Do you live in a major urban centre? Take this short test. You are giving a reading from your latest book at your local bookstore, and you invite a friend who lives an hour’s travel away. If your friend says instantly, “Awesome, I’ll be there,” chances are you live in a Big City. If your friend says, “What? Come all that way? On the highway?” then you probably live in a smaller city or town and belong to a group I call “out-of-line” artists.
At the inaugural Crime Writing on Pender weekend workshop, running Oct. 12 – 14, up to 12 strangers will gather on B.C.’s Pender Island in a secluded inn built atop a 200-foot cliff, where Arthur Ellis Award–winning crime writer William Deverall will coach them in plotting sinister (fictional) deeds.
Writer and illustrator Andrea Dorfman ends Flawed, her story of overcoming adolescent awkwardness, with a photo of herself at age 14. “With the wisdom of an older person looking back, I look at that picture now and I just love that girl so much,” Dorfman, 49, says. “As we get older we realize these differences that make us stand out are what make us unique.”
When Nimbus Publishing asked freelance writer Sarah Sawler to co-author a book with YouTube star Frankie MacDonald, they had no idea what the book would look like.
Jonny is the embodiment of the type of world I want to see: one that has no qualms with 2SQness; one that has elders, mothers, grandmothers, aunties, and kin that are able to push beyond their westernized understandings of binaries; and one where Indigenous femmes, women, and 2SQ (including bisexual) are centred.
In June 2016, just a few weeks before the Canada Council for the Arts announced major changes to its granting system, Toronto author Trevor Cole was invited to be writer-in-residence at the Richmond Hill Public Library.
In a public interview recently, a journalist asked me what I meant in the final pages of my memoir, Heart Berries, when I proclaimed myself “untouchable.” A room full of authors gasped audibly at my boldness.
About a year ago, while I was passionately immersed in getting the manuscript of my latest book, The Spinning Magnet: The Force That Created the Modern World and Could Destroy It, to my publisher, I found myself with a brief moment to surface and take the temperature of the times.
Last May, I published Thing is, my second collection of poems. The project, at least as I thought of it, was to re-imagine the alienated nature of consciousness as a universal condition.
Nonagenarians and other older authors are publishing meaningful work despite obstacles posed by health, technology, and a culture that can sometimes feel indifferent to the insights of the elderly.