GHOSTS IN THE CLOSET

A REMINDER FROM JOHN COLOMBO’S BOOK, “MYSTERIES OF ONTARIO.”

The blog entry, most recently,...... a work of fiction....a titch of biography, an abstract portrait of a struggling writer in a haunted residence......was re-introduced to me this week, quite by coincidence. Son Robert, on a trip to Ottawa, and while scouring a book shop, found John Colombo’s book, “Mysteries of Ontario,” released in 1999, and decided that because it had a photograph of dear old dad, he’d pick it up for the family archives. I wrote a piece for John, on a haunting at my former Bracebridge residence, and my mug is featured on page 53. The heading of the story is “McGibbon House,” named after Dr. Peter McGibbon, former Muskoka Member of Parliament, and one of the founding doctors of Bracebridge Memorial Hospital, back in the late 1920's. I appreciated Robert buying this copy, as my own signed first edition was loaned out and well.......my friend liked it so much, well, it was never returned.

John was a great source of inspiration, when I began my own gathering of personal stories, about our family’s life-long encounters with the paranormal. As I have great respect for the huge amount of research John has done, in his amazing career as Canada’s most accomplished “hunter-gatherer” of tales of the supernatural, paranormal, extra terrestial, UFO encounters, legends and lore.....when he suggested I should jot my experiences down, as well, it was an invitation I couldn’t refuse. In fact, I was delighted when John offered to write an introductory column, to a ghosts of Muskoka feature series, I was preparing for The Muskoka Sun, some years back. It was a great honor to be associated with this important Canadian historian, and his enlightening work over many decades.

I have included a graphic of the book’s cover. McGibbon House was certainly a component of the biographical art piece, I wrote this past winter. As a struggling writer, in those first years, wondering if it was in the cards or not..... I can so clearly remember sitting at my desk, overlooking Bracebridge’s Memorial Park, wondering what the future held in store for a young university graduate........while nothing was being tapped onto that huge white sheet of paper in the typewriter carriage. I’d start to fear writing, and the waste-paper basket was full to overflowing. When I did write something, I hated it before the ink had time to adjust to its new reality. I’d come up those attic stairs full of vim and vinegar, with ideas abounding. As soon as I’d get settled, the typewriter pulled close on the desk, and the view given a cursory glance, the big freeze would commence. I have no idea how I broke that spell of non-productivity, other than to say, what began as a standoff has merged, quite remarkably, with a hugely prolific span of authordom, and although I can’t show many books for my efforts, I’ve had thousands upon thousands of articles published in a wide assortment of publications, and have a solid audience today viewing these online blogs. I have five different blogs, on diverse subjects, that keep me hopping. I just love to write. Back then, the demons within, told me I couldn’t write. But I’ve never been one to follow instructions.

The wee bit of fiction had its basis in two realities. I was living in a haunted house, and I was a writer looking for inspiration. Despite the perceived presence of demons in that house......came the unfettered appreciation that the demons were of my own creation.....not cast upon me as a curse, by my place of residence. While it was indeed a haunted house, if ever there was one, it was a friendly, kindly haunting, and with its history and view of uptown Bracebridge, it was an inspirational portal from which to watch out at the world passing. I adored writing from that house, especially the apartment directly below the attic, where I lived while editor of The Herald-Gazette.....the job I never wanted to end.

I am still a prolific writer in residence. The McGibbon house was torn down quite a number of years ago now. Funny thing, my son Andrew attended a federally funded young entrepreneur’s course there, one fall and winter, after he graduated high school. He was in class directly below where his father used to write, day-in and day-out, and where there was once the sound of a regular footfall on the attic stairway.....from a resident unknown and unseen. I will never get that house out of my mind. On the other hand, why would I want that! It was the source of inspiration that has given me a lifetime in my chosen profession. And when I was about to quit altogether, it was the McGibbon House, and all its inmates, some visible, some not, that re-generated my interest in writing. I soon sat at that attic window typing like a madman, celebrating every minute of creation......and thanking the big old house for its many accommodations to the writer in residence.

Thanks Robert for reminding me my past wasn’t so bad. Just a little bit bad.