Five Years a Writer

This April marks the start of my final year in the 5-year journey that is my current Be-A-Writer plan: 2018-2023. And t his May will mark the fifth time I set myself the challenge of writing a post every day that month. I started out in May 2018 sending my writing by email to only three readers and have progressed, since then, to casting my net wider via this blog. I find the daily posting over 31 days as challenging as it is rewarding (maybe, as a reader, you feel the same) and I surely love Day 31 when I cross the self-imposed finish line. I have always been a planner, finding it satisfying to set a goal and inch my way toward it. For sure, this writing game is not about speed; it’s about persistence and self-confidence. The one begets the other, and feedback from readers spurs both. As this 5-year plan has unfolded, I have incorporated the teaching of courses about writing and, through that, I have found others who are on their own be-a-writer path. On the final day of a recent cour...

I had to be practically dragged into the era of computers. Back in 1986, I was perfectly content with my 3-line-memory-erase electric typewriter; it was the bee’s knees, as far as I was concerned. Of course, once I got my fingers on an actual computer keyboard, there was no turning back. I was amazed at how fast I could type on that thing, and how easy it was to rewrite my words to improve them. I was a convert once I got my first taste. Not so, however, with my first website. It was a wiki — an online site created and managed collaboratively by a group or community. Setting it up was an assignment during the first term of my master’s program (2004) and it ended in tears: mine. I just could not figure out the programming or the structure, and I hated the professor for putting me through such techno hell. I felt incompetent and inadequate, but, thanks to a couple of classmates, I survived the ordeal. While I wouldn’t say that that experience put me off technology, it surely d...

In difficult times, it can be the ordinary things that make the difference between surviving the chaos or drowning in the fear and grief. Food delivered. Music played. Compassion given. These are, equally, ordinary gestures of human connection and extraordinary demonstrations of service to those in our circle who are in need. I think of this as the war in Ukraine rages on, and people do unspeakable things to other people, and all I can do is watch the nightly news as a way of witnessing the unfolding violence. Through the nightly news, I stay on top of the day’s worst horrors, while through my social media feed I keep hope alive by reading and watching stories of ordinary people helping others survive those horrors — or do their best to get through the next few hours by providing a hot meal or singing together or playing an instrument and making music. The third instalment in my 4-part flash-fiction story focuses on human connection through music; it was sparked by a Humans of N...

I lost myself this past weekend; not literally, but, rather, in words. In stories. Most of them non-fiction, but stories all of them. Stories about people  — starting over in a new country ( Peace by Chocolate by Jon Tattrie; the story of Hadhad family who fled Syria, landed in Nova Scotia and now employ many locals in their chocolate factory ); acting stories of drama and comedy and, in so doing, reflecting the universal emotions of our lives back at us from the small screen (How to Save a Life: The inside story of Grey's Anatomy [ mega hit TV show ] by Lynette Rice); overcoming the inner voice that says 'No, don't do it; you're afraid to do it; don't do it; say no' (Year of Yes by Shonda Rhimes , who created Grey's Anatomy, among a host of hit TV series, including the recent Netflix hit Bridgerton); and  coming into their own by opening themselves up in the face of love (Voices of Summer by Rosamunde Pilcher ).  That was a lot of ...

Live from Ukraine, he came on the radio directly after the local news, which included a segment on the giant pothole that had developed overnight on a main street in the centre of Winnipeg. He had been on air a month ago, and he ended that interview by saying he hoped he would still be alive the next day.  He did survive and now we were hearing from him again. A former judge and lawyer, he was coming to us in real time from a town in Ukraine to provide an on-the-ground update on his situation. It was compelling; he pulled no punches. He said it was “surreal” to hear that potholes make the news in Canada while where he is — fighting for his country and his life — there are dead bodies lying in the street. Surreal indeed. So much these days is hard to bear, impossible to absorb, really, so his words struck me and have stayed with me. Because, while potholes can do significant damage to vehicles, the chance of the driver or passengers dying as a result of hitting one is, of cour...

The cat would not take no for an answer, so I got up to feed her in the very early morning hours. It was pitch black outside but, through the one living room window that didn’t have the blind all the way down, I could see some commotion on the street. It seemed noisy, too. Hmmm…what was going on? I peered out and saw a City truck, with lights flashing, and two men. They appeared to be bashing away at the curb…oh! At the curb! Right by where the street drain cover is still buried under snow and ice. I had tried in vain to chip away at it on the weekend, because we’re expecting a ‘weather event’ this week that includes both snow and rain. With nowhere for any of that expected precipitation to go, it would pool on the street and cause serious trouble for all. By chance, earlier last week, I had come across an online report that I could submit to the City masters alerting them to a frozen street drain. If I provided location details, they would send out their ‘super steam unit’ (my name f...

Sunflowers are the national flower of #Ukraine For a long time, I have not watched the evening news. But these days, I am watching it every evening. The images compel me. I am not living them, so the least I can do is witness them. A young man with a duffel bag, slung across his shoulder. One duffel bag. And his Canadian passport. That got him across the border into Poland. A young girl, holding her aged cat. In a shelter. Where will she go?  A young boy, alone, reaching for food from the volunteer and showing the phone number written on his hand. Who will pick him up?  An old woman being helped, oh so carefully, across a makeshift bridge of planks. Will she make it to safety?  All of them leaving their home and security in Ukraine, for who knows what and who knows where. The images stick in my brain and they got me thinking: What would I take if I had to flee? Sparked by the news, the pieces below come from my imagination, written on March 12, 2022, in the safety of my...