MFA candidate in Creative Writing at UBC.
With a degree in biology and a diploma in piano.
Contact: [email protected]
Too often, the story of Vancouver's Downtown Eastside is told solely through statistics of opioid overdose deaths, but award-winning journalist Travis Lupick delves into the community's heart and grit in his book Fighting for Space: How a Group of Drug Users Transformed One City's Struggle with Addiction (Arsenal Pulp Press, 2017).
In some parts of the world (specifically mine) Mother Nature opted to skip spring this year and instead fast-forwarded to the golden hues and blazing temperatures of summer. However, despite the disguised weather, there were still some poignant signs of spring. If you were paying attention.
Once, when I was young (like, barely into the double-digits), I did something really mean. It was well intentioned—enlightened even, I thought at the time—although ultimately misguided. Very misguided.
One of the things I've noticed about being alive is that there's really no way to avoid conflict. Sometimes bad things just happen. I've done my share of travelling and from what I can tell, there's no utopic place where everybody gets along all the time.
Growing up, I was blinded by two distinct naiveties. One was that everyone had a splendour analogous to the Rocky Mountains in their backyard. The other was that I would make a great stunt car driver.
From the front seat of the vaporetto, with the water reflecting the decadent lights of the refurbished fondaco houses along the Grand Canal, one of the first things to become readily apparent upon entering Venice is that it is a testament: not just to a unique way of life, but to an idea.
One of the items on my Bucket List has been to attend the Cannes Film Festival and actually – wait for it – watch the films.
The plane glided down the hazy runway, leftover clouds hanging beneath the late afternoon sun as the pilot welcomed us to Larnaca. While the rest of the passengers got right down to the stealthy business of fighting to be first off the plane, I was preoccupied with the realization I’d been incorrectly pronouncing it ‘La-NAR-ca’ for the last three months.
For a while in London, I lived down the street from Dr. Who's Magic Telephone Booth. I think there's an actual name for it, but I don't know what it is, on account of never seeing the show. I know. Inexcusable. I just count my lucky stars there were no questions about it on the British citizenship exam.
Back when I used to work on film sets, whenever I would get into a cocktail conversation about my work, there was one pesky question that constantly found me: “Do you do any acting?” As though every crewmember carries a deep-seated belief that they’re on the wrong side of the camera.