I remember the first time I noticed the man’s face in the moon. It was the first time I really looked at it. He looked lonely up there, all alone. Did the sun keep him company? I thought about how the moon is a kind of clock. The moon is out: I go to bed. The moon is on the other side of the earth: I am awake. The moon is visible in the blue sky: what a phenomenon. It marks the seasons. It says: Ready or not, winter is here. It says: Do you hear the birds singing? It’s spring.  I’ve heard it said that there is no scientific basis for…


    ART AS SCHOLARSHIP – Process Post #3

    I’ve been thinking a lot about the relationship between words and images in the creation process of this site – specifically with respect to accessibility and readability of graphic novels. Meghan Parker is a SFU graduate and her thesis is a “graphic autobiographical inquiry in comic book form”. My intention is to engage with this kind of practice as my site develops. I hope that it will not only help me in my efforts to engage with a different part of my brain and engage with a different expression of writing and scholarship, but help the viewers also to engage with my writing in a way that lights their brains…


    MINI ASSIGNMENT #2 – She-Hulk

    I was doing so well. After the last incident I decided to really make some changes. I moved to the country and found a sensible little house close to a field of horses. The horses keep me calm. The sound of the long grass swaying in the wind, the wide open blue skies, the deep bellow of the crickets at night. It all makes me feel that even if I were to have a transformation out there – as long as I wasn’t in my house – I wouldn’t ruin anything. When I realized I had to travel in to the city for an errand, I was nervous, but not…



    It started with back pain. I would cycle to work in the morning with my back hunched, shoulders scrunched up to my ears as if to say, how the hell should I know. A week later the bike rides would leave my left leg numb, from the hip down. Walking up a hill could do the trick, too; any physical activity that got my heart rate up was enough to make me feel wobbly. Could be a pinched nerve, I thought to myself. It was on my birthday in 2016 when I looked down in the shower and noticed my fat ankle. I wasn’t in pain, just swollen. I thought of the possible…


    WHY I WRITE – Process Post #2

    Last week during tutorial I really made a mess of my site and locked myself out, so I contacted Reclaim Hosting and they synced up both usernames and passwords. I’m in love. Once I could access my site, I spent most of my time on finding resources for the actual content of my cyberinfrastructure. I want to make a case for the importance of writing creative non-fiction in my life, so I spent a lot of time reading my favourite writers and looking over writing prompts that I may use. I read “The Writing Life” by Annie Dillard, “Why I Write” by Joan Didion, “Writing Personal Essays” by Sheila Bender,…



                                         Owns clothes made exclusively from Lululemon. Looks you up and down when you walk in wearing a pajama shirt and soccer shorts. Accomplishes the advanced version of every pose without breaking a sweat. Also smiles the entire class while looking straight at you. Hairless, stopped growing hair years ago. Eats only raw. Makes her own kombucha. Very soft-spoken but sounds peculiarly aggressive while calling you by something other than your name: love, sister, hun. Loves to quote Gandhi. Can’t top talking about gut health. Is so poor. Lives in Olympic Village. Says namaste the loudest.


    MY STRANGER – Process Post #1

    I’m a skeptic. Unless there is some sort of socially sanctioned trust relationship setup like talking to a therapist I generally think everyone is a liar. I’m not an open person. Expressive? Sure. But not open. There’s some about being in a women’s washroom though. Maybe we are all at our most human when we recognize that nature’s calling; we remember we’re all animals. As far as I’m concerned, if I am using the washroom at the same time as another woman, we’re friends. You are no stranger to me anymore, lady. If I can hear you peeing, we’re not strangers. My stranger encounter was short and sweet. I came…