Labour Day
More like Labour of Love Day, amiright? The chilli pot is huge, a week of meals easy, and somewhere in the grocery aisles I decided the whole thing needed bread bowls to live in.
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100 Days — Writing.
A piece of writing a day for one hundred days — small, finished things, shipped before they get precious. Showing up at the desk on a schedule and letting momentum do what waiting for the muse never has. Some will sing. Some hum. All will ship.
17 pieces · newest first
Kitchen Hero
The tree out front is turning red instead of yellow, but only on the side where the hummingbird feeder hangs. Is it sentient? Is it an octopus? Meanwhile, I made muffins.
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Teamwork
The timeline was insane. Custom linocuts, a new imprint, an ISBN, a bar code, six greeting cards, a bookmark for good measure, and an ecommerce site we insist on calling SHOW-PIFFY.
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Alberta Pasta
Tonight's answer to the never-ending dinner question is a pasta-carb extravaganza with salad and peas. Why peas? I dunno. I love them, and I throw them into whatever will hold still.
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Krampus Time
Jenn wrote another book. Well, technically her cat Newton wrote it, and I'm not going to argue authorship with a cat who has strong feelings about Christmas.
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Yard Full
The leaves have started turning in our yard, the mornings have gone crisp, and best of all, I don't have to cut the lawn. Small mercies arrive quietly at the end of August.
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l33t sk1llz
Four games in, a character showed up at the end of a chapter and named herself. I have no idea how I'll reconcile what she set in motion, and I can't wait to find out.
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Cat Tum
When Mabel isn't killing things, she can be found relaxing in her favourite sunbeam. Cute. Fuzzy. A little smile pulling at her lips. Probably dreaming of dismembering something.
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Big Onion®
Jalapeños from Mexico, tomatoes from Alberta, beef from Alberta, tortillas from Canada. Everything I needed with one exception: every onion on the shelf that day was grown in the USA.
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The Smoker
I started smoking. Worse, I convinced my eldest son to start too. Not coffin nails: matching pellet smokers, because briquettes stopped fitting my backyard milieu and I wanted something with soul.
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Crime Scene
Charlie and Mabel were left for dead in a snowbank two years ago. We took them in and gave them a job: watch the shop, report anything unusual. Today, no girls. Just an open window and a light rain.
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The Penalty
Four little boys, one hot Friday, and a gas station counter full of candy. Their bikes were lined up outside like getaway vehicles. Some things haven't changed in forty-plus years.
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Behind Aligned
100 Days of Writing and Doodling started strong, then went off a cliff like Thelma and Louise. This is not a new problem. I drive off the cliff, land it — albeit in pieces — reassemble, stop for an espresso, and carry on.
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Hair Today
It happens with no rhythm, no rhyme. One hair, one inch, in a place it didn't exist yesterday. Not a thatch. Just one. Eyebrow, then shoulder, and today, gloriously, my neck.
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Wormwood & Underwood
I am old enough to know how to change the ribbon on a manual typewriter. One that smells of wormwood and sugar cubes, scarred with cigarette burns. Would I write on one today? Maybe for a page.
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Found Treasures
There at my feet, across from Sidney's best fish and chips, lay a beautiful if inexpensive piece of jewellery. I looked around for someone clutching their neck. Not a soul.
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Happy Birthday
I plan on being kind to myself as I cobble this together. Inspiration? I'll paw through the pictures on my phone, find one that has a story and write something about it. I'm setting a word count of 750 and will give myself a little reward every time I'm within 10 or 20 words of the limit. Little rewards are just that. Maybe I'll have a nap. Or a bubble bath.
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