The Brink of Freedom

You’ve heard it said many times. It’s a message worth repeating. An author, unless he or she is famous, makes little money at their craft. There I’ve just said it again.

A few weeks ago, after a second death in the Amydgeleza Refugee Detention Centre in as many days, the new Greek government vowed to close [all refugee detention centres](http://www.ekathimerini.com/4dcgi/_w_articles_wsite1_1_14/02/2015_547271) in Greece.

If the Amygdeleza Detention Centre closes down as has been promised by the Greek government what will happen to the staff I met last November: the commander who spoke proudly of the centre and the work his staff were doing in aid of detained refugees, the young sergeant who enthusiastically described the humanitarian living conditions, the medical facilities, and the counselling support provided to refugees.

I have just started promoting my new novel, _The Brink of Freedom,_ first with the launch at the Whistler Writers Festival, then with a reading at the Vancouver Writers Festival. Now I’m on the road, touring the novel and meeting new people. I love the meeting new people part.

Last week you saw the trailer for my novel, _The Brink of Freedom_. Here is a short excerpt of the reading I’ve been giving audiences on the tour. Hope you like it.

“Would you be okay with speaking at any of our branches?” “Yes, of course. Happy to go anywhere,” I replied to the email from the Vancouver Public Library. They were inviting me to speak about my novel. I was thrilled.

I used to believe that an altruistic vision coupled with focused large-scale action and single-minded persistence would make the world a better place. In fact, I used to think that was the only way to shake things up. I’ve changed my mind a bit on this.

I’ve been very fortunate to be invited to attend book club meetings to discuss my latest novel, _The Brink of Freedom_. I love meeting people and love discussing books.

I have a new novel coming out this year. I say these words quietly because it seems so self-indulgent to say it any other way. In fact, I rarely say anything unless specifically asked. I have such hope for my novel, but faith alone will not be enough.

The Roma people of Greece play one of the many leading roles in my new novel. I have read about them, talked to some on the street who spoke English (or understood my bad Greek), visited groups who provide specialized programming to the Roma community and tried to make contact with a few Roma associations.

I use this blog to rant at length about various topics. Not solely, but I can, and do, go on at times. I’m sure you’ve noticed. Many things seemed to bug me in 2014.

The other day I felt pretty low. My publisher had just let me know that she hadn’t heard back from a broadcaster regarding an interview I’d hoped to do prior to a major event I was doing in Vancouver.

I am Greek. With a name like Leventoyannis, this is no secret. I’m proud _(eimai perifanos)_ of my cultural roots, brag about Greece’s contributions to medicine, language, democracy and the arts, and don’t mind repeating my name several times or spelling it for those intimidated by all those letters.

I have had such an incredibly rich and fulfilling time in Greece. I love this country (I may have mentioned this once or twice before), the people, the weather, and the great food. Everyone I’ve met has been hospitable and generous with their time (more about that in a future blog) and incredibly engaged and welcoming.

It came this week. As did the tears the moment I saw the foreign writing. I took a breath, tried to control my emotions. Where had all this sentiment come from? I couldn’t articulate it.

Last week I wrote about my impressions of Greece. I’ve now been here for two weeks and I’m surprised at how the contrasts I’ve witnessed in those early days have further cemented themselves in my views so that all I see is contradiction

A twenty-six year old [Pakistani man](http://www.ekathimerini.com/4dcgi/_w_articles_wsite1_1_18/11/2014_544692W) died in a refugee detention centre on the outskirts of Athens this week.

“Greece is always in my heart”. My command of the Greek language is no better than that of a precocious two-year old, but these words of love flow easily.

Last week I read from my new novel, _The Brink of Freedom_ , at an event hosted by the office of the Greek Consulate General of Vancouver and the Hellenic Community Association of Vancouver.

I was in Edmonton to do a reading in early November. I love that city. When I moved to Edmonton for work in 1986, I didn’t know a soul, but right from the start, the people I met and worked with made me feel welcome.

Last week I told you about how it came to be that I was presenting my novel to a group of 50 kids at Vimy Ridge Collegiate in Edmonton. Here’s the rest of the story.

A few weeks ago, I noticed quite by accident that the new novel I’m currently working on had gone sideways. Up until that time I’d been writing at quite a clip.

So I kind of left you hanging last week with the problem I encountered with my new novel. You’ll recall that a wrench had been thrown into the works.The plans I had for one of my characters had changed. So his storyline had to change.

I tell friends and strangers alike that holding my novel, _The Brink of Freedom_ in my hands in early October was an incredibly emotional experience. It wasn’t my first novel, but still the tears flowed, uncontrollably at times.

As many of you know, I’m in Greece with my father. We’ve been visiting relatives and hanging out. Every night we watch the news at 8. In some ways it reminds me of the closeness we shared when I was a child.

I wake with a start. I’m expected somewhere. Where am I supposed to be? Who knows? Nothing around me is recognizable. The fog gets thicker and I feel myself drift away into nothingness. Again.

The nightmares I wrote about last week haven’t let up. I’ve explored what I think is triggering them. If you read last week’s blog, you know it’s complicated and has many tentacles. Perhaps, it’s me. I could be making things worse than they need be. In fact, I’m sure I am.

Last Saturday I gave a reading to the on-line students in Simon Fraser University’s The Writing Studio program (TWS). Prior to any reading I practice my presentation, determining which sections I’m going to read and how I will introduce them. This was the first time I’d read from both my novels in one session.

I can’t believe another year is coming to a close. I say this every year, sometimes several times throughout the year. “Can you believe it’s already April?” Or. “It’s summer. Where did spring go?” Or. “The colours are changing. Wasn’t summer incredibly short this year?”

Fiction makes sense of a situation in a way that eludes facts and figures. It’s difficult to fathom the kinds of numbers we’ve seen reported about the refugee movements in Europe.

I quote him often, but this time, I’m wondering what Socrates means by bareness. I’m currently neck deep in the craziness of life. Less than three weeks away from the festival, lots of small details still being sorted out, and I’m juggling time, commitments and responsibilities. Where the heck is this bareness?

Have you ever had this experience: you’re working hard on a project or a goal, you’ve got a bunch of pieces, but you haven’t quite figured out how they are meant to fit together, then as though you’ve found a long forgotten combination to a rust-bitten lock, everything clicks into place.

In last week’s blog, I wrote about how information and people have come into my life to confirm what I’ve been writing. This week I want to acknowledge those who made this journey possible. Without their help, I would not have had the experiences you’ve read about in my blogs over the last several weeks.

I’ve been back in Canada for over two weeks and still the questions persist: what was it like in Greece, what do you think of what is going on. I like being asked. I’m nothing if not opinionated.

“O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frightened thee? That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down. And steep my senses in forgetfulness?” William Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part 2

I ran into a friend of mine at a meeting last week. She said she was eager to read my new novel, _The Brink of Freedom_. I’m honoured and grateful people want to read what I’ve written and it’s high time I said thank you.

“What would you like the media to capture about the refugee crisis that isn’t being captured now?” This question came from a grade 11 student this week.

I am away this weekend at a retreat, so I asked author, Linda Roger, if I could post her review of my novel on my blog. She agreed and here it is below. Linda Roger's forthcoming novel, _Bozuk_ , Exile Editions, fall 2016, is also about tremours, in Turkey, where Europe meets Asia. Thanks again, Linda!

My nature is to be positive. Even in the most desperate of situations, I see light and simply focus on that, mostly to the exclusion of everything else. Some might call me na?ve. Everyone is entitled to an opinion.

With my novel’s release date in sight, I have started to put some notes together about how the novel came to be. Holding it my hands this week when it arrived in the mail, I was very emotional. Actually, I sobbed.

When I left you last week I was starting to explain some of the factors that led me to write _The Brink_. Here’s some more of the genesis of my novel.

I’m not sure if you’ve noticed the various quotes I’ve used over the past three weeks in this blog and wondered about them. They are all quotes at the beginning of my novel, _The Brink of Freedom_.

I was at a social gathering the other night. Our friends had told those who we were meeting for the first time that I was a writer. They asked me thoughtful questions about the writing life, my novel, and many questions about the business of writing.

I’m in the process of editing my new novel. I typically enjoy this part. Or at least that’s what I say when it’s over. By that time, my memory of the pain I’ve endured has faded and words of bravado are easy to find.

At the end of last week I completed a draft of my new novel. I’ve told few people this because I have to first get used to the idea myself. I never know what my reaction is going to be, but whatever it is I like to go through it on my own, understand it, and then share it with others when I can be (relatively speaking) coherent.

Where will new ideas come from? Although I’ve got a long way to go to complete my current novel, I can’t help but wonder: what then? Yes, you guessed it. I have a tendency to skip ahead and begin to worry before I need to. I can’t seem to change that about myself. Don’t think I haven’t tried.

When I was a kid, I daydreamed about living elsewhere. I’d only ever been to Greece on vacation. But anytime we were there, I felt as though I was home. Greece was my first love and I’ve always pined for her.

I wander the streets of our Athens neighbourhood with no particular goal in mind. I want to be in the moment, take in this place that feels like my long lost home. I think about what it would be like to live here full time.

The world appears out of control at times. This feeling I have happens more often now, particularly because of the relentless news about walls being built to separate people, countries breaking away from or bullying others, attacks, and fear mongering.

My novel, _The Brink of Freedom_ has been on the shelves since the beginning of October. It had already received a certain amount of media attention.

Syntagma Square intersects a number of major thoroughfares in the heart of Athens. This is the place where the first constitution of Greece was granted in 1843. Across the way is the Old Royal Palace, which has housed the Greek Parliament since 1934.

I utter these words with some trepidation when asked. The novel, if you can call it that, is an assortment of ideas, concepts, thoughts and characters. They’ve infiltrated my brain and refuse to leave. They nudge. They keep me up at nights. Come on, already. It’s time to tell our story.

I have been doing a bunch of presentations for grade 11 and 12 students in the Sea to Sky corridor over the past few weeks. It’s an honour to be asked and while I’m always excited to meet people who have read my novel, I can’t help but be anxious too. A bit of nervousness is always good. I’m okay with that. It pushes me to do my best. Still, these particular audiences are different. To start with they are younger.