The Beginning of the end

​Living in Canada means living with weather. When I lived in Toronto, there were ways to ignore it, but when I moved to Grey County, I soon realized there was no denying winter as it piled outside my door. I did learn to embrace it through: snowshoeing, cross-country skiing and eventually hockey. And I also learned there was no better time for a writer than in the depths of winter. And then there was that pandemic. For us introverts, it was a perfect time for writing.
Slowly things are opening up, or maybe I’m slowly opening up. Sometimes, I feel like I’m crawling out of a dark cave, adjusting to the light, checking out the horizon. And it’s not just covid, but my daughters have just come of age, so I’m also waking from the world of intense parenting—at least it felt intense! Obviously, the job doesn’t end here, but the duties are less time-consuming.

Barbara Kyle

C. S. O'Cinneide

​And I’m also coming out of a long period of editing my novel, getting it ready to submit. And as close to the end as it’s seemed, the finish line keeps getting moved back. Al-most-there-just-a-bit-more-to-do. I’d printed off a copy and read through and made edits before handing it to other friends to read.

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