There have been many strange happenings in my city recently, more than ever before.  Sure, every town has tragedies that they deal with, or strings of misfortunes that befall it, but this felt different.  It started small, as most things do, but it quickly ramped up and before long, terror had clutched the hearts of most citizens in town.  Now, I’m no expert on death and am by no means a detective, but I had to get to the bottom of this for a couple reasons.  A big part of it was that this city is where I was born and raised, and it’s where I currently live; I genuinely love this town.  But more than that, I thought I knew what was causing this, and if I was right, I might be able to stop it.              It started with the local wildlife; squirrels, birds, rabbits and raccoons were being found dead in the streets and parks throughout the city.  ...

  Goooood morning southside Niagara! I’m DJ Saul Qual and today’s Tuesday, October 29th. We’re rocking a comfortable ten degrees today as the sun is shining down on our beautiful little region, and we have quite the lineup for you today in terms of fresh tracks, so stay tuned! On top of that we have a couple guests here that will be sure to make your skin crawl for Halloween this Thursday, so keep the dial set and stay spooky Niagara! Much love.  “Goooood morning southside Niagara! Goooood morning southside Niagara! Goooood morning southside Niagara!” “Okay sweetie, that’s enough.” Jayda sighed. Her hands held onto the steering wheel much harder than she intended, but she found herself wearing thin. This was both a mental and physical exercise. She reminded herself that she loved her son and that the affliction he dealt with - that they all dealt with - was not of his choosing. There were days when Jayda felt terrible about feeling that way. She knew her son was on t...

I’ve recently finished a novel by debut author Dawnie Walton called The Final Revival of Opal & Nev . It’s a novel about an editor composing a story about the infamous musical duo Opal & Nev - and a disastrous artist showcase gone awry through the seeds of racism - using nothing but interview transcripts, news articles and reviews, editor’s notes, and song lyrics. All of it is totally fictitious, by the way, zeroing in on a primarily white punk scene in Detroit and New York City throughout the 70’s. Sure, Walton mentions real artists from time to time, but she does so in a way that builds upon this myth she has constructed around the main duo. Too, Walton seems fixed on navigating race in this tumultuous time period, and for the most part, the novel works extremely well.  What I found particularly fascinating was Walton’s use of supplementary material to tell the story - and by this, I mean the various letters, lyrics, and transcripts she throws together as if she’s writing...

Rereading THE DROP is a strange sensation. I wrote this short story when I was in teacher’s college, training to become an employee in a career that I hoped (hoping, still) would help support my writing habit. And yes, if that reads like an addiction, it should. THE DROP is about many things: teenage life, both what I was seeing at the time of my placement, as well as my own high school experiences; the addictive pleasure in writing and telling stories; and finally, THE DROP is about social media, probably more so than anything else. I have no aversion to social media. I feel like I need to preface this post by saying just that - at the moment, I’m steering clear of Instagram and Facebook to focus more on Twitter. It’s a purely selfish task, one that might seem silly to some, but entirely justified to others. I want to build a social media following by ignoring an established following I have elsewhere. Focusing on Twitter gives me the opportunity to become connected with you fine peop...

                 There exists a whisper here in The Yukon Territories, a whisper that tells of a place that no longer exists.   The whisper travels through cities and towns, warning of a dreadful fate for those who don’t listen and those who show no respect for the land.   It became a rumor that none can confirm, but it brings with it curiosity regarding its legitimacy.   This place was known as Kwanlin Falls, and I can confirm that it did indeed exist, because that was my hometown.             Kwanlin Falls was a small community roughly a hundred kilometers outside of Whitehorse, and there were no more than five thousand residents that called it home.   It was a generational town where everyone knew everyone else; where it was rare to get a new resident, and even rarer for one to leave.   I was the first person to leave the town in over fifty years, someth...