“Little wallet multicolour has zip” by Sasha in her chair

Saturday June 29, 2019
12:03pm
5 minutes
from and old text from my dad

You should see me – bouncing on a big blue ball, in a blue dress, my two month old blue-eyed daughter wrapped to my body, her little breath rising and falling against my breath rising and falling. We breathe together, her and I, did for ten months and still do now that she’s out. The soundtrack of sawing, as usual. The house across the street has been under construction since we moved in two years ago. Or was it three years ago? I don’t have a good memory for years. I do have a good memory for feelings.

This is me getting my fingers back in shape, my wordsmith tools sharpened. It’s been a long time… Why do I leave you, dearest and most loyal friend? I need you, but I leave you. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again. Maybe that explains something.

“The ads were put on billboards” by Sasha at her desk

Wednesday June 26, 2019
12:02pm
5 minutes
The Tipping Point
Malcolm Gladwell

I’m sorry that I’ve been gone. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed this.

I’ve missed setting my timer (not for the laundry or lentils on the stove).

I’ve missed writing, so so much. Oh my God, I’m crying like writing died. Writing rested. While I learned about softening into the small body of a being so fresh she smells like clouds and caramel.

But then the page calls, soft and unassuming. Could almost miss it amidst all the growing, all the bursting open. Almost.

Things are changing everywhere. All the time. There are years, months, weeks, days where the changing feels so big that it’s all around. Like night. Or lake swimming.

Home smells like this place.

“Ridiculously simple directions” by Sasha in the Kiva at Macdonell


Sunday December 18, 2016
10:29pm
5 minutes
From Grand Slam Mad Libs

“Go left at the fork in the road,” you’d said. I’d made a note in the margins of the dictionary that I take everywhere I go. It’s full of scribbled recipes (mostly soup and muffins), directions (mostly how to find you), quotes (mostly my mother, John O’Donohue, you, and Rilke), predictions (tea leaves, tarot, strip mall palm readers), weather reports (“Don’t forget long johns and mittens”). I go left, like you’d said and I wonder where you’ve ended up this time, through a fir forest, through knee high snow. I make an angel for old time’s sake.

“Glottal stop” by Sasha at Culprit Coffee


Friday, January 29th 2016 at Culprit
3:55pm
5 minutes
From an email

“Write what you know”
she says
Like it’s as easy as peeling a banana
“Carry a notebook”
she says
Like it’s something everyone does
Like it’s vitamins in the morning
“Write down everything you think is funny”
she says
And I wonder about those private jokes that shouldn’t see
the light of the sinking sun
“Write down the things that make you sad”
she says
And I consider the damp pages of my notebook
the smudged ink

“Isn’t that the same thing?” By Sasha in the Green Room at the Vancouver Playhouse


Saturday January 24, 2015
6:32pm
5 minutes
The Green-ish pilot

Every time I set out to write something sexy, I end up writing about oatmeal or the ocean or someone yelling. Or moving, I write about moving a lot, too. You know when you read something and you’re like, “GODDAMNIT I SHOULDA WRITTEN THAT! THAT SHOULDA BEEN MINE!” Or that moment when you read about a play opening on Broadway that’s about pretty much the exact same thing you’ve been been writing for oh, four years? That moment is really cute. For me, it usually means a knot in my stomach and a bowl of popcorn. Maybe an episode of Nashville. What about the times when you write something that’s so brilliant you know it’s going to not only change your own life, but change other people’s lives too? Then, the big resounding questions is –

how are you going to spread your words like honey across the earth?