One forsaken letter at a time — I used to write all the time. Multiple days a week. Racing to the computer if an unexpected 10 minutes presented itself. Or even stealing time from other activities including, but not limited to, making dinner, properly clothing my children and issuing thinly-veiled threats of reprisals to former work friends. …

“Skin and Bones is about a recipe for a homemade killer chicken noodle soup.” — Who has time to actually listen to music these days? I certainly don’t. I also don’t have time to tie my shoes, eat my vitamins or drop and do the worm (but those are topics for future pieces of writing). I certainly don’t have time both to listen and then…

I’ve done my best to keep crying to a minimum — The score was 10–5 in the fourth game of my inner-city league squash playoff match in early April. I was just a point away from a big victory to put a cap on what had been one of my strongest seasons in many years. …

A random night I’ll never forget — Johnny and I were trick or treating. In one sense, it felt like we’d always been trick or treating while in another, much more accurate, sense it had comprised less than one half of one percent of our existences. Not that I was counting. We were nearing the end of…

An unforgettable tale for the ages — It was one of those Tuesdays in May. You know the ones, the ones that feel like a Thursday in October. You know, kind of a bummer. My ragamuffin group of friends and I were in the school hallway. We were the sort of group that staunchly insisted on being…

something short and silly — I like to lay in the yard covered with damp leaves. It reminds me of my youth and, to a lesser degree, my career trajectory. I always carry my trusty vat of wax with me mostly to justify the expenditure to my anti-vat-of-wax spending wife. I dressed up as a…

a short story — Sara picked the nettle, awaiting the sharpness of the sting. Ever since she was a small child, she loved it. Prickles on her skin, a slight piercing. Drops of perspiration, a hint of blood, a faint touch of pain or discomfort. A devilish smile crossed her angelic face. She could…

Heed my words, young ones — Hey Grade 12s, it’s your counsellor, Mr. Paley aka T-Pain aka Pales aka T to the P aka Sir Paley the Wise and Beneveloent (this never fully caught on, but…pretty please?). …

A farewell to another group of students — It all feels like so long ago when this all started. September 2017, grade 8. I was busy with my grade 12s at the time, reviewing transcripts, helping people with college applications and scholarships, but I made time to pop into your English classes to meet you. Establishing new relationships…