I have always written. Ever since I could string together sentences on a page, writing was my favourite way to entertain myself. In school, instead of paying attention in class, I wrote stories (and drew dragons) for my friends.
The Sky Weaver
I never set out to be an author. Growing up, despite reading and writing all the time, I didn’t realize that being an author was something people like me could become. It wasn’t until I stumbled across Kristin Cashore’s blog in my early twenties that I realized authors were real people, and since I was a real person, maybe I could be one too.
I live on a rock in the middle of the North Atlantic. I first visited Newfoundland ten years ago. I fell head over heels in love with the wild rugged beauty of this place: the mossy bogs and windy coves, the misty mountains and limestone barrens, the frothy sea and gleaming icebergs. It kept calling me back. So I up and moved here. Now I split my time between the colourful port city of St. John’s and a cozy little cove in the North.
I grew up on my grandfather’s grape farm at the edge of the woods. When I was young, my cousins and I got kicked out of the house daily, rain or shine, and were forced to entertain ourselves. The woods and the pond and the barn became our playgrounds, and I sometimes wonder if this—being forced to use my imagination as a kid—is the reason I make up stories for a living now.
Baking bread from scratch is a ritual of contemplation for me. Before I became an author, I worked in bakeries. I loved being alone with the bread and the ovens in the early morning, before everyone in the world around me rose for the day. The ritual of it—mixing and weighing and shaping the dough, waiting for it to rise, putting it in the ovens, then watching it fill up the shelves—it always helped clear my mind. To this day, I still bake bread as a way of centering myself.
I don’t have a post-secondary degree. I used to think there was something wrong with me because of this. Every time I tried university or college (and I tried many times) I would end up so twitchy and sad. It’s taken a long time for me to realize this isn’t because I’m unintelligent; but rather, the structure of post-secondary schooling isn’t a good fit for everyone.
I believe it is solved by walking (Solvitur ambulando!). When I get stuck on a book (or anything, really) my dog and I go for a hike up in the headlands near our house. Nothing clears the mind like walking along a cliff edge, with the waves crashing below, while a happy canine bounds through the trees ahead of you.
I try not to take anything for granted. This past year, I almost lost someone I love to depression. It made me stop and re-evaluate everything. It made me realize just how quickly something you think of as an unchanging fact in your life can be taken from you at the drop of a hat. So now I try to be grateful for everything. Even—maybe especially—the very hard things.