I have long been fascinated by quantum physics, poetry, and the musings of what is reality, and it shows in my writing. I go about coolly accepting the unreality of the universe, peering enthralled at the night sky, knowing I’m only seeing the light energy of stars that ceased to exist aeons ago. Read more
It’s late December, the clock’s ticking, and we’re almost done with 2020. A friend sent me a joke on Facebook this week. He had selected four book titles to describe the year: Great Expectations, A Series of Unfortunate Events, One Hundred Years of Solitude, and Far from the Madding Crowd. Read more
Burning planet. Second Waves. Spiking numbers. Anti – science. Conspiracy theorists. Mental illness. Financial stresses – you get the picture. I would say we’ve got all the materials in place for one big-ass, nasty dystopia. Read more
Ah, 2020.
So much mis- [ and dis!]-information! And still so much truth remains unknown. So much has been conveniently hidden. Masked.
Let me give you an example. Yesterday I learned the street I lived on in Toronto was named for a ruthless slave trader. What a shocking revelation for a very exclusive Canadian neighbourhood!
So now that city officials have that knowledge, what will they do with it? Change the name entirely? Leave things as is? Put up an educational plaque to remind people of a dark and cruel part of Muddy York’s history? We’ll have to see. Meantime, for a murder mystery, what a great motive. Imagine a respectable leader of the community learning the family’s fortune has been based on slave-trading. What would that person do to keep that knowledge form being widely spread? And on the other side, how tempting it might be for someone to try and blackmail the respectable citizen! Another motive!
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So, where did I leave off? Ah, yes, my first jittery days in quarantine, and still in a grocery store without a mask (I wear one now). Read more
Yelled at a woman in the grocery store two days ago. I’d been standing in line with my cart at the demarcated line behind the cart ahead of me. For some reason, a woman at the next checkout decided to back out and head toward me. I politely directed her attention to the marks on the floor. She kept rolling closer; I pointed to the marks again. She kept coming toward my right side. Finally, I held my hand up like a traffic cop and boomed out: “Stop! You are getting too close to me! Back away!” Yes, I actually used those words. She gave me this surprised look, and murmured, “Oh! Sorry!” and then backed up. Would I have done that Before? Hell no. Was there another way I could have handled it? Maybe, maybe not. She was not practicing social distancing when she should have. I freaked out.
I don’t know what the answers are – it’s my first pandemic. Read more
I sit here with my coffee, watching the snow outside my den window softly falling. The usual street noises are muffled by the downy blanket settling on everything, and there’s a sense of time standing still this quiet February morning.
It is a good day to hunker down inside and pass the time. And what are our favourite ways to pass the time? Stories. We like to follow as the stories unfold on TV, in theatres, in books, on our computers. Sometimes, we even still tell our stories orally. All humans do this. It is our way. Read more
A few days ago I attended an interview with Indigenous writer and CBC host of Up North, Waubgeshig Rice. I had recently read his latest novel, Moon of the Crusted Snow, and was looking forward to hear the writer discuss his dystopian saga set in the Rez, after the sudden crash of electricity, internet, and all communications. By coincidence, my nonfiction Book Club’s selection for this month is Waub Kinew’s biographical work, The Reason You Walk.
Both books deal with what the writers term the native apocalypse. Kinew relates the effects the institution had on his own father and his ensuing inability to be a father to Waub and his siblings as a result. Rice, meanwhile, has created an allegorical apocalypse, which, the way the climate crisis is progressing, has the chilling tinge of real possibility all through its narrative.
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