The Next-Best-Thing

The following is my piece of the next-big-thing interview several writers have been participating in. Writers are using their blogs to talk about their current projects, then linking to other writers’ blogs, who do the same.

Thanks to members of the Toronto Women Writers’ Salon, who first brought this awesome project to my attention.

A special thanks to Terri Favro, who tagged me, and whose novel, The Proxy Bride, was recently published by Quattro Books.

Here’s what I’m working on now:

What is the working title of your book?

Staying in the Family, a short story collection.

Where did the idea for the book come from?

This book has been in development for years. One story, “Luck,” was published in The Fertile Source in 2010. Another story, “In the Afternoon,” was published by Found Press last summer.

 What genre does your book fall under?

Some might call it domestic fiction. Because the book includes stories with non-domestic settings (a mountaineering story I’m working on now takes place on Mt. Everest), I call it domestic-adventure fiction!

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

“In the Afternoon” is thematically linked to Eric Rohmer’s movie L’Amour L’Après-midi. If my movie were filmed in the 1960s, I would pick Zouzou, who stars as Chloé in the movie, to play Jackie. For a contemporary version, I’d love to have Audrey Tautou play Jackie. For “Luck,” I’d pick a young Debra Winger, as she looked in Bertolucci’s The Sheltering Sky.

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

Staying in the Family explores the theme of longing—whether sexual desire, envy, or a desire to escape one’s circumstances—and what gets sacrificed when you get what you want.

 Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

Represented by an agency, I hope. I’m not yet an established author, so I don’t have a good sense of what to look for in an agent. However, I’m going to aim high! I would love to be represented by agents who work with some of my favourite canadian authors, including the Bukowski Agency (Annabel Lyon) or Anne McDermid (Angie Abdou, Lisa Moore, Michael Winter).

 How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

I’ve been working on these stories for seven years! During this time I was fairly busy raising two young children. Since they started school this fall, I’ve been able to write more quickly than in the past. I intend to finish the book by 2013.

 What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

Sarah Selecky once compared my work to Richard Ford, which is a lovely and generous compliment. I am always re-reading Ford, particularly his collection, A Multitude of Sins. Another mentor is Katherine Mansfield. I also love 19th century French authors such as Alphonse Daudet, who writes character-driven stories. Sometimes I think my work is anachronistic!

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

Films, experiences, conversations overheard. Mostly my stories start with an image or a snippet of dialogue. In Rohmer’s L’Amour L’Après-midi, the protagonist says he hates afternoons, (he makes love in the afternoon to stave off a sense of despair) and his comment resonated with me. I’m a morning person: afternoons have always depressed me. In response to Rohmer’s film, I wrote “In the Afternoon.” My story “Luck” was inspired by my travels in Ethiopia, where I witnessed street children experiencing terrible poverty.

What else about your book might pique your reader’s interest?

Here’s an excerpt from the collection, a story-in-progress called “Starting Somewhere”:

 My cabin had been the first of ten cabins, up a hill like a series of brown steps. Each cabin housed ten campers and two counsellors. They had been re-finished, and you could smell the addictive smell of wood stain. The screen doors were rickety and their hinges squeaked.  None of them shut properly: you had to pull hard to get the latch to click.

Each evening, Jen, my co-counsellor, and I sat on the cabin steps, and Darren joined us. He sprawled at our feet, against the bottom step, and complained.

“Suze showed me a naked chick,” he said, once. He was grinning, but his face was red.

“A chick?” I asked.

“You know what I mean.”

“I was giving a camper a shower,” I said, “and he walked in.”

“You could have warned me,” said Darren.

The camper, Betty Bernowski, was in her fifties. Her buttocks overflowed on the backs of her thighs. Her forearms were pockmarked with insect bite scars. Darren had knocked on the washroom door. I told him to walk in, and he did. “Jesus,” he said, and tripped on the way out.

“What,” I said loudly. “Can’t handle it?”

Playing Darren was fun. He was fifteen, a virgin, and he liked me. Plus I’d had a bad time with the girls at school. I’d slept with most of eleventh grade guys but had no real girlfriends. Teasing Darren made me feel a whole lot better.

“And thanks for the little present,” Darren said. Betty had soiled herself on the bench outside the dining room, and I’d left the mess for Darren.

“That’s your job,” I said, though it came out a little shaky.

“Is seeing someone naked wrong?” Jen said. “Fundamentally, I mean.” It always gave me a jolt, seeing someone with purple hair consider things seriously.

“Wouldn’t you care?” Darren said.

“No,” Jen said. She tugged at her tank top and made as if to flash him.

“Oh lord,” said Darren.

I could do it, I thought. I could pretend that my body means nothing more than a collection of skin cells, that my nipples are just a tagged on, dark conglomeration.

“Society has to start somewhere,” Jen said.

Thanks for reading! Now, over to some of my colleagues, some amazing writers. I hope you visit their blogs too.

Julia Zarankin

Sarah Sheard

Phil Dwyer

Margaret Webb


Standing on One Foot

Are you a woman, or a mouse? (Annie Dillard The Writing Life)


When to practice karate? This is always the question. I’m constantly trying to fit in all the things I enjoy doing, things that define me.

I finally have the time: since September, my children have been enrolled in full-time school. Ah, the joy of experiencing, for the first time in six and a half years, a long stretch of time: the hours between 9:30 and 3:00 (or, more realistically, between 10:00 and 2:00, for I need time to clean the kitchen, shop for groceries, prepare meals. Not to mention the time needed to eat that indispensable second breakfast.) But seriously, I’m convinced that every stay-at-home parent remembers that first day when their children stay away from the house for an extended period. I mean, a WHOLE DAY!

My main problem is that once I start doing something, I don’t want to stop and move on to something else. Do you know “Eureka,” that 1980s TVO cartoon on the Laws of Physics? There was one called Inertia. Inertia: that’s me. I always picture myself as the pebble in the cartoon: once you give me a push, I keep on rolling.

In practice, that means that if I start my morning off by writing, by afternoon I’ll still be writing. On the other hand, if I start my day seasonally categorizing my kids’ clothes, by the afternoon I’ll still be kneeling on my daughter’s purple rug, sorting through an unholy mess of bottoms and tops (my mother-in-law, bless her, is a passionate shopper who raised three boys, and is therefore thrilled to overbuy for her granddaughters), trying to decide if the hole in the bottom of her tights can actually be seen if she’s wearing a skirt over top, and, if so, if she can get away with wearing the tights another season (I’m the opposite of my mother-in-law – I dislike shopping and I hate throwing things out.)

Also, if I start my morning doing karate, hours later I’ll still be doing karate. After finishing last year’s summer day-long karate training, I felt primed to continue training for three more hours.

Because of my innate inertia, I make it a point to begin each morning by writing. Since September (not counting Jewish Holidays – why oh why are there so many darn holidays, and why, again, are we sending our kids to a Jewish school?), this has been my schedule: return home from school drop-off; eat a second breakfast; drink a caffeinated beverage; write for three hours; and eat lunch. The afternoon is a mixed bag of reading, meal prepping, grocery-shopping, tidying our narrow front hallway (ancient Victorian houses, sheesh), and doing anything else that needs to get done. All this to prepare for that moment when my lovely, high-energy children crash through the house, demanding that I fulfill their urgent needs. Yesterday, while I sat by the local pool watching my eldest take her swimming lessons, my three-and-a-half year old tried to get my attention by poking my, umh, chest, a practice I put a stop to immediately.

I am not like the extraordinary Carrie Snyder, an inveterate multi-tasker. Last spring, I read in awe that she was entertaining a sick kid (one of four), meal prepping, and proofing her latest book—simultaneously. (The Juliet Stories is nominated for the Governor General’s Literary Award. You can find Carrie at I could never do this kind of multi-tasking. Never. For one, I hate interruptions. For another, there’s that small problem of inertia.

I’ve somewhat come to terms with the fact that I’m a long-distance runner, rather than a sprinter. And I’m embracing my inertia. I’m also starting to think that a much nicer way of talking about my inertia is by referring to it as my aptitude for intense focus.

All this to clarify why I start off each day by writing.

But where does karate fit in? I have three priorities in my life: family, writing, and karate. The order I put these in depends on mood and need, either mine or my loved ones. But how to include all three, more or less on an equal basis?

And how do I fit in all my other passions? I’m an exercise junkie, and I love running, swimming, doing yoga, and muscle training. Above all, I love walking. When I was little, my dad and I used to take long walks through Toronto ravines, and I’ve kept the habit of doing these walks. On these walks, my mind works out all sorts of problems, particularly those related to writing.


At the moment I’m managing to fit in karate practice twice a week, always in the afternoons, on no fixed day (this is in addition to two, formal evening classes). On other days, I go to the Yoga studio. I swim. I walk.

Yesterday, in one of Toronto’s ravines, I stopped walking and let loose some punches, for practice. Just a few moves: I was wearing my long, wool fall coat, probably the most expensive item I own (bought three years ago on Boxing Day), and I was nervous about tearing it. I was also embarrassed, and surreptitiously looked around the ravine to make sure that no one was looking. Would someone, seeing me, assume I was not in my right mind, someone who, in my husband’s words, was “reacting to internal stimuli?”

Then I remembered my old Sensei, Konzak Sensei, speaking about courage. “Are you a man, or a mouse?” he would ask. I’ve always amended this to “are you a woman, or a mouse?” (Yesterday, I was thrilled to come across this same aphorism in Annie Dillard’s book The Writing Life.) So I kept throwing out punches. Then, noticing my shoes were caked in mud, I stopped punching and continued walking.

I’d love to hear from all of you—readers, mothers, karate-ka—about how you include exercise in your routine. And how you manage your numerous passions. In the meantime, I’m embracing something my friend and skillful career coach, Ayelet Magen, says. Balancing is like standing on one foot, she notes: you wobble, move from side to side as you struggle to stay upright.






Heidi Reimer

Here is an excerpt from a fabulous piece on motherhood by the talented Heidi Reimer, published in Literary Mama:

The psychic is down-to-earth and expensive. My husband, Richard, is young. He lives in London, and has not yet moved to the US, where he will meet me, or to Canada, where he will marry me.

She tells him she sees him living on a lake, with twins….

To read more, go to