My first book, To Die For, a suspense story set in Brandon, was
published in 2008. It’s available for purchase online at Amazon.com,
Amazon.ca and Amazon.de Local Bookstores can also order it from
their wholesale supplier.
Eighteen year old Nina has gone missing and her mother, Maggie, is
desperate. She begs her friend Connie to search for her daughter,
although Connie has no expertise in detective work. She reluctantly
agrees to do what she can.
When it’s clear that Nina was abducted, it becomes a police
investigation. Sergeant Bowering and Constable Fielding of the
Brandon Police Service soon discover a number of suspects in the
case, but proof is missing and the clues are getting more confusing
Meanwhile, there is no sign of Nina anywhere. Should Connie stay
out of it, as she is advised to do? But she made a promise to her
friend and she won’t break her word, even when it becomes clear
that by persisting in her quest, she puts herself in danger.
I have published a second book in the series, a mystery called
Sleeping Crimes. It's available online at Booklocker.com and Amazon.
com. Your local bookstore can also order it from their distributor.
Eric Delaney is arriving in Brandon after 10 years away. He is now a
successful writer, making a big splash with his gossipy books about
celebrities. His arrival creates bad feelings in his hometown, especially
because he has announced plans of spilling the town secrets in a
new book. A number of people are worried, as they have things to
One of them takes action, with the result that the writer is found
murdered in his hotel room. Connie, who has a past history with the
victim, becomes involved, despite the misgivings of her boyfriend,
Sergeant Alan Bowering.
The search for the killer finds several suspects in town, but becomes
more difficult when one of those suspects is also murdered. The
tension escalates as the police employs all their resources to solve
the case. Connie has her own way of finding out things and takes
big chances with her own safety in doing so. In the end, she is
instrumental in helping to find out the truth.
I am working on a the third book in the series, a mystery called Light
and Darkness. This story is set in the Interlake town of Ashern,
Connie's hometown. Connie and Alan travel to Ashern to spend
Christmas with Connie's family. Crime follows them there and their
Holiday is made less than joyous by a stalker who creates havoc for
Connie and her family. A murder sets the town on its ear and Connie
and Alan feel obligated to help the RCMP in solving the crime.
I sold my first short story, The Last Gift, in 1996 to a magazine
called Western People, which was published by The Western
Producer. It was a lovely little magazine,which published mostly
fiction and poetry. Unfortunately,it’s no longer in publication.
Very few North American magazines publish fiction – I’m not sure
why. Other than literary journals, I only know of one, Womans
World in the US, which will accept fiction from freelance writers. I
have sold a number of stories abroad, to That’s Life! In Australia,
You in South Africa, Woman and The Weekly News in the UK, and
Ireland’s Own, which also published The Last Gift in 2008.
The Last Gift - pg 1 - Ireland's Own
The Last Gift, page 2 - Ireland's OwnThe Last Gift, pg 3 - Ireland's
The Dress – first published in 2000 by Storyteller Magazine. Won 1st
place in Global Short Story Competition in August 2009, as well as
the prize for Best Story of 2009.
A Perfect Garden – 5th in the Mystery/Crime genre of the Writer’s
Digest Popular Fiction Awards 2009.
A Perfect Garden
I've been able to publish a large number of articles since 1994 in
newspapers, such as The Shilo Stag, The Wheat City Journal, The
Western Producer, Grainews and the Manitoba Co-operator. The
themes are varied – Profiles, Lifestyle, and others. My favourite,
though, has always been Humour. I write light tongue-in-cheek
humour about women’s everyday life. I love to write such pieces,
and I think that a little humour is necessary and helps to make life
Fighting the Battle of the Bulge, published in 2005 by The Manitoba
It happens every year in January.
I step on the bathroom scale, suppress a squeak of horror and
decide to start a diet. I announce the plan to my better half, who’s
heard it all before.
“My clothes are tight,” I sigh. These slacks used to fit me perfectly.
Now they pinch around the middle. Be honest, do you think I look
fat in them?”
He knows from experience how dangerous this question is. Every
man with more than two brain cells knows that saying yes would be
a fatal mistake. Saying no stretches the truth and any wife will
immediately know it. He does what thirty years of marriage have
taught him to do; avoid answering the hard questions.
“Looks good to me,” he says, giving me an affectionate pat on the
“We eat too many fattening meals,” I insist, “Perogies with sour
cream, fried chicken, bacon and eggs . . . No wonder we gain
He wonders silently how “I need to go on a diet” turned into “We”
and reaches for a second piece of cake.
“That’s another thing,” I say. “No more baking until I lose the ten
pounds I gained.”
“I don’t need to go on a diet,” he protests.
“It won’t hurt you to eat more healthy foods.”
“So because you feel fat you’re going to feed me lettuce and tofu?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, “I snort. “When did I ever serve tofu? There
are all kinds of low-calorie recipes I can try."
He reaches for his jacket. No use starting a discussion he can’t win.
After some research I decide to try the Low Carb diet. The
testimonials sound promising. One woman went from 290 pounds
to a svelte 135 in no time at all.
Supper was a surprise for the husband. A juicy steak, green beans
and a large salad. It looked too good to be true. He found the flaw
when he started eating.
“Where are the potatoes?” He asked, poking around the green beans.
“Not on the diet.”
“But meat and potatoes belong together; they’re a combo, like
love and marriage.”
“That saying has gone out of fashion, too.” I answer firmly.
“Anyway, potatoes are loaded with carbs, and we are only allowed
thirty carbs a day.”
“Can I have noodles instead?”
I just send a stern look across the table. “Eat your steak. It’s fried
The steak tastes terrific and he does due justice to it. He swallows
the question of how come one baked potato could do more harm
to the figure than a chunk of butter.
As the days go on, there are plenty of unpleasant surprises, such as
no flour products allowed. By the end of the second week, he’s
going to the café for toast, as such a thing is not to be found on
the table, or anywhere else in the house.
“Did you get something nice for the wife?” The waitress asks. He
looks a question mark. The waitress motions to the calendar.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” he shouts, “it’s Valentine’s Day. I
completely forgot. Now what am I going to do?”
The waitress laughs. “Never fear. We have cards and chocolates for
He chooses a card and a big box of chocolates and goes home.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he sings out as he opens the door. I can’t
believe he remembered. He’s standing there with a goofy grin on
his face, holding out his gifts.
“I didn’t have time to sign the card,” he says. “But there’s already
writing on it. It says everything better than I could have. You know
I’m not so great with the mushy stuff.”
Still in shock, I open the box and select two pieces,brandy for him,
marzipan for me.
I’m savouring the delicious taste to the last bite, when I suddenly
remember. Carbs! I stare at the dear old thing who knows me all
too well. He’s sporting a Mephistophelian grin, as he asks: “End of
the diet, honey?”
“You did that on purpose!” I accuse him.
He laughs and hugs me. “You should thank me. Now you can admit
you’re just as sick of that stupid diet as I am.”
“Darn right,” I say and reach for another chocolate.
©2005 Joyce Slobogian
I started writing poetry when I was about sixteen. I no longer have
any of those “creations”, and that’s a good thing, as Martha Stewart
says! They were pretty terrible as I remember.
There was a time, a few years ago, when I wrote poetry for a little
while. It was, however, never my favourite genre, and I haven’t
written a poem for a long time now. I prefer to read the works of
better poets than I could ever be.
Requiem for Swissair 111
This was inspired by a picture in the magazine Schweizer Illustrierte
in September 1998 after the crash of the airliner Swissair Flight 111
in Nova Scotia.
perform circular dance
to shore and back again
caress tragic remnants
absorb miniscule fragments
with every pass
the frothy crown
discharges cargo onto the shore
as if horror
became too heavy to bear
at edge of the sea
he dips his hand into foam
lifts it to lips
matching the taste
of bitter loss
last tenuous connection
to his loved one
reduced to flotsam
seeps from grasp
back to ocean
while seagulls’ cries
to the pain in his throat.
©1998 Joyce Slobogian
I started publishing my work in 1994 on the advice of a talented
writer, Molly Stewart, and have since published in newspapers and
magazines in Canada, UK, Australia and South Africa.