In a family that shuns conformity, how does a kid get a little rebellion in? Donna Leskosek observes an uprising in action.
Old Girl, New Tricks — International Guitar Month Feature
After 16 years of owning a guitar, a terrified gal drags herself to a very scary music lesson.
Writing Before Daylight: Dreams of Fathers and Sons
When I’m writing, like I was this morning, I am reminded that my father would probably hate the whole thing. Other people did that. Writers are important, but you, son… — he would have left the rest unsaid. He would have dismissed the writing, the words themselves, the subject matter, my attitude, my not having […]
Confessions of a Former Gleek: Part 1
Inspired by the hit TV series Glee, Julie Harrison reflects back on her former life as a “Gleek” in the high school drama club.
What the Wisteria Knew About Life and Death (And What I Didn’t)
“Wisteria. Sounds like hysteria. The faintest brush of purple. Woody. Twining. Ethereal. Angels could rest here.” Writer Kerry Slavens ponders living, and dying, and the seasons of pain.
The “Kids” are Alright (If You Don’t Count Coffee Grounds, Twist Ties and the Rat)
I’m often told that my parents sound like they were very interesting people. I suppose they were. At least, they were interesting, if not a tad puzzling, to a neighbour of theirs one summer day many years ago. He had recently bought the house across the street from their place and had a perfect view […]
The Little Girl with the Blonde Bobbed Hair
A story of young love, childhood memories, and a Bluebird schoolbus.
Dude, Pimp My Mice
Anyone who has ever tried to sell anything will tell you how important it is to “network.” I put this in quotes because, as far as I can tell, it’s just a fancy term for talking to people. You let people know what it is you do, and then remind them at every opportunity. As […]
The Power of a Word
Our bodies digest words like we digest food. The energy from each word can have a profound effect on our thoughts and actions.
Things I Did in the Dark
Inky fingers stroked my hair. And the darkness had a sound. It buzzed and whispered to the rhythm section of my heartbeat as I lay paralyzed by the fear of ghosts. The fear of being left alone. The fear of dying of fear itself.
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