I run my hand over the smooth ceramic of a demitasse cup, gently pinching my thumb and pointer around the looping handle, grateful for the singularity of the tin coffee pods. Too small, you said, about those cups; your callused hands could not embrace them. A mug, a cuppa joe, you wanted. 

The house is silent. Coffee in hand, I slip into fuzzy fleece slippers, courtesy of Costco, cheaper by the dozen. No longer am I one in a pair. 

This is the first in the Ploughman’s Lunch series, which gets down to the basics of writing—or in other words, things a I discovered while reading as a writer.

There is a myth that the acres of flowers planted in the gardens near North Qu’Appelle equal the number of dead buried in the Saskatchewan hills. The waves of yellow primrose, tiny witches’ bluebells, and bleeding hearts reek with the sweet smell of death.

Just tell them you’re looking for Jane.

In Sara J. Henry’s debut thriller, Troy Chance plunges into the depths of Lake Champlain to save a child, beginning her journey of discovery. Not only the discovery of who the boy is and why he was seemingly thrown into the lake but her discovery of a maternal bond earned through a shared traumatic experience.  

In 1963, my father entered into a publishing contract with Longmans Canada Limited, which was acquired by PRH (Penguin Random House), to publish the Brad Forrest adventure series. The advance payment for the series was $750, which in today's currency would amount to approximately $6,500.

“Will I still pencil in my eyebrows as they yearn for relevance on my wrinkled brow? Or will I realize the peace that comes from acceptance?”

To my new-found friends across the Atlantic, I share my insights from our time together.