“I am a young, talented writer.” By Julia on her couch

Thursday November 7, 2019
8:45pm
5 minutes
Citizens of the Dream
Cary Tennis

Mr. Zeiler hands out
the assignments
thinks it’ll keep
us busy long enough
to let him finish
his chapters

I am alive with the
possibility of writing
my very own story
I cannot wait to explore
this world and these characters. that will emerge from my brain

Mr. Zeiler says 10-15
pages is best, is most,
is more than enough
By the time I get to 15
I am just getting started

This scenario I’ve lifted
from my favourite sit-com
is a perfect container for characters like me and also like the ones from the show and I keep going

I glue in extra pages
when I finish what I was
given and begin to forego
illustrations to fit in more words

“It is important to notice the differences and similarities in the success stories” by Julia at her dining table


Sunday March 20, 2016
3:32pm
5 minutes
from authorspublish.com

When William came home from his first day of grade 1, he showed me a chart he made- a Venn diagram with the titles:

THINGS I DO AT HOME

THINGS I DO AT SCHOOL

William had scribbled in Colouring and Playing and Fun and Story Time in the At School Circle. In the At Home one he had written Eating and Bath Time and Bed With No Dessert and Chicken Nuggets
I realize how little I can control what he will do or say when he’s not around me. How I can’t protect an identity or a culture that I’ve built in my own home because people will always have their opinion no matter what the context. I realize how much he absorbs and how he defines himself as a member of my household. It makes me want to make a spinach salad for dinner and spend time cutting out magazine images for a collage to hang in his bedroom.

‘ONE DRY PINT’ by Julia on her couch


Thursday, April 4, 2013
11:55pm
5 minutes
from the cherry tomato carton

Harry sat at the bar hating his name. He couldn’t stop thinking about how old he sounded on paper–how British. Harry’s mother didn’t speak a word of English and heard the name Harry once while struggling to shop for what she called a “water go, pasta stop.” No one at the store understood her-except for a lucky encounter with a shopper named Harry who recognized her needs. “A colander?” He asked, helped her pay for the stupid thing, then smiled and said his name. She didn’t tell him her name. She was private like that. But she felt like she should thank him somehow for helping her the way he did when she felt all alone in a new country. And unlike any one else who’d buy him a nice bottle of wine or something, she named her first son Harry. Harry always hated his name. He orders a pint of Guinness and stared at it while thinking about his assignment due in the morning for English Lit. He shouldn’t have gone to the bar in the first place, but he was stressed out because his roommate, Ryan, had just gotten dumped by his long distance girlfriend. Harry wished he had a name like that. Ryan.