Click to editSherrill Wark
Sherrill Wark is a novelist, screenwriter, short story writer, poet, book designer, former editor, not-so-little ol' lady but is otherwise normal.
She’s a former member of CAA–NCR (Canadian Authors Association, National Capital Region branch) and is the former editor/designer of their e-mag, Byline.
Sherrill has written a series of historical novels about the Acadian people written from the point of view of Keskoua, a Mi'gmaw woman, and set in Port Royal, Acadia (Annapolis Royal NS): Death in l’Acadie; Refuge in l'Acadie; Trapped in l'Acadie; and Hanged for l'Acadie.
Sherrill Wark sings soprano secundi in an Italian choir and kills people off in her dark short stories under a pseudonym and also under her real name in novels and screenplays. "It's beyond cathartic," she says.
Sherrill's books are listed below.
Her Books
Death without cause is strange enough on its own, but three deaths separated over 39 years and with no decomposition in any of the bodies sends Shaw Falls into a turmoil. A skeptical chief of police seeks the aid of a psychic while an uptight minister and an eccentric old lady neighbor team up to send a diabolical creature back to the hell it slithered in from.
To her Guardian Angel’s absolute embarrassment, her “Charge,” teenage Vivie, dies while texting and driving. Susan, a film-noir fan and wannabe writer, who passed over in the early 1960s as a teenager herself, must get Vivie away from the accident site before she dissipates. But since Vivie recognized Susan’s existence only once when Vivie was 13, and only then thinking it was her recently deceased pet rabbit, Petunia, this will take some doing.
As Susan and Vivie work their way through the many challenges facing them, the annoying George keeps popping up unannounced and very much unwelcome.
An absolutely hilarious journey through the Afterlife.
An inspirational book that will stimulate you to write that book or movie or story you always wanted to write.
No more excuses!
Nerdette and former editor, Sherrill Wark, explains how to keep your Muse happy and productive, how to say no to distractions, and how to dig deep into your soul for characterization.
How to Write a Book: Park It, Get to Work is a remodel of the popular Really Stupid Writing Mistakes: How to Avoid Them.
A sequel to *How to Write a Book: Park It, Get to Work*. Written with humour and encouragement, this book is a must for those who are as yet insecure with their authorship.
Book 1
In this sometimes humorous, sometimes deadly serious account of life in 1670–80s Acadia when the Newcomers attempted to foist their ways onto The People, Keskoua, a Mi’gmaw girl, takes us into her world where murder and deceit mean nothing to those who come from away.
“Some of [the newcomers] had taken up the lonely life of trapping because they couldn’t stand the lonely life of civilization. Some of them were running from women, from the fathers of women, from lawmen, or from each other. On the rough side, all of them were at least a little bit crazy whether they had started out that way or not.”
Sherrill Wark, the author, a descendant of “the Frenchman Claude Guidry,” brings us on a journey of enlightenment through the eyes of a resilient people determined to survive against almost unbearable challenges.
“… life among the Mi’gmaw near Port Royal as told by a ‘pain in the arse’ teenage girl named Keskoua. From the first paragraph to the last, Keskoua’s storytelling keeps the reader involved. If it were in present time, it would be dubbed a ‘coming of age’ story. In the late seventeenth century, ‘coming of age’ isn’t that simple for young women—or young men for that matter. Early marriage, death from childbirth, murder and disappearances are common occurrences.
“Sherrill Wark has managed to give a raw yet entertaining glimpse into life in early Acadia without sacrificing authenticity of fact. History as it should be taught.”—Phyllis Bohonis
Book 2
1694 Port Royal. Ordinary life is disrupted when a beautiful dark-skinned stranger floats in from the Big Bay in a dug-out. She is followed by three self-called slave hunters from Acadia’s enemy, New England.
The village drunk knows one of these “slave hunters” all too well: the man kidnapped his little sister years earlier, abandoning her at the docks of Boston Harbor.
Keskoua, her love-smitten brother, the mysterious stranger, a friend with suspicious motives, and the drunk band together to plan a sea voyage on a cursed ship to find the drunk’s sister and rescue the stranger’s daughter from slavery.
“I enjoyed every single page.”—Phyllis Bohonis, The Wilderness
I didn’t ask it but she answered my question anyway: “These scars on the outside of me are not from being a slave. They are from being thought beautiful and living beside a jealous neighbor. The scars on the inside of me are from slavery. No one can see those.”
“I saw them,” I told her. “I saw them when you were sitting there on the log with Hélène’s shawl over your shoulders when you first got here. When Monsieur St-Amand was trying to look into your ears and your eyes with his glass instrument. The fear and anger became even stronger in you. It came out like a storm cloud.”
Book 3
Nowhere to go. Nothing to eat.
The only thing that survived, the only thing that could survive, was love—but only in the strongest.
“Village? There is no village. They are saying there’s no longer a village anywhere. They burned everything down. Down flat. Trees, houses, churches, barns, the wheat fields.” She swept her arm fully from left to right. “Everything is gone. They even…” She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can say it. They burned everything. Everything. Even the cows and the chickens and the sheep.” Those strange eyes once again bore into mine. “You could hear them crying out. I never knew a cow could scream.” She turned away from me. “I never want to hear that again.”
Book 4
“And our children.” I said quietly. “They take any young
Mi´gmaw children they catch fishing. They take them away.”
“As I well know!” Marguerite said. “They put them in prison, oui? That’s where they are?”
“No. It’s not where they are and you know that, Marguerite. You know exactly where they are.”
“Mon Dieu. Don’t tell me that. I don’t want to know that. I don’t want to think that. Not about my grandson! Let’s go back to talking about rum. The damned rum that’s ruining not only your people but our young ones as well. Oh mon Dieu, help me stop thinking about my grandson.”