When I grow up, I want to be Tina Fey.

A lot of looking to the future, not a lot of looking to the now.

What does this mean to the writer-me? Not a lot of writing. For now. And maybe not for a bit.

A year has passed since university, and life and writing-life never fit fully into any good groove. Work-work never got into a steady rhythm, and money always seems too tight. The up until now now-plan was to work part-time, write, and housekeep. But the now-plan was just that, a now-plan. It only works for the now, with no room to evolve into a future now-plan, since it sorta had no room for a future-plan. So it's time, having had the now-plan in effect long enough to know that it is not entirely fulfilling, to focus on the future-plan. And dream up a future now-plan.

So, what do I want to be when I grow up...?


I'm thinking of learning a trade. I'll follow the footsteps of other BC poets like Kate Braid and Jane Munro and finance my writing habit through hard labour. So I've been doing a lot of research, not into the mating habits of dinos (le sigh), but into all the different kinds of trades available, and where to learn them. And of course fishing up contacts for folk in the know who
wouldn't mind having a little buddy tag along for a day and see what it's all about, 'cause, in all seriousness, I don't know much about much.


Electricity comes out of walls.

Wings make planes fly.

Cars have wheels. Oh, and red cars go the fastest.