Reminiscences of a childhood playground
The sun was shining when I woke up today. As I stared at the reflections of light in the mirror, I told myself that I had to get up and get outside today. That was the motivation I needed to get out of bed on what I was hoping would be a rather lazy Saturday.
Back in February, I submitted this story to the CBC Nonfiction Prize. It didn’t get selected for the longlist, but, fear not, you can still read it. Enjoy!
It’s been a little over nine months now, and I think that I’m finally ready to talk about it. Even now, on some nights, I’ll lose anywhere from five to fifteen minutes of sleep because I’m thinking about what happened. I discussed it with my therapist at the time, but that was on the third… Continue reading I Suggest You Shop Elsewhere
I’ve been working on my submission to the CBC Nonfiction Prize. I’ve hit a bit of a hurdle, though. I’m stuck trying to figure out how to get the ideas that are in my head onto the page. What are your experiences with submitting to writing contests? What do you do when you get stuck?
It’s undeniable that some time has passed between us. What little we did talk during then has held us together like the imperceptible knots tying strings of thread, being joined to continue knitting a blanket. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for those knots, but they make little difference to what has brought us… Continue reading I Still Miss You, Even After All That Was Nothing
It must have been a couple of years ago when I decided that I wanted to write a novel by the time I turn 35. I’ve flirted with the idea more seriously since I wrote the reminder on the whiteboard that hangs above my desk. With only 11 months to go, I’m not sure that… Continue reading Running out of time
Being good looking has always been my cross to bear. It started from an early age and has stuck with me through the years. It’s not something I ever asked for, but we play the hand we’re dealt, I guess.
Dear Timothy, Please let me apologise for the delay in my response. When you’ve been given time, eternal amounts of it, it passes quickly and is spent on nothing. Any amount of work, no matter how pleasurable, seems not a waste but neither is it urgent.
Dear Mr. Walter, It was great to hear back from you. I certainly was not expecting a reply. I realized that I didn’t tell you my name in my initial letter. My name is Timothy F. Nash.