Mary-Jane Jessop

     I have never really been able to discern the hand of Fate guiding my life, except in the case of Mary-Jane Jessop.
     When I was in primary school, in the Northern town of Prince Rupert, there was this girl in my class. She was slightly built, shorter than average, blonde, with one green eye and one blue, and smart—she always made the honour roll. Her name was Mary-Jane Jessop and I was in love with her, and every year I'd stare in awe while she stood at the front of the assembly to receive her certificate of achievement. In grade three, her desk was at the far end of the room from mine and though I had never been an honour student, I resolved to get on the honour roll just so that I could stand beside her.
     That year, I made good on my promise. As I recall, it wasn't difficult. I just had to actually start paying attention and do the assigned tasks. So, at the end of the year, I got to stand in line with Mary-Jane Jessop and a handful of others as we received our special certificates. Because we were from the same grade, I did end up standing right next to her and people probably mistook the smile on my face as pride in academic achievement when in fact it was the silly grin guys get when in the presence of grace and beauty. I don't really know why, but I had no deeper plan than to stand beside her and was completely satisfied with having achieved that single thing. I don't recall ever making another move. A year later, my family moved from Prince Rupert to Victoria at the extreme end of the province, 500 plus miles South.
     Mary-Jane and I were done.
     As it turned out, also done were my days on the honour roll.
     The years passed. I got through primary school, high school, and started attending University, and rarely ever thought about Mary-Jane Jessop. But, I never forgot her face or name.
     One morning, a bunch of friends and I were sitting in one of the university cafes drinking coffee, talking sciencey stuff and generally trying to avoid going to class when I overheard someone in a group of girls behind us mention Prince Rupert. When I glanced over, I saw a slightly built, short, blonde girl who instantly reminded me of Mary-Jane Jessop, though it'd been more than 14 years since I last laid eyes on her. I returned to the conversation with my friends, but a large portion of my mind remained focused on the conversation behind me. Eventually, I heard the name "Mary-Jane" and I stole another glance—directly at her, and intense enough to cause discomfort, had she noticed. She had one green and one blue eye!
     In my mind, I was freaking out. It's her! This is a meaningful, preordained moment of destiny that has taken almost 15 years to form. This is the stuff of legends, ballads, movies!
     With no thought to the abruptness of the move, I left the table and walked directly over to Mary-Jane's table, my eyes homed in on hers the entire way. I sat down with my coffee as if invited and took my time settling in, confident that what I was about to say would justify the bold moves. Three young women were now staring at me in stunned silence, waiting for some kind of pickup line. And, for the first time in my life, I thought I had a brilliant one to deliver.
     "Mary-Jane Jessop, my name is Bill. I was in your class in grades 1 to 3 and was so in love with you that I got on the honour roll just so I could stand next to you."
      It was perfect. I was perfect. I delivered the line smoothly and with a sexy smile that would only have been creepy if we were not each other's destiny. Next, I assumed, she would surely gush and we'd start up reminiscing about our old teachers or Prince Rupert, and from there branch off into the different paths our lives had taken, our likes and dislikes, our tastes in music, what we would name our kids, and from there, naturally, to a whirlwind romance and an eternal love that would be written up in great books and sung in songs not by Taylor Swift—or, at the very least, casual sex—both outcomes being quite equivalent to me, back then.
     Mary-Jane and her two friends stared at me in what I initially assumed was appropriate awe. The silence got awkward, then very awkward, and just before it became unbearably awkward the petite and beautiful Mary-Jane Jessop looked directly at me with those perfectly unmatched glistening orbs and said, "Umm. O-k."
     All of the punch went out of my punchline. The jet of confidence I had been piloting stalled and I suddenly became eight years old again. I sputtered the only thing I could think, which was exactly what she'd just said, "Umm, ok..."

     Mary-Jane Jessop's expression was as blank as a mannequin's, seemingly unimpressed by the revelation of her being my first crush and the incredible machinations of Fate that had steered us both to this moment. I might just as well have been a cafeteria server delivering an order of toast and flatly declaring, "Toast."
     I became extremely conscious of the eyes of my friends, her friends and Mary-Jane herself bearing down on me and I segued with, "Well, anyway, nice to see you again," and slunk back to my humdrum, Fateless existence.
     That was about 30 years ago and I have not seen or heard of her since. I'm now old and happily married, with two great kids. I am a hopeless romantic, but I think it's safe to say that the lives of Mary-Jane Jessop and myself are no longer intertwined any more than me and the random stranger who said, "Right on!" referring to my new Superman T-shirt, as we passed in a movie theatre, eight years ago.
     Fate, huh. What is it good for? Absolutely nothing!

______________________________________
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Slices of Laugh: Humorist William M. Dean has been compared to Mark Twain and Dave Barry, in gender. Here are 34 hilarious anecdotes and articles offering his unique perspective on far-flung subjects ranging from life, family, parenting, sex, intimacy, arguments, stealing your neighbor’s water, Japan, clothes dryer repair, violence, drugs, pets, sex again, aging, writing, couponing, Disneyland, scouting, dining with the Queen of England, and more.

     A refreshingly wholesome, uplifting read, perfect for when you’re waiting for your nails to dry, your server to stop texting, your doctor to retrieve an implement, your lover to finish, or to hide behind while following a suspect in a busy terminal. Lots of chuckles, keen observations, pearls of wisdom and nearly 100 funny pictures.

The Space Between Thought: A novel of love, life, death, tea, and time travel.

Simon Sykes has money and power. He has Celeste, a beautiful, talented, and devoted girlfriend. And secretly, he has his pick of other women on the side. But Celeste’s sudden death deals him a staggering blow. It looks like suicide, but only Simon saw the ghostly figure at the scene of the crime. Plagued by grief and guilt, he vows to uncover the truth at any cost. While his business languishes and friends grow concerned for his sanity, Simon stumbles upon a secret that promises the power to unravel the mystery and undo one life-altering moment, to save Celeste and restore his future—time travel.

Meanwhile, Simon's suspicious behavior has renewed police interest. As the authorities close in, Simon wrestles with time, space, and reality to rescue the love of his life, unmask her true killer, and remodel his world.

I Married Japan: The hilarious journey of Japan into one man’s life

Think you just married an exotic Japanese woman? Wrong!  In fact, you just married all of exotic Japan and 3000 years of history. But, the die is cast, the adventure’s begun, and the wonders and wondering will never cease.Throw in a couple of kids and a quirky Canadian family filled with characters, and you have the makings of epic tragedy, or gut-busting comedy, depending upon your point of view.

Get ready to learn, and be prepared to laugh your way through this collection of Japan-related articles on family life with the Deans!

The Book of 5 Uncredible Short Stories from the distorted mind of William M. Dean

If, all of your life, you have been desperately seeking a book filled with aliens, maniacal sheep, cupids and other mythical creatures—then your life is sad and you are misguided, to say the least. However, luck is with you and within these pages, you will find far-fetched stories from far-flung realities, told with exaggeration that amplifies truths, and adjectives that modify nouns. This is a work of fiction and has been scrupulously edited to exclude all fact so as not to distract you from all those aliens, maniacal sheep, cupids and postal workers you were looking for. For the rest of you, there is at least one stunningly good-looking woman and some cute cats.

Forcibly Ejected from My Sister's 50th!

Rather than just filing away all the little scripts, speeches, jokes and graphics that I am forced to create so that my kids can participate in the year-end home schooler's Christmas pageant, friends can turn a year older and their kids can get married and/or graduate, I thought I'd start posting them, so that others can adapt them  for their own needs. Feel free to take and reuse anything that works for you.

My sister, Lindy, turned 50 in August. And, with typical disregard for what a person might actually want, family and friends plotted to ensnare her with a surprise party. 

A surprise party is to me a way to turn what might have been a nice, quiet, relaxing, enjoyable time into an embarrassing, noisy obligation. They are also, ironically, predictable and thus notoriously difficult to pull off anywhere near the time of the event they are celebrating. My sister Lindy is known to have a quick and keen mind and the only way we could think of to keep her off the scent was for us all to act suspicious for the entire monty of July. She would certainly know that we were up to something, but we were determined to surprise her with the when, where and the what of it. In the end, the biggest surprise of this party was that we accomplished that.

At the first meeting of the planning committee someone suggested an election theme and the idea instantly caught fire. It seemed pertinent, given the outrageous election antics happening in the US, and pretty much everyone who encounters my sister suggests that she go into politics. She is a take-charge, cut-to-the-heart-of-the-problem person, and kind of brilliant, and everyone knows that whatever she's involved in will run logically, efficiently and successfully. In fact, amongst all her closest associates, she's the one who plans almost all of the major events. This is why we spent the rest of the meeting standing around asking, "What would Lindy do?" We were tempted to call her, but we all knew that Lindy would never have done that.

I wasn't asked to contribute a speech or write a play. Instead, I was assigned the role of a Freelance Reporter who would capture the "Candidate's" arrival at "Campaign Headquarters." Her sons donned dark suits and sunglasses and played Secret Service bodyguards. In this role, they ignored my credentials, curtailed my freedom of the press and physically removed me from their path during the candidate's arrival. I got it all on video!

Here is the link to the video: https://youtu.be/Hbt08LDfURI

I was also asked to create all the election signs, banners and birthday posters which I present to you in the pictures below. I put out an email call to all the invitees and collected as many of the worst pictures of her as I could. I think the signs came out looking pretty dorky, if I do say so myself. Maybe something here will work for a party you are planning. 

Warning!: Some of this material is not politically correct... but then, when have politics and correctness ever mingled? Feel free to flex your internet troll finger muscles, if you think that will have some sort of affect on something.

The man in this picture is her husband.

Lindy home schools her own, as well as several other, kids
and in her classroom RTFQ means:
 "Read The Freak'in Question!"

Anyway, Vote Lindy!

I also made about 50 posters for the event. Here are the ones that contained original material or ideas...

 

_______________________________

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Canadian Sci-fi writer, William M. Dean

Just so you know, this is my first-ever attempt at blogging. I will blog about this later.

 I was born in May of 1958 in the northern town of Prince Rupert, British Columbia, Canada. When I was 9 years old, my parents moved from the far north to the city of Victoria, furthest south in the province.

I now live in Victoria—which is, coincidentally, the setting for my novel, The Space Between Thought. Victoria is the province’s capital city and boasts Canada’s mildest weather. It's a big tourist attraction as well as retirement hot-spot. For it’s size, Victoria is uncommonly clean; a garden city with plenty of outdoor attractions and activities.

I was not a very dedicated student but my marks in Biology and English have always been impressive. So, naturally, I pursued a degree in Physics. I scraped through and managed to attain a B.Sc. from the University of Victoria. I wanted a double degree, but would have had to take another year to get a B.A. in English. I just didn’t have enough momentum left for more school so I entered the workforce.

Since the age of 9 it had always been my ambition to become a writer of science-based fiction but after graduation, my interest in computers led me to managing Victoria’s top computer retailer where I sold and marketed some of the first home computers—like the Vic 20, Commodore 64 and Amiga, nostalgia fans.

Unexpectedly, my technical expertise with computers and desktop publishing led to an apprenticeship with the internationally acclaimed Beautiful British Columbia Magazine. Five years later, I left to become the publisher of BC Agriculture Magazine. Publishing led to co-art-directing several video and television productions, including Take-Off! an acclaimed Canadian television series, aimed at kids. Since that time, I have been in business for myself as a marketer, project co-ordinator and sandwich man... whatever paid the bills and still allowed me time to write.

In June of 2003 I married Junko. My son, Noah, was born in April of 2005; my daughter, Rihana, in July of 2007. Junko is an adept practitioner of the lost art of homemaking who also home schools our children. My current day-job is marketing our unique family catering business, Today’s Lunch Co. (todayslunch.ca)

I probably would have been published by the time I was 20 if I was willing to write anything other than only what I want to write. I love writing and wish it was my job, but contradictorily, never want it to become a “job.”

To date, I have written three full-length novels. The Space Between Thought is the first one to be published.

The other two novels I have written were much more straight-up sci-fi along the lines of the short-lived tv series, Intelligence. Had those two books been published anytime within 10 years of being written, they might have been more interesting but technological advances have rendered much of that original concept passe. I recently realized that to bring it up to date, I could start by replacing my hero’s name with the words “smart phone.” Still, the characters are interesting and I do have ideas about a re-write that would inject new life.

I knew that The Space Between Thought was my most polished work and still relevant and I no longer require an agent or publisher to get the story “on the shelf.” At the urging of my writer-friend, Gordon B. Hilton, I elected to self-publish. Gordon made it sound so easy: pay some money, send the text, sit back and wait. I have since discovered that Gordon was full of crap.

Also, it turned out to be a relatively expensive proposition, so I really appreciate every book that is purchased. (By December, 2014 it will be available on Amazon.com, Indigo.ca and in bookstores.)

For more info check out my other web pages at wmdean.com.