How Story is Felt

Yesterday I attended the Ontario Writers’ Conference in Ajax Ontario. It was a heart-breakingly beautiful sunny day, and I wondered aloud if I really needed another writers’ conference. I’d already pitched to two of the agents at another conference, and the third wasn’t in the market for my sort of writing. I should probably just be writing, I thought. Or painting my house. Or finally doing my taxes. Or enjoying a long cold drink on my deck while watching the ducks and the otters and the minks frolic on the far shore. 

How Not to Fail (Fail First)

In 1982 or thereabouts, Cross-Canada Writers’ Quarterly accepted my short story, Oblique Angles for publication, with a note that went something like this: …although there are many better written stories, yours is au courant… In other words, your work is good enough, albeit barely, to publish. If it weren’t for the fact your subject matter had some current weight, well, you’d be buried in the slushpile, baby.

My bookstore fantasy

Reblogged from Drinking Tips for Teens:

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It will be a combination used bookstore and café. I will run the bookstore and my wife will run the café. That way we will both become equally wealthy.

We’ll call it Ussalone Books. As a sly rebuke to Quebec’s language inspectors, the name above the doorway will read “Livres Ussalone.”

Customers will be drawn off the street by the smell of early-morning croissants in the kitchen and the sight of late-period…

Read more… 678 more words

A wonderful fantasy. I don't know who wouldn't love a place like this!

The Gift of Boring Boozing Boys

Maybe I’m intolerant. Maybe I’m a snob. Understand, I like a glass of wine or beer from time to time; occasionally, on particularly festive occasions, I like a Margarita. Two, even. And don’t get me wrong, I love a sensuous tumble perhaps more than the next guy. However…

External Validation – when is it enough?

I have just returned from two weeks of divine restoration on the Pacific coast of Costa Rica, which included but was not restricted to, languid morning yoga practice, guided on-the-spot writing, a salt water pool, an endless unsullied beach, the occasional margarita, delicious meals, visits from Morpho butterflies, hummingbirds and Toucans, and one two-day meltdown.

Why is always about sex?

My sixteen-year-old son recently consoled me as I wept over the rejection I received from the Banff School’s Writing Studio’s 5 week residency course. He told me that I would make it, that my writing was good. He has read my work – well, some of it, at least. But on more than one occasion, he has moaned, “Why do you always have to write about sex?”

The Next Big Thing 2

Okay, I didn’t do it right. I was supposed to add the names of those who would carry on this blog chain of novels in progress, and I didn’t. Because no one answered my email requesting their posts.

Then Ruth Walker emailed me to ask if I’d like to participate. That’s strange, I thought. I asked her!