My Writers’ Group

Ironically, it is difficult to capture and express how I feel every month when going to meet my writers’ group. I look forward to it for 30 days, I scramble to create or further a piece for my fellow writers, I both anticipate and dread their feedback. Led by the joyful Sophie, we gather in a coffee shop – occasionally the Green Beanery, lately Urbana Coffee (which is great, a block from my home) – and dish about writing: the fiction, the nonfiction, the technical, the non-existent. And whether or not each of us brought a piece to share, we enjoy the company, the kinship, the renewal of confidence, the knowledge that we are not struggling with the muses alone. We leave the oh-too-short meets elated, reinvigorated, and, for myself, already beginning to compose the piece to share next month.

If only I had a French writers’ group, too.

A passion for reading, writing and theatre

I loved books before learning to read, and reading quickly became my favourite passtime – along with writing. Before I handled a pencil, I produced plays with my little brother in our living room, where we presented our masterpieces to our parents, for the low cost of 5¢ – per ticket.

Great classical playwrights such as Shakespeare and Molière guided my first plays (Des fous et des femmes, 1992; Colour Me Mythed or The Myth of Many Colours, 1993; A Child’s View of Shakespeare, 1992; Les fourberies de Molière ou Le Molière imaginaire, 2001). Studying Michel Tremblay’s works also had an impact on my writing (Peau des ongles, 2002), as did my love for Broadway musicals (La Reine a cassé sa pipe, 2005).