How to eat an elephant in 15 weeks If you happen to follow me on Bluesky, you may have already seen me write about this; I'm just expanding on that post further, like I normally do for goals. I've decided to set my goals for the rest of the year, since there's only three and a half more months, instead of doing monthly ones.

Let's dive right into it: I need help with two different projects, and I'm that maybe, just maybe, one or two (or more!) of you lovely readers will be able to help me. It's not monetary help, just your brainpower that I require. What in the world do I need help with? Finding two new comp titles for my upmarket contemporary fiction novel.

But my hair and skin seem to love it here. The first time it happened was in North Vancouver, in my Uncle's apartment, after my grandma's funeral. I don't know why we were there, but I remember standing, near the elevator, feeling the ground tilt beneath me. The sensation made my stomach drop. "Did anyone else just feel the building sway?" I asked.

I Imagine the Perfect Workday MorningI wakeat 5amspring, not stumbledown the stairsdo yogain my underwearlight a candle and writeat my table whereno crumbs remain from last nightssatiatewash my hairdraw makeup as I sit right therebeneath the sun-lamp, or the sunmy skin delights in the fresh air…

Earlier this year, I decided that I wanted to start noting down all the words when I read a novel that I didn't inherently know. I don't only mean in the sense of never having heard before, I also wanted to write down the ones that I felt like I knew but couldn't confidently define. That way I could look them up again later, come back to them again in a new context, and maybe, just maybe, commit them to memory and expand my own vocabulary.

Have you ever read a review or opinion piece and wondered, “Did we even watch the same movie?” Or have you watched a show with a friend, only for them to turn to you and ask something that you thought was clearly lined out? Conversely, have you watched something and thought “I don’t understand what happened here at all,” and realized that maybe you didn’t pay enough attention to the details?

Yesterday started like any other lately: I woke up, made some tea, did some yoga, got some writing in, then opened my front door and took a big sniff of the outdoor air. This wasn't to get a nice lungful of fresh air in the morning — if you know where I live, you know that is the best way to…

When was the last time you listened to or read the acknowledgements of a novel? "Listened to" popped up first in my brain as I just finished an audiobook — The Dead of Summer by Ryan La Sala Actually, follow up question: what parts of the book do you read, and which do you skip? I, typically, am a cover-to-cover reader.

Now that the writer's fest is done, I can get back to my regular schedule/plan, which means: goals again! If the title didn't give it away already, I'm going for something a bit broader this month — a bit of a combo of two other months, with a little bit of something new. Let's talk about planning, first. I've actually applied to (and been accepted in) SFU's Creative Writing certificate program for the September 2026 start date.

This monthly update is coming very late. It has been an extremely busy month for me! I have barely even had a chance to look at my own work, versus sit down and write something. I have a lot of things I want to talk about, so I decided I would just try and keep it short and in one single blog post, which is why the title is kind of a cluster of three totally separate things.

Do you remember a time, maybe at your grandparent’s house and not your own, where you were alone with nothing but your thoughts? Before smartphones, before cellphones, when the only way you could talk to someone else is if you decided to yell across the house because you’d run out of toilet paper. Instead, you’d pick up shampoo bottles and read the backs of them, or, if you were lucky, there was some sort of magazine in there — maybe housekeeping, maybe racing, probably National Geographic, whatever your parents or grandparents were interested in — to peruse while you sat.

Sometimes, on our Wednesday night write-ins, a couple of us linger afterwards to chat. Not always about writing; sometimes, we chat about our lives, big events, things we are looking forward to, things that are stressing us out and we need to chat about. Although we usually wrap up at 9pm, it’s not uncommon to arrive back home much, much later.

Octopi? Octopodes? Clutch? Yes, I'm here, again, to talk about Children of Ruin. Look, the book gave me a lot to talk about, alright? Today, I want to talk about the octopuses. If you read my other post on the book, you'll remember that I only briefly mentioned them: I called them insane. I actually would like to expand on that.

Or why you should get more than one opinion I've been writing for a long, long time. Unlike some writers, I couldn't actually tell you when I started. I don't know if there was ever a specific date; I remember writing short stories from when I was as young as eight, but I don't know when I began considering myself a writer.

A comparison between barely comparables I can’t remember the exact post that caused it, but as I was scrolling online a while ago, I came across a post that was best described as an “AI witch hunt.” Now, I am categorically against Generative AI use in creative media (and in most other places and ways, too, but this post isn’t getting into the specifics of…

Bringing the writers of Northern BC together.

Children of Time nourished my soul; Children of Ruin exposed my hypocrisy.  Now, I’m going to start this post by saying there are going to be massive spoilers for both novels ahead, so if you haven’t read them, please read them first before you read this blog post. That’s actually a huge ask because they’re about 600 and 560 pages each, so I guess I won’t be seeing you for at least a month, but it’s one of those things that I just don’t believe should be experienced just through a blog post and honestly should just be experienced completely blind before going in. 

I'm in the middle of a field. There'd been a party, a bunch of us around a campfire — then someone came careening in with their car, driving right through the middle of us. I was lucky; I was knocked over, unlike the guy under the car's wheels right now. Except, there's something wrong with my left arm. It's spurting blood, and I think I see chunks of white.