Transitions and Travel


It seems that the transition to university has put a bit of a pause on my work. It’s irritating but my father believes that it is understandable. He explained to me that I’m still just trying to get the hang of everything, and that once I’m adjusted to this new lifestyle I will get back into writing. Nevertheless he found it extremely surprising that I hadn’t done any creative writing period. “There is a lake outside your window! There are gardens that you could sit and write in if you wanted to. With all this nature around, you should be able to write about something!”

Now I know that there are many writers out there who purposely move to areas like this, a tranquil environment surrounded by nature, however I learned many years ago that if you want, you can write anywhere. A good example of this is my cousin, he said that when he moved to British Columbia, that he would begin to write there. At the time I thought, “You live in an area surrounded by nature? What is so different about here and there?” but after watching a show recently where one of the characters was suffering from writers block I realized that many of us writers believe that we need to travel to places like France, Nova Scotia, or Japan in order to write.

I knew that university may take away the amount of time that I had for my novels, however in silence I made a promise to myself that I would work on it every chance I had. I feel as though I have already broken that promise; three weeks I’m here, watching life pass me by and not once did I open up my binder, grab a pencil and “bleed” across the pages to my hearts content.

It makes me wonder if location does have an impact us as writers. To be out of my favourite spot to write, my bedroom at home, it just doesn’t feel right. Sure this is a bedroom but as I told my father, this isn’t my bedroom. Maybe after my trip home this weekend, my bedroom will no longer feel like it belongs to me as well…however I fear that when I return to school I will not feel like it is home either.

Where is your favourite place to write?

If you could write in any province, state or country, where would that be? Why?

What makes you feel at home?


First I wake up late. Then I had to walk all the way to class in these annoying shoes that don’t even fit because I can just slip them on and I was short on time. Later while attempting to take a sip of my orange juice, I somehow spilt it all over my face and my shirt! It even got on the floor! After that I realize that I didn’t put soap in the washing machine!

Thank God I have a muffin…


Found on Google. Photographer Unknown

Found on Google. Photographer Unknown

Growing up is like being on a swing: first you’re placed onto a swing that will hold you in securely, because at this point you’re not strong enough to hold on by yourself. On this swing your parents give you a nice gentle push and you sit there and enjoy the ride.

When you’re ready, your parents place you onto a new swing, one without anything to help you stay on. Now that you are stronger you can hold on by yourself. Still your parents give you a gentle push but one day the push gets harder. Your parents begin to give you under doggies, and the swing bounces in all directions, some of these directions are ones that you shouldn’t go in, but your parents are right there to grab you and pull you back before anything goes wrong.

Finally you’re asked to pump your legs. Your parents believe you’re ready to swing all on your own. You start slow and work your way up. Soon you are doing daring things, like standing on the swing as it moves, or even jumping off of the swing and onto the earth below. You’re without any restraints. You are now free to decide your own limits. You rock the entire swing set and lay on your stomach so that you can see the ground. You do things that you know your parents wouldn’t be proud of, and you do things that you know they would love. You’re officially on your own but even though now you are stronger, you sometimes need someone to come by and give you a little push.