If you’re a student of nature, and interested in Canadian conservation and environmental causes, you’ve probably heard of Mary Majka. Sanctuary: The Story of Naturalist Mary Majka, published by Goose Lane, is an authorized biography detailing the life of this important figure to New Brunswick’s Bay of Fundy.
There is something spiritual about grapes and grapevines. Maybe it’s because of all those biblical references with which I am so familiar. Nevertheless, I always associate grapes with fruitfulness in life.
I just finished reading Syd Field’s book, “Screenplay: The Foundations of Screenwriting. A Step by Step Guide from Concept to Finished Script.”
Have you been holding your breath waiting to hear the end of the story? Well, we’re finally finished, and it’s all thanks to my husband’s sudden burst of ambition during this summer’s “staycation.”
Just like any other artistic endeavour, creative writing can be a relaxing tool and a powerful outlet for personal expression. No matter what we spend most of our time doing, it’s beneficial to flex our creative muscles.
Sadly, my beloved Merriam-Webster dictionary (affectionately called MW) split in half this morning after I dropped it on the floor. I knew it was just a matter of time. I bought it in 1985 in the college bookstore, and it’s been with me ever since. I have to tell you, I’m feeling a little weepy.
There are few people in the world who aren’t afraid to say what they really think. I mean, the kind of person who spills words like milk, letting the cascade flow down their clothing and all over the floor.
After a few irreversible spills, most of us get tired of cleaning up the mess. So we learn to self-censor. Not so Ezra Levant.
If the first rule of public relations crisis management is to tell the story first in order to maintain control, then Oprah Winfrey lost the battle to Kitty Kelley, author of “Oprah, a biography” (Crown Publishers, 2010). All the revelations in Kelley’s book were Winfrey’s to dish out in 1993 when she suddenly withdrew plans […]
I was about eight years old when my father invited an overbearing work colleague, along with his wife and son, to visit our summer cottage on New Brunswick’s Richibucto River. Cottagers are usually happy to share their little-piece-of-heaven with friends and family. But for my mother, even a relaxed cottage welcome had its limits.
Recently, my son Caleb woke us very early on a Saturday, anxious to watch the rest of Peter Pan (Columbia Pictures, 2004).
