The act of authentic writing is like performing open-heart surgery on yourself. Without anesthetic. You slice open your chest, rip apart your flesh, hack into your bones and pull...
Decades ago In another lifetime I fell in love With a beautiful young man. We were barely adults On the brink Of becoming All kinds of things Beyond what we were In that sliver of...
When I’m driving, The things I see in my peripheral vision frighten me. More than anything I see square on, Or right in front of my face. These are the bugaboos that catch me...
This morning While I was sitting here drinking coffee In the silent stillness and stifling solitude Of my writing space My mind drifted lazily Back To when I was a young woman And...
This is a bit I wrote for my sweet daughter when she was seventeen. Last night I tried to explain First Love Heartbreak And why you hurt so much. Love is complicated Messy and not...
I have a Maple Tree in my front yard. I brought it with me from Ontario as a tiny sapling. I removed it gingerly from its mother tree the morning I left to return to BC. I wrapped...
I found this note taped to a bank of mailboxes. They are part of the scenery on the country road that I walk every day. This is how I do lunch. Take what you need, it said. So I...
At the end of November my beautiful daughter-in-law (DIL) sent an interesting Facebook message to my two daughters and me. This message was actually a challenge. It was something...
I found my voice. For many years I’ve suffered from writer’s laryngitis. My writer’s voice sounded sort of like me. But it wasn’t 100% authentic. Not really me. ...
I have bad blood. Not really bad, as in deadly. But not normal either. Just another one of those things that I came by honestly. This little doozy came compliments of Ma. She...
