#NationalShortStoryMonth Spotlight: “The Deal with Roger” by Alison Gadsby
Mirabel wants to learn to swim but she’s been told her whole life she’d just sink to the bottom and that swimming is not only a risk to her, but to the lifeguards who might have to retrieve her extra-large body from the deep end of a pool. At six feet, eight inches and two-hundred and fifty pounds, Mirabel has always been self-conscious, but as the newest partner at the country’s largest forensic accounting firm, she learned success comes with hard work and determination. She’s tired of being told she can’t do something.
#NationalShortStoryMonth Spotlight: excerpt from “The Ugliest Girls”by Lindsay Wong
In my village of Beiji, in the coldest, whitest corner of Heilongjiang Province, my harelip has always been fierce and unapologetic, my eyes like misshapen mouse turds. My long, uneven braids dangle like parasites; my mouth pinched like a rotted lotus flower. I have been crowned with the dried leaves of red Manchurian ash trees twice— the dishonour of being one of my village’s ugliest girls. My mother and her midwife screamed in astonishment after she birthed me, and my father attempted to snap my newborn neck in the blue Daxing’anling woods.
#NationalShortStoryMonth Spotlight: excerpt of “My Mother’s Hands Are Silver” by Chanel Sutherland
My mother’s hands are silver. They seem to shine, the streaks on her brown knuckles so startling. Almost alien.
I remember the first time I laid eyes on them, my first morning waking up in Canada. They glowed like the sea under a half-moon.
Pretty, right? You ever seen skin hold light like that? That’s how her hands looked to me—palm planted on her hip as she surveyed a clean room, knuckles brushing the edge of a table before she placed a dish down.
I couldn’t stop looking.
#NationalShortStory Month Feature: Laura Rock Gaughan
Rain-soaked news slams the front door. Another on-time delivery: tap the virtual tip jar for the grey-haired woman cruising the streets in a beat-up van. You like getting a daily paper; it makes you feel attentive to the world. And you appreciate small services that make each day hum at a pleasant frequency. How easy it would be not to think about this woman who rises at 4 am to bring the paper to your door.
#NationalShortStory Month Feature: Pratap Reddy
“Wake up, Seenu. You must go to work today."
He heard Narsamma speak as if from a far away world. He moved his limbs and opened his eyes. Seenu felt so weak he wanted to sink back into sleep.
#NationalShortStory Month Feature: “Caviar” from Widow Fantasies
If I swallow hard, the synthetic punch of his body wash is still in the back of my throat. My skin still puckers into gooseflesh. The heat of the shower is behind the closed door but I can feel how it ribboned out to meet me.
And I can still see everything, all at once.
Excerpt from Fuse
Girls are dying, but it doesn’t happen all at once.
The therapist searched my file. “Which one of your parents is Iranian?” She was pulling out my intake questionnaire. The form had taken me longer to complete than our session would last. I had registered through the outpatient program at the hospital, and after three months of waiting, I received a phone call letting me know I had an appointment scheduled for the following week.
collective effervescence
My second annual tree lighting poem as Poet Laureate of Scugog Township.
Pulling your own weight: an interview on author-publisher expectations with Michael Mirolla
In fact, in many ways, it can be argued that today a writer’s task actually shifts into high gear after the contract has been signed. And writers have to be prepared for that. They need to be ready to pitch in. To pull their weight, as the old saying goes. They need to commit themselves to taking on aspects of the writing life that have little to do with actual writing. At least during the period when their title needs to get out into the world. Otherwise, that getting out into the world will be a very brief one, given that the sales lifespan of most books is not very great.
The Creation of Ecology Paul
When I started thinking about the cover of my forthcoming novel, The Unravelling of Ou (Palimpsest Press, February 15, 2026), I had a pretty clear idea of what I wanted. And because I was publishing with a small press, I knew I’d have —within reason—a fair amount of control over my cover.
It was probably only a few days after signing my publication contract that I reached out to Santa Fe artist, Catie Powe.
“Vessel” from Worldly Girls Tamara Jong
Much like my delayed shoe tying, I couldn’t tell the time for the first five years I was in school. I struggled with math, and the numbers on the clock only confused me. I had this Snoopy watch I loved, mainly because the minute hand was a tennis ball. I got by okay by bluffing my way through with my Consumers Distributing digital watch. I even fooled my parents somehow, but maybe because of their own drama, they didn’t notice I couldn’t tell time.
Episodic Tremor and Slip by Lorne Daniels
An excerpt from “Episodic Tremor and Slip” from Lorne Daniel’s What is Broken Binds Us, published by University of Calgary Press.
“The Humidity in the Air” by John Brady McDonald
There is still the smell of summer rain in the wind
And the sky is grey between the leaves of my window
As the paper advances through this machine
It begins to curl the other way, now
The (CanL)It Crowd with Adelle Purdham
Adelle Purdham is one of the sweetest people in my literary circle. Yes, she’s a talented writer, but Adelle is also notably generous with her time and support. I’m delighted to call her a friend. I am also delighted to host Adelle on my blog for this year’s first episode of The (CanL)It Crowd to share her thoughts on literary citizenship and community within the koan that is CanLit.
“Horse Girls”: An excerpt from Widow Fantasies
Mr. Boyd said her new horse blanket was stupid. Left-wing bullshit. A blanket made of old water bottles isn’t gonna save the world. Probably won’t even keep the horse warm! He sucked on his remaining bottom tooth. Nina had seen him peel a whole orange with it. Decaying and brown, it reminded her of a shriveled kernel of flint corn.
“Blackout”— an excerpt from In Crisis, On Crisis: Essays in Troubled Times by James Cairns
“I’ve tried striking these dark episodes from the autobiography in my head on the grounds that I can’t claim something I never knew. (Brain doctors are split on whether blackouts are legitimate legal defences.) But when I ignore the blackouts of my past, I’m unable to conceive of myself as someone whose views and actions matter today.”
Anniversary, Alveoli by Tanis MacDonald
A few weeks before Valentine’s Day, as part of my poet laureateship, I wrote a blog post on how to write a love poem, acknowledging (then promptly ignoring) the fact that I may not be the best person to provide instruction on such an endeavour. Imagine my delight when I learned that my post had encouraged a writer I admire immensely to recommence her habit of writing an annual love poem.
You Don’t Have to be Good: Tips on How to Write a Love Poem
Writing love poems isn’t really my thing.
This is what I’ve been telling people for years. Even when I suggested to my fellow Scugog Arts members that, as Poet Laureate of Scugog Township, I should share a blog on how to write a love poem for Valentine’s Day, it occurred to me that I might not be the best person for the job.
To be clear: I stand by this last claim but the first one—the one where I say writing love poems isn’t my thing—is categorically false.
What have you done for us lately?
Hi, my beautiful bookish brethren—Hollay here, your doting neighbourhood book publicist, National Book Critics Circle Member, former lit mag reviews editor, book podcast and radio show host, soon-to-be open mic poetry series host, Founder of River Street Writing, and basically, your go-to gal for CanLit community golden retriever energy.
Navigating Vulnerabilities in Life Writing with Paige Maylott, Christine McNair, and Maurice Vellekoop
Earlier this year, I was lucky enough to be a part of The & Festival at Sheridan College as the moderator for the Navigating Vulnerabilities in Life Writing with Paige Maylott (My Body is Distant, ECW Press), Christine McNair (Toxemia, Book*hug Press), and Maurice Vellekoop (I’m So Glad We Had This Time Together, Penguin Random House). Our conversation was wonderful, and I walked about feeling energized and dazzled, but I also walked away with a handful of questions we didn’t have time to address.