Commentary and analysis
To be honest, I'm not someone who cares for traditional publishing. Maybe it's a fear of rejection, maybe it's my anti-authoritarian streak. Regardless, I'm not somebody proudly within the CanLit landscape or on any CBCReads list.
Let's be honest. You're probably reading this for free right now, and that's the problem. 'Free' trained us to scroll past everything that matters. The attention economy has taught you that, outside of streaming services, nothing is worth paying for.
One of my earliest memories is riding the Winnipeg Transit bus with my Mom, before I'd even started pre-school. We'd go on what I understood only as 'adventures.' Though looking back, we were probably just running errands, maybe visiting the Munro Public Library.
In my quiet wooden study, I've been staring at my chipped black-painted nails, trying to process the latest news. The cloudy blue-green lava lamp I resurrected from a thrift store two years ago bubbles beside me. Hermanos, a vivid ceramic red skull, watches.
There's a moment in every reader's life when they stumble upon a connection and it feels like uncovering a secret message. Mine came while researching Banana Yoshimoto, the contemporary Japanese novelist whose dreamy prose has captivated readers worldwide since her debut with Kitchen in 1988.
On Valentine's Day in 2014, I watched Her in theatres with my then-girlfriend Danielle and then-best friend Samana on a double date. I was seventeen years-old. The sharp, ringing drone of the start of the track 'Milk & Honey #1' when the scrawled title card appeared is engrained in my head.