We are all shaped by where we grow up, though that shaping takes different forms. I dont think theres any doubt that coming of age in Winnipeg both opened my eyes and made me hungry - if I can subvert all claims to be a real writer by mixing metaphors like that.

Words were power, words tried to change you, to shape bridges of longing that no one could ever really cross.

She had been a solitary child, and then solitary as a woman, drawn into an orbit of her own that took her away from others, even those who would be her friends.

Lazy poets try to elicit a reader's response with words designed to tug at the heart.

Men made wagers with their judgment, their allegiances, their resources.

How we remember changes how we have lived. Time runs both ways. We make stories of our lives.

But if you couldn't do everything, did that mean you did nothing?