When Michael Kashmanian announced the reading event “Words of the Season” at Jimmy O’Toole’s in Whitby about a month ago, I struggled with the notion of “seasonal” prose and/or poetry. Michael assured me that the term could be used broadly, widely or not at all. Just...
I’m a mess. Funny how the body in turmoil tips the emotions and shakes them on their head, too. I’ve had a cough for weeks that is so deep that even a tiny version of it erupting causes my friends to raise their eyebrows in concern and exclaim, “Oh...
Four weeks until the Algonkian Writers’ Conference in Niagara Falls. This for me is the next step… the big one into the real world of presenting my novel for potential publication. This conference promises to nip and tuck the manuscript, help me develop...
On my way to town I heard the song, Morning Moon and I looked up into the western sky and there it was, slim and translucent as the inside of a tide-worn shell. It’s cold now, the road scrambling with brown and yellow leaves, skunks, porcupines, racoons and squirrels...
My son is doing what he’s programmed to do and he’s doing it remarkably well. I’m not talking about the grace and power of his Grass dancing, nor am I referring to the Bronze Cross he earned this summer which puts him in line for Lifeguard training. I’m not talking...
