As I glanced up from the kitchen counter and he laid the small package down, I felt a bubble of excitement run through my body. “It’s here!” I thought. This Flesh These Bones is my second book and it almost didn’t make it to print.
Because when I was in my teens and twenties out at night in my sleepy suburban neighbourhood, I would sandwich my keys between my fingers as a weapon. Just like the girls were taught in school. Just in case.
Because I’ve been told – one too many times – that I’d be prettier if I smiled.
Because I can’t go for an early morning jog without being acutely aware of my surroundings at all times.
There’s been a persistent dialogue running like a broken record in my head over the last couple of weeks.
Psst. Hey you.
You’ve been kinda lazy lately, eh? (P.S. my inside voice is so very Canadiana.)
When was the last time you worked out?
You’ve been doing a lot of Netflix marathons on the couch lately. (I have been but they’ve BEEN SO GOOD.)
