I’ve been meaning to start a few recurring segments on this page so starting today Mondays will now be Micro Mondays. In these posts I’ll look at the microscopic side of writing. Whether it’s the Little Free Libraries that inhabit the different neighbourhoods of the city or the advent of microfiction or looking at the books for the micro-adults (children) I will be putting on my ant-suit and shrinking down to take a closer look.
Today I’m going to share an unpublished piece of microfiction I wrote a few years back about the horrors of those tiny pests you can’t always see. I hope you enjoy Tiny Bites
Itchy. Above the skin. I can feel them. On my arm hair. Small bites smaller than the eye can see but still my nerve endings go off like hundreds of mini fireworks. I scratch. The red skin fades to white. Relief. The discomfort moves. Merges with the skin. They crawl. It crawls. The whole sensation crawls. Powder. Bath. Water. Collar. Liquids. No solution. On me. On my clothes. In my bed. The scrapes become scratches become slices become lacerations on my skin. The opening allows them to get under.
My cat casually paws at its neck.
Last night my fiance and I attended Coach House Books‘ 50th annual wayzgoose and it was a grand old time.
What is a ‘wayzgoose’ you ask. How do you even pronounce it?
You say it like this: ‘Weighs Goose’ Continue reading
All stories are ghost stories.
These words are courtesy of my author friend and occasional drinking buddy, Colin Frizzell. His isn’t a new idea and I believe he quoted it from another author. And so the quote itself gets passed down, much like a campfire ghost story.
While I don’t agree fully with his statement I do believe there is a lot of truth to it; not because of the supernatural but because of the things that haunt us as human beings. Whether it’s by death t or mistakes or indecision we all have those fears that burrow deep within.
I’ve been thinking a lot about being haunted lately; partly because I’m in the middle of writing a ghost story (for a contest) but mostly because I lost my stepmother last week. Continue reading
Rich Terfry is an author/Nova Scotian rapper who just came out with a book entitled ‘Wicked and Weird: The Amazing Tales of Buck 65.’ I came across his rap persona, Buck 65, back in my mid-twenties when I was trying to diversify my musical tastes from ‘pretty much just metal’ to ‘pretty much just metal and a few eccentric choices’.
I’ve never been a fan of rap but I’ve never given it much of a chance. It’s usually easier to judge a genre by its most popular and most offensive titles.
An old coworker that ran his own rap label pointed me in the direction of nerdcore performers like Wordburglar and More or Les. With that push I came across Buck 65’s free EP Dirty Work and I was entranced by his unique spoken style. With it’s haunting opening and Aesopian narrative Indestructible Sam became one of my favourites: Continue reading
Thank you for visiting my humble site. And welcome to my fortress tall, I’ll take some time to show you round:
If you look up you’ll see a picture of me partaking in many a writer’s source of inspiration, imagination juice (disregard if picture has changed). In the right amount of quantities (at least for me) in can open up the flood gates. A little too much and I’m down for the count. Way too much and I’m under the host.
If you keep going up you’ll see the address bar and any tabs open if you’re good at multitasking.
To the right is the scroll bar which probably has suffered long drags down the social race track if you’re an avid Facebook or Twitter user. Me, I’m not so good with the twittin and the twattin but soon I shall be rejoining the birds on Twitter to share my words of wisdom about words and wisdom… and to make terrible, terrible jokes. Continue reading