They're onto us!

As of today's Toronto Star: "Writers share the rituals of writing -- or not."

Welcome to writing, an activity I've practised most of my life but which still requires certain rituals of procrastination as deeply entrenched as keeping my keys in my left pocket and sleeping with a pillow between my knees. And I actually like writing.

But even for me, a writer who lives with non-negotiable newspaper deadlines, the actual starting of the process always involves certain rituals of delay, the navigation of a perpetual inertia. Or is it fear? Neurosis? And am I alone?

Hardly. As a recent survey of nearly 50 international authors – most of whom are participating in the International Festival of Authors at Harbourfront – indicated, the only thing as universal to writing as writing itself is the avoidance of writing.

Catwaxing uber alles! :D

It is accomplished.

I have been working on (or ripping back, or fixing, or swearing at, or throwing under the couch for a month and ignoring spitefully) my Ms. Marigold sweater since the middle of February of this year.

No longer!









(Yes, there is a towel on my bedroom floor. Don't judge me!)

Considering how much hatred poured between me and this project in a glowing, red-eyed circuit of disdain, it actually looks pretty damn hot and fits really nicely. The sweater will now happily live out its days in circulation with my winter clothes, shedding red baby alpaca fibers on everything with which it comes into contact.