My piece “Millions” is now available in the amazing (and free!) flash non-fiction issue of Little Fiction | Big Truth. Packed with little stories about big moments, it’s a real honour to keep such […]
Desire Eclipse Memory is about a time in my mid-twenties when i was working at one of Montreal’s more notorious restaurants and teetering on the edge of addiction and crisis. It’s a story I’ve been […]
View this post on Instagram He pulled out a photograph of a woman. I loved her, he said, I loved her so much. He was very drunk. He told me they’d lived together someplace exotic, […]
I said when I began writing this book I would embrace all the learning and growth opportunities that the work gave me. I’ve battled with honesty, fear, ego, and now….IMovie. Here is a quick visual […]
We were walking down the road towards the full moon.
A blue pick-up truck passed us. In the back of the truck were a witch, a fairy, and a ghost. I was Little Red Riding Hood. My sister was sixteen, so she wasn’t anything at all.
By the time we got to the school, the Halloween party was already half-over. There were no more goody bags, or chocolate or even candy corn. All that was left were hard orange toffees wrapped in waxy Halloween paper, and black jaw breakers. The punch was warm and watery pink, with the cherries all sunk to the bottom.
This past week was pretty hard for me. Even after sixteen years of working with vulnerable kids, kids beaten up by poverty, cultural genocide and addiction, it is still hard to know that a kid who is talking about suicide can’t get a bed in a hospital for a night. To know that when you call for help for a kid what you’re going to get is cops with guns questioning them. Some cops are nice and some are not but everything about them: their handcuffs, their tazers, tell a kid they’re in trouble. And after they talk to the kid they will more than likely leave them behind because they know when they get to the hospital they won’t admit them. “I’m happy to sit in a hospital waiting room for five hours until they send her home,” the cop tells me. “But my boss is not going to like it.” Sometimes even if the hospital takes them they release them a few hours later in a taxi alone.
It’s like a kid coming to you with a broken arm and having to tell them: It’s not broken enough.
Books Red Star Tattoo My Life as a Girl Revolutionary (Penguin Random House Canada 2016) Winner of the 2017 Edna Staebler Creative Non-Fiction Award. Shortlisted for the 2016 Hilary Weston Creative Non-Fiction prize Listed on CBC, […]
“The lovers sit nearly naked on the bed in the hot summer night, drinking wine and telling stories. They are new and still telling stories, still taking inventory of each other. ” read more of […]
“Writing is how I process and honour experiences that too often are seen as secret or shameful. Like the man at the halfway house, I want to tell you where I came from, how I […]
“The snow is coming down, thick and steady and the other kids seem to disappear in and out of landscape, their faces obscured by the mist of their breath and the falling snow. Some of […]