When I was four or five, I had my first Halloween. my mother made me up as a black cat -- pink nose, drawn whiskers, and furry cat ears affixed to a headband. I wasn't really sure I wanted to go trick-or-treating; even to my kindergarten mind, it seemed too social, too aggressive, too confront . . . (More)

3: When I was six, my grandmother, who was visiting us, was robbed. She was not mugged, as she was not hurt or threatened with violence. She had been walking me, my neighbour, and my brother (who must have then been four at the time) home in the afternoon after school. She was a tiny . . . (More)

By the age of six, I had produced my first book. It was a purely derivative work, the novelization of a cinematic adaptation of a literary classic. An absolute tour de force, if I may so humbly say -- I acted as editor, author, illustrator, and publisher. Cover | Title Page | One | Two | Three . . . (More)