Erin Stainsby 1 The first time it happened, I was at my first real job, Curves Fitness, a womenâs circuit gym. I was 16. She was 71. She looked relieved when I wasnât angry, but she grew uncomfortable when I began talking about the unflattering cut of my jacket. She needed me to forget her...
Alison Dowsett I. As Idea Years ago my friend sent me a draft of an essay she was writing for The Capilano Review titled, âWhat Literature Wants.â Several years before, we had been neighbours, which is when she introduced me to the work of Clarice Lispector and HĂŠlène Cixous. She was a visual...
Jeremiah Bartram My version of the #MeToo story began years ago, at a book fair. Iâd just published my first novel and I hadnât yet figured out how bad it was so I was proud and happy. As I wandered around the exhibits I noticed a nearly bare table behind which sat two middle-aged women on...
C. E. Gatchalian In short, I woke up and began feeling, if not yet living, outside my head. Thatâs what happened when I first encountered A Streetcar Named Desire. May 5, 1987 Spent seven hours again today practising. After not a single first-place finish at the festival I must do everything to...
Evelyn Deshane 1. The first time it happened, my best friend was there. I was first under the needle since my design would need more time. I asked for a custom job; she went for flash. The buzz of the machine thrilled me, and though I made a face as the needle pricked my skin, the pain of the...
Allyson McOuat I am femme. I know this because my feet hurt. All the time. And I like it. I gain my strength from the power that emanates from my stiletto heels. If my bra is not both itching me and poking me in the heart with a loose sharp metal underwire, then I am not complete. If my panties do...
