books

Here’s What I Think

On the night before my family was to visit Montreal’s Expo 67 for the first time, my mother, holding a wooden spoon as a microphone, pretended to interview all us kids about what we thought of our own world’s fair replete with exhibits from around the world. I can’t remember how wonderful and pithy our […]

Self-Invention

I recently found myself in Palm Springs. No, that’s not precisely true. I was in Rancho Mirage, a different place altogether. I’m assuming Palm Springs had an organic beginning, a spring that attracted a man, an Indian perhaps, who warmed himself in the thermal waters, that one man eventually led to another and soon there […]

Cry Me A River

I can’t stop sobbing. What started this morning as a localized cry has blossomed into an all day jag. Indulgent as this may seem, I actually fall prey to this once or twice a year. The first time I fell head long into limitless tears was nearly twenty years ago when my husband’s brother-in-law suddenly […]

I Am Not A Duck

I am not a duck. This is the only reason I can come up with as to why I am a writer. But I fear this might not be enough. After twenty years of writing; a published novel, another one making the rounds at this very moment, numerous magazine articles, a couple of screenplays not […]

A Present? Please, Don’t Bother.

I’ve never had much luck with gifts. I remember one sleety, grim Montreal afternoon just before Christmas sitting in the vestibule of our high school hangout with my friend Laura when she said, in the most solemn manner, “My present to you is my presence.” Now seeing it written down it makes perfect sense, even […]

Shall we…lie down?

Lately I’ve been reading Henry Miller’s novel Tropic of Cancer, and if that doesn’t get you thinking about sex nothing will. There, between the seemingly endless mumbo jumbo of his sterling overheated prose, is some really great raunchy sex. I love the way he invokes the mosh pit of guttural lovemaking, all bump and grind, […]