough come election time? Give me a break. You cannot argue that the money isn’t there. I’m sure if you calculated the actual costs of what has happened to that school and the community in the last 11 years or so, it has been staggering compared to what could have been.

It seems as though the board is trying, the principal and staff are doing their best, and the police step in whenever they are called. But it doesn’t get rid of the problems because those responses are not able to really get at what is under the surface. They cannot do enough for what is underneath the surface where we bury racism, illiteracy, poverty and try to hide it under a smoke screen of shame. It really pisses me off that we support kids in foreign countries so that they can eat, go to school and develop skills for the future, but we try to forget that our own kids, and these are our own kids folks, we try to forget that our own kids in our own schools, aren’t worth helping.

Shame on us.

Pam Robertson, Ph.D.

The new book

Have you ever written a book? Ever had so many words and phrases and ideas running around that you start writing them down and then at the end of it all, there it is, a book. I started working on an idea the other day in that place where you aren’t quite awake but have not finished with sleeping yet either. Like a dream except you’re awake enough to know you’re dreaming and yet you cannot get back to sleep either. It’s a good thing that I keep a notebook beside my bed.

So folks, here it comes-->book number two, by Maggie Bendar. Title TBA. Characters dynamic. Setting pure Canadian for now. Maybe a little Europe on the side.

Might take a while but I’ll keep all six of my avid blog readers updated right here! And on www.maggiebendar.com of course, where you can also order copies of the first book, Marching Across the Heart. Right. I mean write.

A flag by another name is just so much more!

Several months ago I visited Peggy’s Cove, and someone had the coolest thing ever attached to their antenna. One of those handy dandy see it for miles and never lose your car in the parking lot again flags. Not just your average flag, that means, but something spectacular. Currently, I have one of the regular flags; a Canadian Maple Leaf that has blown in the wind from Edmonton to Halifax. That trip was 3700 kms as the crow flies, but 4885 kilometers (3036 miles) by the highways, to which I have added an additional 5000 kms since arriving here. My flag is starting to look a little tired, and it’s not in me to allow it to fade any further nor start to fray. That is disrespectful to the flag.

We attached a Canadian flag to our antennas so that as my sister and I sped across the country we could keep an eye on each other as we drove. I could keep an eye on her when I started to speed and she dropped back in traffic to force me to slow down. If someone cut between us, it was easy to spot where each of us were in traffic. This came in REALLY handy, especially when we were going through Montreal in torrents of rain during rush hour.

So, since we had arrived here and I had the flag on my antenna already, I started to use it quite frequently. Instead of having to remember exactly where I parked, I only had to remember more or less where I parked because the flag does all the work. I only had to remember that I parked in a general area, and hone in on my little flag. Then there was that day Peggy’s Cove, and someone had this great huge colourful flower on their antenna. A few months later when I returned to Peggy’s Cove, there was the flower again. Colourful. Bright. Securely attached to someone’s car (presumable they worked at the Cove). I stored the picture in my mind and started to keep my eyes open for one, willing it to manifest.

Today it poked it’s bright pink daisy head out at me. There she was, the daisy of my vision in a store at the airport, in the kids’ toy store (I got one for my sister too, so that we can both look like a couple of clowns together driving around). It was her idea to go into the store, and to get the flags in the first place, so I thought it might be a great nod to her.

I will have to remember to remove the daisy when I am doing any spy work, but otherwise I shall enjoy it immensely.

I’ll add a picture of it to the blog as soon as I recharge the battery for my camera.

Thoughts from the city of wind

Went for a stroll through the Maritime Museum with my folks today. It was a good way to stay out of the perishingly cold wind, and also to connect with my town. The other benefit was being able to explore it through my parent’s eyes, since they are here on a visit.

This is a maritime city, and it is a maritime museum, which means that there is lots of nautical stuff. Ships, boats, rigging, some amazing models and a cool guy who sits on display near the entrance carving and building replicas. The tribute to the Halifax Explosion is unbelievable as a testimony to both gut wrenching devastation and inspiring courage and resilience. In a smaller display, the tragedy of the Titanic highlights the stratification imposed by class and ego amid people’s selflessness related to rescue and hope.

We truly do have a frail grip on life, and the speed or violence that can take it away from us. Today was a strong reminder of that, and a great tribute to a couple of events that really demonstrate it. I think that the wind is bringing with it that change of seasons, from winter to spring. A little hope, a little fun, and a whole lot of love going on.

water water everywhere and not a drop to drink

Well as if things weren't exciting enough around here already. Perhaps not that exciting for you, I appreciate, but certainly for me.
Yesterday I visit the local grub shop to pick up two big jugs of water. The kind that you flip upside down and deftly rest on the spike at the top of the water cooler so that you have an ample supply of filtered tap water, as opposed to the filtered tap water that comes into my sink. But I digress...so I am in the process of hoisting the jug and deftly turning it upside down.
"Do you want a hand with that?" my dad kindly asks.
"No, I'm fine thanks. Done this loads of times."
The water shifts as I turn the jug, a couple of water droplets make their way under my hand and then the jug, full of water, crashes to the floor. The spray is enormous, the dogs scamper to get away. I scoop up the jug, which is now spurting water like a severed artery and say to dad, "Open the door for me please? I need to get this out the yard."
More water pumps out as I awkwardly maneuver the jug out the back door. Will I ever learn?
When a fellow says to me "Do you want a hand with that?" next time I will smile nicely and say, "Oh yes please, that'd be great".

Distractions

I seem to be spending an inordinate amount of time being distracted today and not getting enough work done. Computer is still fudgy, family life is overwhelming…oh I know, blah blah de blah.

I made fish cakes for supper in a very Maritime kind of way. Being an inept planner in the kitchen sometimes, they took me twice as long to put together as I had planned. I had figured on an hour. Food of love they call that, when you put an inordinate amount of time in to preparing something. They all enjoyed it, which made me feel as though the time was really worthwhile. In the future, I think it would be well worth approaching fish cakes more like Christmas baking; make a gazillion of them and stick some in the freezer so that although today takes a bit of time, another day you have an instant dinner.

See, there I was distracted again. Not just by cooking the dinner, but also writing about it. My punishment is stiff because this project is going to take all bleeding night but I have to get it done because we are on a really, really tight deadline and tomorrow there is more to come. Focus Pam…

Tribute

My mother in law passed away last week. Well not actually my mother in law technically anymore since she was my ex-husband’s mom, but I thought of her as partly mine anyway and most certainly as Grandma to our kids.

I think that life was very hard on you, and certainly you were ripped off from living to a ripe old age and enjoying any golden years. You certainly survived more than what I would consider to be your fair share of heart break and anguish. But I think that you were one of those people who truly lived your journey for a time. You were not simply racing toward the end; you went places and did things, worked hard, loved well and completely, protected your children and grandchildren. Be at peace Grandma, and be comforted by knowing that you were—and are—loved.

Wordplay

The very heart of our blogging is to share our words with people. If we didn’t want to share, then those same words could be captured in a dot doc (.doc) tucked safely away on our computer, or even written in a paper journal. Writers who publish their work, either online or in print, presumably want someone else to see their stuff. To read it. To like it or perhaps hate it. To agree with it or not, or perhaps debate it. To involve themselves in the rich texture of the words that are there.

What a writer writes starts out as a bunch of letters, like the colourful magnets that preschoolers rearrange on the door of a fridge. When those letters are gathered into meaningful sequence, they become words. Words get organized and become sentences or lines of poetry, groups of them so powerful that they can captivate a reader, distract them from other things they ought to do.

Growing up I can remember kids getting razzed by their mother to stop playing with their food. I hope that no one is getting into trouble for playing with their words! “Use your words”, I used to tell my kids when they were upset and blurting out angrily, “tell me what has happened.” I was so excited to hear those same sentiments in the movie Stepmom! My kids got used to the fact that it wasn’t enough to say that so-and-so was a jerk. Using words meant describing a situation using language and their ever growing vocabularies. We made it fun, because wordplay is fun. It’s also extremely important. Experimenting with sounds and letters, words and pictures is what kids do in order to develop their language skills and it’s what we too to do to master a second language. Kids who are good readers become better writers. Good writers are often avid readers. The two activities are complimentary, and if you think that you can be a great writer but never read other people’s writing, I am going to argue with you big time!

Fill their cup, please

This is the link to the World Friendship Program of the United Nations, where 93% of what you donate actually helps the people that it is intended to.

I donated following Drew Barrymore's appeal on Oprah Winfrey today. If each person donates what they can, imagine what we can do. This saves children in our world. I was a child once, and I have my own kids. I work really hard to make sure that they have whatever they need, and I think that this is something that they - and I - need to be a part of. Help a kid today!

<--For more information, click here on the banner











If that doesn't work, this link should take you to their site for more information:
http://www.friendsofwfp.org/site/pp.asp?c=7oIJLSOsGpF&b=3931837


And here you can see what Drew Barrymore is doing to make the world a better place. http://www.drewbarrymore.com/index.html

Thanks for reading this, and whether you donate or not, just for thinking about it, I think that you rock! So here is the band playing in your honour-->

Raising readers and writers

I used to teach and tutor kids who had all kinds of trouble learning to read, and getting them hooked was sometimes damned hard work. I think about those kids from time to time. They’re all grown up now; finished high school, part of the working world. I wonder what they will do, where they will go. Not in an egotistical kind of way, but in a very real way.

When we do not raise our kids as readers, we do not raise them as people who also read as adults. When they don’t read they don’t write. If they don’t write on a piece of paper, they sure aren’t writing much else (with the exception of text messaging perhaps; that cryptic note passing that people can engage in for hours at a time).

The part that scares me is that as people become less likely to read and write, they only become aware of things that are presented aurally or visually – television, text messages, radio. News that is condensed into 15 second sound bites that don’t tell half the story if it trying to bring up a story at all. Real tight sound bites that tell nothing except the sensationally sales worthy are unable to tell the real story, and sadly do not tell the heart touchingly noteworthy.

Oh Spring

Spring really begins in the midst of winter,

When we are watching the smoke curling from chimneys

And we warm ourselves with comfort food and stories about warm sunshine.

Snow packs into drifts along every nook and cranny,

Tight against porch steps and crunching underfoot as the temperature plunges.

Freezing rain, snow and sleet blow in your eyes and down your neck

In what we try to cheerfully refer to as mixed wintry weather.

Breathing frigid cold air carefully so that it doesn’t sear your throat,

Fingers so chilled you have to pry them off the shovel.

Trying to sleep at night but startles awake as the house shudders in a gale,

Creaking and groaning as though it is a hundred years old.

Any day now it’ll be here, we console ourselves;

It has never snowed forever.

We plan for spring, wait eagerly for it.

What we’ll do when the weather is better,

Where we’ll go when the roads are clear,

How warm we’ll feel out in the bright sunshine.

After some weeks of teasing, snow then rain then snow again and

Finally, gloriously, a big melt. Hope flourishes quietly.

Then more freezing and rain and snow

With cold and wind.

We retreat back into warm houses

And woolly sweaters.

When it seems that we cannot take another moment,

Another snowflake or ice pellet driving into our faces,

Suddenly it comes.

The kids wander out of their houses as if coming out of hibernation

Yelling and calling to one another.

They’re testing out new rubber boots in super bright colours

Pumping bicycle tires and basketballs.

The birds seem to be getting caught up in the fun

Darting around still bare branches and the dogs catch it too, like a fever.

They break out of the back door and chase one another around the yard

Jumping and prancing, cavorting about and eating chunks of icy snow.

The maple trees are poised ready; taps in place and buckets waiting patiently

For those perfect first days that will signal running of that most anticipated of elixirs.

And spring, oh joyful spring.