I live with a broken brain and PTSD--but that doesn't stop me! I'm an author, artist, and qualified mediator who loves life's detours.
I co-authored NOT CANCELLED: Canadian Kindness in the Face of COVID-19. I also publish horror stories.
Are My Vocal Stories Fact or Fiction?
I’m a writer. I’ve been published in countless international horror anthologies, and I have contributed to several Chicken Soup for the Soul editions. My writing career covers, well, everything… from horror to creative non-fiction, opinion pieces, biographies, and medical articles.
What If It Had Been Elvis Instead of Lefty?
My dad didn’t care who you were when you showed up at the farm. He treated everyone equal, and the more respect you showed, the more you received in return. Simple as that. Country rules. Just like we were taught in Sunday school, that Golden Rule of do unto others. You know, don’t be mean or it’ll come back and bite you in the ass. It worked well for the most part, but boy, did my dad goof up one night. Or maybe he didn’t. No matter, it made for a good story years later.
I 'Could' Get Away with Murder
I must admit: I’ve thought of it. I could get away with murder. I’ve considered scenarios where, if I were a criminal, I’d have an advantage. I could rob a bank. Drop my gun. Throw away my weapon, knowing that the authorities will never find me.
Dear Valentine, How could you? When you suggested we try some role-playing for Valentine’s Day, I thought you’d taken it a little too far. I didn’t think you were into cosplay, and honestly, it’d never really turned me on. And then when you brought home that Roman Emperor costume a few days before the 14th, I began to reconsider. The more I thought about it, well—I just knew I’d get to play your concubine, and you’d make me do very naughty things that your wife would never do.
My Short, Sweet Life as a Scuba Diver
I learned to scuba dive 26 years ago. I earned my open water certification in a dark Ontario quarry, without much to see except my instructor in front of me. My partner and I dove in the murky waters of Kingston and Windsor and other spots where we’d find sunken ships and very few fish.
My Mental Health Needs Water to Survive
Up here, my anxiety has gotten worse in the past year or so. To the point where I’m thinking I might need to go back to therapy. I feel I’m becoming unhealthy at the edges again. I’m afraid almost more than I’m not. That’s all up here.
I stepped into the hushed establishment. Burnished and scarred wooden floors and walls, a bar lit only by a few scattered neon beer signs and a tiny TV on mute. No tunes from the jukebox. It was quiet. Smelled like dust with a side of spilled beer and Lysol. But it was just what I needed, a respite from the torrid sun. A place where I could sit at the bar, uninterrupted in my reflection.
Sorry I Ate Your Face
Ever have one of those social mishaps you’ll never forget? Ever become so mortified you think you might die from it? Yeah, me too. In fact, this little episode was so humiliating that I thought I might literally die. Yes, literally. I could have choked to death, but in that moment, I felt dying might very well be the less awkward option. But now, two years into COVID, I find I’m nostalgic for those discomfiting moments that can only occur when we meet in person. And this truly embarrassing tale is from ‘the before times’, when we could participate in ‘meet and eat’ events.
In the End, We Were Champions
Here’s a photo. Two hands, one over the other. Intimate. Each hand wearing a mammoth ring. Identical rings. And that snapshot is a moment in time, a moment captured, because at least one of the owners of those hands believes that it could be the last time for those hands, together, one over the other.