When I was twenty it was hard to imagine being old. I don’t mean growing old because the word “growing” implies that there is some sort of process or action taking place....
As far back as I can remember, I wrote. Private young-girl thoughts in secret diaries, then poetry filled with teenage angst and dark poetry peppered with profanity. I wrote daily letters to God in Hilroy notebooks, short stories and poems for kids, sad country songs, and raw truth-telling stories about life growing up in a blue-collar neighbourhood in Northwestern Ontario. These are those stories and poems.