I seem to be preparing for winter hibernation much too early; before it even threatens snow. I walk through the library, judging books by their covers. I read voraciously in the mornings, when it's still dark. In the daytime, I discover ideas for short stories I'd forgotten about. And last…
Today I went to the library to write, a new library, which I like much better than my local one. This new one has many staircases and little nooks with desks and comfortable chairs, and windows with trees and light on the other side, and a fireplace. And it was…
After an hour and a half of reading my novel draft, making notes, and doing research, my eyes look like that. I take breaks to look out of the window of the coffee place, noticing how many people seem to mutter to themselves on their way to the subway. I…
I got my novel printed out today - not printed printed, but just printed. Clear as mud? In truth, I've been sort of avoiding working on it since December. I've peeked in here and there and made some tweaks, but what I really need is to hold it in my…
I'm excited to announce that a short story of mine, Sorry Every Day, is featured in the latest issue of Storychord! The song and illustration featured alongside it are wonderful and everything works together perfectly. I love Storychord and I'm honoured to have been included. You can check it out…
It's a humble PNG image, but to me it's the most exciting one I've seen in a very long time. Today I finished NaNoWriMo. I wrote a novel. I almost want to put an exclamation mark on the end of that last sentence, but I don't think it's really sunk…
Visiting my parents is often so much like a ready-made writing retreat. The house is quiet, softly lit, often sleepy. The TV returns seven channels and there is not much in the way of distraction. I sit straight up, I do crosswords from the paper, I write hundreds of words…
My old Goose on a Moose print and various old photos of my mother and Finland. I'm not really a fan of Doris Lessing's fiction, but I love her as a writer. If she catches me not writing, she shakes her finger at me and tells me to get moving.…
There is no greater excitement than starting a story. Finishing a story is satisfying, but in a different way - it's a worn-out, bleary-eyed kind of happiness. You almost don't even care. You don't really remember the thrilling beginning, the new idea becoming a narrative with real, live characters. Today…
My husband J and I were sitting on our bed in the dark, our dog snoring on her own little bed a few feet away. I was sitting with my chin on my drawn-up knees and trying to put into words why I'd had such a frustrating day. It was…
