Blogs

What follows is a series of diary entries from my early twenties—years shaped by my Italian parents’ expectations, Quebec’s cultural upheaval, and my own struggle to claim a self. This “almost” relationship, the failure of hoped for young love with a fellow student seems trivial on the surface, but at the time the pain of rejection cracked something open in me: the realization that my disappointment with men was tangled up with deeper questions about belonging, trust, and h

I wrote the very short story appearing below in the 1970s. I based it on my observations of a married middle-aged couple who'd befriended me. When I met them, they'd lived together for almost thirty years and had produced two adult children. They spoke to each other only to communicate about practical things. They never looked at each other in the eyes. Although they behaved politely enough, hostility stood between them like a third person. At the time, I judged them har

I spent my my youth alone, watching life go by The excerpts below are diary entries I wrote in the fall of 1972.  Two months earlier, I had celebrated my twenty-third birthday. As I reread what I wrote long ago, it surprised me how well I understood that my fears were smothering me. I knew I had to defeat them but had no idea how to do it. I tried changing jobs or moving to a new apartment. I even tried moving across the country, thinking a fresh start in a new city woul

Talks with myself helped clarify my thinking Into 1975, I was twenty-six and worried about what I should do to earn a living. Friends who'd found their niches early on left me in awe. Who me? A writer? As for me, I did have a vocation, I now realize -- I wanted to be a writer -- but had discounted it as an impossible way to earn money. I read fiction hungrily and revered authors but doubted I had the talent to write novels. Had I been savvier about the business worl

No, I have never committed a crime, let alone two, but I have endured periods when I was treated like a prisoner. My parents were my first jailers, imposing strict controls on my life from a young age. I arrived in Montreal, Canada, from Italy in the fall of 1952 with my mother. We were joining my father, who had traveled ahead to prepare the way. I was three. They had fled their impoverished mountain village at a time when all of Europe was still reeling from the ravages of

When Your Job Collides with Your Nature: Mental Health at Risk The Impact of Work on Mental Health My first experience of working was a...

Understanding the Weight of Secrets I wrote this piece based on diary entries from the 1970s. I was in my early twenties and cared deeply about fitting in. It took many years to learn how to let go of other people's expectations, but I'm better for it. My secrets grew from the disconnect between the way of life my Italian immigrant parents instilled in me and the North American lifestyle of the 1960s and 70s. My father, a brutal man, had total control over our family. He aban

A Peek into a Child's Mind Writing about my traumatic childhood over many decades allowed me to come to terms with it. The following...

Finding Solace in the Quiet of Night This story emerges from a collection of words I wrote down long ago. As I read it now, it sucks me...

Scribblings from the 1960s I Should Shoot Him The thought ambushed me; it came from nowhere:   Where can I get a gun so I...

Echoes of the 1960s: The Unspoken Chasm Between My Mother and Me Lacolle, Quebec, 1969   The two women, my mother and my aunt, sat on...

In July of 1967, I turned eighteen. I had just completed my first year towards a Bachelor of Arts at Marianopolis College in Montreal....

How Writing Became My Lifeline in Battling Depression Profound sadness blanketed the first half of my young adult life. From the...

I wish I could write at the speed May Agnes Fleming did.  In her short life (she died in 1880 at age forty of Bright’s disease, a disease...

Writing a novel can be painful Confessions of a Writer Herewith a confession: as a writer, I’m a lazy bum. Writing a novel is a daunting...

Today, March 8 is International Women’s Day but celebrations ring hollow when day after day, year after year, generation after generation...

Jeanne Le Ber at her embroidery work Jeanne Le Ber came into the world in 1662 in the pioneer settlement of Ville-Marie on the southwest...

Columbus Centre Collection On the southeast corner of Av Henri-Julien and rue Dante in Montreal’s Little Italy rises a lovely...