Ok, I’ve been linking to a lot of book-related stuff on Twitter, and rather than send a dozen tweets of linkage, why not consolidate the best into a single blog post? Why not, indeed. Here we go: ‘I just adore Dostoevsky…’ Books to impress the babes, Asylum.co.uk – Seriously, people still say “babes”? And they don’t get […]
Bookish linkage and the Toronto Literary Salon Read more »
Poetry submissions sent to Nova Scotia on Monday. One of them is kind of controversial, so who knows. On Saturday I entered the Nick Blatchford Occasional Verse Contest, sponsored by The New Quarterly. ((Link above if you want to join my competition.)) This is the first contest I’ve ever entered, and reading over the past submissions (cleverly
Stuff submitted, contest entered, and a possible course Read more »
I write every spare moment and moments I set aside as spare. More than a dozen notebooks filled with scraps of poetry and prose, essays and blog posts, book reviews and idle thoughts, and countless files are stored on my computer. I write considerably more than I will ever publish. Writing is easy. Ideas are easy. This
It occurred on the weekend that I’ve been blogging for nine years this April. Which is this month. April 16th to be exact. Which is today. I’m having a Keanu moment here. ((Whoa.)) Ancient History to me I first started blogging on April 16th, 2000. After a couple of friends joined LiveJournal, I did too. It was
Nine years of blogging Read more »
He drew forth a phrase from his treasure and spoke it softly to himself: –A day of dappled seaborne clouds. The phrase and the day and the scene harmonised in a chord. Words. Was it their colours? He allowed them to glow and fade, hue after hue: sunrise gold, the russet and green of apple orchards, azure
James Joyce on Treasure Read more »
This time to Saskatoon! Savvy Canlitmag ((How’s that for an abbreviation?)) readers will instantly be able to guess the publication, but I hesitate to mention it due to vague superstitions and the fact that there is, of course, the possibility that the poems will be rejected and I will fret to myself if only I hadn’t mentioned
