Gabriel y Nelly: meditación y memoria

University was really, really hard for me, at first. I’d been lucky, in high school: I’d had one teacher who didn’t mind when I wrote my novel in Latin class; another who allowed one of my Canadian Lit classmates to read my oh-so-unpublished novel...

Handsomely Rewarded

Months ago, Elder Daughter observed that I don’t listen to music. She was right: I haven’t listened to music regularly in over a year—and even then, it was old music, stuff I had on CD years before I even owned an iPod. It’s been years since I heard...

Prescription Proscription, with Prevarication

I came late to Stephen King. I’m not sure why: it’s not as if I’ve ever had anything against commercial genre fiction. What I am sure of: I’ve just discovered, however belatedly, that I get a profound kick out of his books—all of them, even the ones people tell...

Once Upon a Bun

In November 2012, I wrote about bunny love. At the time, Bunbun, aka Slippers Houdini, aka The Probe, had just been diagnosed with head tilt disease. I felt moved by what we were certain would be her imminent demise to write about bunnies in general, and about the...

Catalyst o’Four Tales

And so I arrive again in a part of the first-draft woods I know all too well. The “OH MY GOD HOW IS THIS GOING TO END?” part. I always assumed that A Telling of Stars would remain an under-the-bed manuscript, destined for reading by my lucky children, and their lucky...

Straight roads and knotted strings

Hawthorne, Nebraska probably reminded moviegoers from all over North America of Fill-in-the-Blanksville. It reminded me of Essex, Ontario. The single road that crosses railroad tracks and passes some silos and a water tower before it becomes, briefly, Main Street,...