What are you doing this summer? I’ll be getting in some time on the beach: sun baking, swimming and surfing. I’ll also be facilitating an awesome 10-day short story workshop through the McGregor Summer School. Lots of workshopping of your stories! Writing races! Chocolate! Bunnies! Ok, so maybe not so much with … Continue reading
It was my sister who came, down from the mountain, when the rest of them refused. I hadn’t seen her in ten or eleven years, but she was largely unchanged. ‘Come home,’ she said, kissing my cheek. ‘I can’t,’ I said, kissing hers in return. My groom was sleeping by … Continue reading
Green Vanilla Tea is a stunning and moving work of memoir. I have read it several times, and wept every time. I was fortunate enough to read this book when it was in its first throes of being written, and to work with Marie as she wrangled her and her … Continue reading
They stood just inside the doorway, wrapping themselves in coats and scarves. Finally, the grandmother grasped the young girl and pulled her close, kissing her on both cheeks. ‘One kiss is yours,’ she said. ‘The other is for your husband.”I don’t have a husband,’ said the girl. Her grandmother buttoned her … Continue reading
I met this girl in the library. I liked her instantly; of course I liked her! A girl like that is better than cake.Her father was ‘in real estate’, which at first I assumed meant that he was a realtor, but later realised meant he was rich. So rich he … Continue reading
If she was in the bathroom crying, well that was fine with him. The sound of the shower running was a soothing, almost complete one. It allowed him to concentrate on watching the eggs boil. What had he said wrong, anyway? That it was just as well. It was. The … Continue reading
There was no trace of their having passed. None of the obvious ones, anyway. No crushed circle of grass; no broken branch to mark the way. The trees bore no aura of attentiveness or alarm. There was, perhaps, a fraint trace of her perfume, already fading. The scent of rope … Continue reading
I wanted a wife and so, like a fool, I wished for one. I thought but did not say, even if she is a bird. Who is it that listens for the wish the heart makes, and skews it so? My wife, when she came, was, of course, a bird. I … Continue reading
When the war was over, I thought I was done with grieving. Don came home and, though he wasn’t quite the man I’d seen off two years earlier, he was still my Don. I just had to look a little harder to see him sometimes. Or tease him a little … Continue reading
She is at home now, trimming the hedges or raking leaves from the small, square lawn. She may be reading, or contemplating writing a poem. She may be tucked up on the green chair, headphones in her ears, fingerless gloves on her hands, working in her notebook. I like to … Continue reading