“You only have one story to write, and you will write it many ways.” – Unknown So about that quote attribution. I write “unknown” because… well… I heard it somewhere, thought it would be a great blog topic to explore, and now for the life of me I cannot remember who said it. Internet searches... Continue Reading →
Should I write it? Do I dare? But it’s such a sensitive topic. This, in a nutshell, was the essence of my mental grappling as I sat down to outline my current work in progress: The Haunting of Tess. After all, developing a main character to whom a sensitive issue is central requires a lot... Continue Reading →
It starts by staring at your blank page, or at your daily task list, or at your calendar with its inalterable deadline, and acknowledging that you have absolutely no motivation to dig in and git’er done. So to the Google you go, in search of listicles and how-tos and productivity hacks that you hope will... Continue Reading →
It resides permanently in my basement, in a ten-by-ten nook parcelled out of the main floor plan behind the garage. It is squat, square and black. It is my new favourite thing on these cold, rainy spring nights. It is… my wood stove. My actual stove. I call her Delilah. Two years ago, I bought... Continue Reading →
It has been a strange night here at Casa Bale. Following recommended Federal guidelines for self-isolation due to the Covid-19 Crisis (willingly and without complaint, mind), my special someone and I have found ourselves inside and without the kiddies for the night. Without the kiddies and with no options for a fancy meal out means... Continue Reading →
Netflix Paralysis. That’s what I’m calling it. It is a state of existence in which there is simply too much to watch on my streaming subscriptions that I become overwhelmed with, and therefore paralyzed by choice. It’s not just The Big Bad N that’s perpetuating the cycle. It’s Crave. It’s Amazon Prime. It’s YouTube. And... Continue Reading →
My quieter, more introspective moments seem to be fewer and farther between these days. Whether this is because I have grown less introspective over the years, or because I have less free minutes with which to be introspective, I’d prefer not to think about. I’d prefer simply to accept that it is, and to appreciate... Continue Reading →
I have never read the “How To Be A Good Mother” handbook. If I had, I am sure I would not have committed so many #MomFails in my son’s eleven years. For instance, I might have read in the DOs and DON’Ts section of the Terrible Twos chapter that no matter how frazzled you are... Continue Reading →
Do you remember your first childhood love? That tongue-tied, red-faced, all-consuming crush where you don't know if you're coming or going, but it's the centre of your universe and you wouldn't change it for anything? I do. I was nine. Twenty-odd years later, my first crush still haunts my subconscious. Literally. In my last post,... Continue Reading →
Journals. If you're a writer, you're supposed to keep one, right? Virginia Woolf did it, and so did other greats like Franz Kafka, Susan Sontag and C.S. Lewis. So yeah, okay, for a long time I felt like a total failure because I couldn't maintain one, despite my many attempts over the years. And believe... Continue Reading →
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