Her name was Bethany. Perhaps we were destined to meet. After my mother died—I took care of Connie for 13 years—we lived hand-to-mouth. I was debilitated by daily migraines and chronic fatigue from a misdiagnosed pituitary tumor, and worked sporadically, so we couldn’t afford a city rent. We packed our meagre belongings, and found a…
During the Golden Age of Blogging, I ran two blogs called Smart Like Streetcar, and Telling Stories. I was religious about posting, and readers could find new content three times a week—about writing, climate change, politics, cooking, joy and sadness, Nova Scotia, and living with a misdiagnosed brain tumour that was threatening my life. I…
The only thing harder than publicizing a book is publicizing a book during a pandemic. If I’m honest with myself—and all of you—Secrets of the Hotel Maisonneuve won’t sell unless it garners some much needed attention. Every author, artist, and artisan can tell the same story. If you’d like to help the authors in your…