Scenes from a book fair.

And when I say “book fair,” I don’t mean readings or lectures about books or writing or anything like that. I mean a building with multiple rooms of cheap books to buy. Basically, heaven. It started on Wednesday and Saturday was the last day, so my husband and I drove down to Brantford first thing Saturday […]

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Another shore.

On Sunday Lake Erie was almost impossibly still, with some ice on the horizon. I had to keep checking the spot where the water shrugged against the beach to make sure the entire lake wasn’t frozen solid. We parked at a shoreside fish & chips shop in Lowbanks, closed for the season, and I made a note

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Short piece up at Sundog Lit

I am proud to be participating in The Kissing Booth at Sundog Lit, two weeks of stories, poems, and essays inspired by my friend Leesa Cross-Smith’s forthcoming book, Every Kiss a War.  My piece went up yesterday, and I’m thrilled about having my work amongst such great stories and poems and words. I’ve already discovered some fantastic

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Some times.

 The summer after Grade 10, my family and I went to visit my great-uncle and great-aunt in northern California. We ended up all getting colds, and spent a few days recuperating in their home. For some reason, I only brought one tape with me – Elastica’s first album. I listened to it over and

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IFOA highlights

Another year, another IFOA. (You can read last year’s highlights here.) This year was similar to last year in a lot of ways. I went with Teri to some things, we had sushi to eat, it was even raining like last year. Here are the highlights: – Saw Margaret Drabble being interviewed by Eleanor Wachtel. As

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November 1st

Among the very large collection of phonograph records which the Library maintained were perhaps a hundred which Mr Kelso called his Horrible Examples. These were pieces of music which he despised, sung or played by people whose manner of interpretation he despised … It had taken Pearl a long time to recognize and admit to

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The light.

The light goes so fast. It’s dark again before I realize it’s happening. A darkening room, a quieting world, the rushing of distant cars the only reliable sound. A bird now and then, to make me feel like it’s spring. I’ve been writing again. Not much, but it’s there, and this time I feel like

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Ten things I see:

– The lake in the distance, shining too brightly in the sun. – An old white serving/casserole dish of my parents’ that I remember admiring even in childhood. – Three red apples inside said serving dish. – My dog, laying sideways in a patch of sunlight. – A Christmas photo of me at age two

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Through the night.

Some small sound will wake me – my dog taking a stroll around the apartment, the curtains snapping in the breeze. I used to get frustrated, but now I find a strange ease in it. It’s my time to research things I’ve been thinking about, work out story ideas, make minor plans. At 2am, the

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