The season of feasting is over. Cold winds send chills down spines. The days are grey, brailled with routine. Students are colourful, noisy, minds toned and flexible. Whatever it is about the institution that drains, pains, or even hurts, falls away as I enter the classroom. Books open up, deeply. Theories shimmer like motes…

By the time you read this, I will have met a huge literary deadline. Hopefully, I will have done my dishes, too. It’s been difficult letting go. There are real people in this book, real histories, real memories. I coddled them and held them close and polished them until they gleamed.Now, the book goes…

The soulful, damp greenness of the rain forest envelopes us as Fred drives us across the bluffs of Galiano Island (in British Columbia, Canada) to Jane’s house for lunch. Fred works at Driftwood Cottages, where we’re staying for a few days. While it’s acceptable to ask for a pickup from the ferry, being chauffered…