My days recently have been filled with poetry as I prepare for my experimental poetry reading with Catriona Wright, which is just under two weeks away. Never before have I so diligently written poems — my interests usually push me toward short stories — and so never before have I experienced the raw satisfaction of continuously playing with words. Continue reading
Please refer above to the image which depicts a cat scratching at the face of a woman with buttons for eyes. Yes, those are beetles dropping from her clothing and hair. Yes, this picture should be a bit shocking, considering it comes from a children’s colouring book.
This image is of the “Other Mother” from the book Coraline, of course. It’s one of many fascinating drawings by Jill Thompson in The Neil Gaiman Coloring Book. Where the images in this book may disturb others, they calm me; they have provided me with leisure, distraction, and a sense of variety at the end of my long days of teaching and study. However much I adore my job and the children I teach, and however much I am stimulated by the literature I study, my brain is in desperate need of a break by evening. Continue reading
Do you like poetry? Do you like experimentation? Do you like Thursday evenings of art and writing and literary surprises? Come see me and Catriona Wright give a collaborative hour-long performance on June 29 from 6-7 pm at The ARTS Project in London. For more details, follow the links below!
Also, did I mention it’s free admission?
Finally! My creative writing has once again entered the public sphere!
The lovely literary journal, Persephone’s Daughters, for which I am a reader, published one of my short stories today. It is called “Married Life,” and it delves into the psychological and emotional confusions of rape culture, submission, and a society entrenched in manners. The writing style differs from a lot of my other works: it is abrupt and purposefully artificial, verging on metafiction.
Have a read, tell me what you think, and feel free to check out the other amazing pieces in this issue. The journal focuses on all areas and ideas surrounding the abuse of women — it is stories of survival through art.
I think it goes without saying that communication and understanding regarding these issues are unutterably important to me.
Read my story and others like it here.
This photo was taken during a transition period: in the space of an hour before sundown. The world was not yet dark, but I could sense the shadows settling in. I couldn’t see the darkness, but I could feel it.
I am now sitting within my own transition period, and this moment before sundown has made me realize a number of things. It has made me realize I have been happy for a very long time now. That I have been very lucky. Through these bi-weekly blog posts I have been trying to be openly grateful for all of the minuscule, beautiful things in my life, but the words are not enough. I cannot express my gratitude for the health I have experienced, in body and mind, for the past eight months or so.
This moment before sunset, this dusk, has made me realize that mental illness has the tendency to be like the pain of giving birth. I have been told — because I myself have not had the experience — that labour pains are terrible, but after they are finished, they are finished. The memories fade. The scars don’t weigh deep in the brain. The same has held true for me and my mental illness. While I am sick, I am flabbergasted that many people don’t understand psychological sickness, that they think it a weakness and something to just “get over.” When I am not sick, when I am able to move through my days with ease and not much struggle at all, the darkness of mental illness lightens until I can see clearly again — or so I think. Continue reading
“Each moment stolen from fear is a paradise.”
— Gil Courtemanche, A Sunday at the Pool in Kigali
Translated by Patricia Claxton
What, you might ask, does this photo have to do with work?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Continue reading
If sunshine is coming your way, welcome it.
That’s all I have to say. Continue reading
“Some moral tales belong to kindergarten, the age of being afraid of the dark, the age of venturing from the house alone for a short distance, admonitory fables in primary crayons. But other tales are always with us. We tell them to ourselves in midlife and in old age, different each time, accreting as stalactites press toward earth, heavier with each drop and its burden of secret dissolved rock and minerals, the many salts of the planet.”
— Marge Piercy, He, She, and It
The seasons are changing (finally!), and so is nearly everything in my life. The weather reflects my emotions: on some days I am sunny, pounding around the house in excitement like a child; on some days I am rainy, I thunder, wondering how I will ever make it through the coming year without losing myself in the process. Continue reading