Queen Mob’s Tea House just posted an interview I did with Guelph author Marianne Micros about her new collection of short stories, Eye. You can find it here – https://queenmobs.com/2018/11/marianne-micros-interview/.
Queen Mob’s Tea House just posted an interview I did with Guelph author Adam Lindsay Honsinger about his new collection of short stories, Somewhere North of Normal. You can find it here – https://queenmobs.com/2018/10/interview-adam-lindsay-honsinger/.
This news has already been released elsewhere, but I thought I’d better post it here for those of you who only know me through this forum – my friend Shane Neilson and I have just launched Canada’s newest literary publishing house – Gordon Hill Press.
We’re looking to do six titles a year, heavy on the poetry but with some fiction and and non-fiction titles as well. Out first slate of books will be coming out in Fall of 2019, so keep your eyes open for those details coming soon.
You can find submission guidelines and a little bit about what we’re up to at https://www.gordonhillpress.com/. You can also find us on twitter (bleh) – https://twitter.com/gordonhillpressFacebook – and Facebook (double bleh) – https://www.facebook.com/gordonhillpress/.
The Town Crier magazine just posted my review of Asa Boxer’s Field Notes from the Undead, the most recent chapbook from local publisher, the Elora Poetry Centre. Have a read.
There are are as many sets of constellations as there are suns from which to look out on the universe, each solar system a proof point for the inescapable law of perspective.
“I don’t know if there’s such a thing as life after life,” he said, but I didn’t know what he meant, even after he throat chuckled as if it was a joke, so I half-raised my glass to acknowledge his wit, but there was nothing I could say, and I caught myself thinking, more or less, “What a douche,” and then, “How do I get out of this conversation? How do I escape the smell of his sweaty cologne?” and I started to say something about a friend just walking in, but the guy put his hand on my shoulder, not just resting it, but cupping it, like his hand was a baseball mitt and my shoulder was the ball, something like that, and he pulled me over to the window, nodded out to the parking lot, and he said, “See what I mean? Is there life after that? After asphalt and streetlamps and garbage dumpsters?” – that horrible chuckle again, and a quick look, like he was testing me to see if I was in on the joke – but I still had nothing to say, just stared out at the parking lot, avoiding his eyes as best I could.