Marion Agnew

For  several months, I've been keeping track of five things  I'd like to remember from that month. Here's what came up in December.   One. Eat the heart of the lettuce first. My wise sister taught me this when she was here this summer. As a person living alone who loves to cook and eat, she often buys produce that has a shorter shelflife than her ability to eat it. So she has learned to take apart the lettuce head and eat the inner leaves, which are her favourites, first. If she ate her way into the centre, the inner leaves might be past their prime and unpleasant--and meanwhile, she’s spent days eating her less-favourite part before getting to the good stuff. It’s taking me time to think about this practice, but it’s fun.  Sometimes changing perspective is as easy as taking a photo from the upstairs window instead of the "usual" one downstairs  Two. Delay gratification. This thought seems the opposite of the previous one. It’s also something our parents insis...

Consilience, a UK literary journal (but also everywhere because it's online), has a tagline: "exploring the spaces where the sciences and the arts meet."   A frozen river winding through a forest?  It publishes art and poetry in themed issues. If you submit a poem to an issue, you also submit a science statement that explains the science behind your submission. The theme for Issue 23 was Tension , and I have a poem in it! That is correct: in spite of my greater comfort with prose, I wrote and submitted a poem, and it was accepted (after revisions).  You can read "Questions of Cohesion" here.  It's about my husband, me, marriage, holding us together, keeping things out.  Future themes include "infinity," "pollution," and "birds."  It's so interesting to see how people make connections to the themes. Scope out some of the previous issues (all free to read) at the website!.

In October I mentioned that sometimes I don’t have answers for some of the things I think about; I only have questions. It’s a failing of mine, especially when I write essays. (Or so I’m told.) I’m supposed to write an answer. But sometimes really all I have are questions. I feel so seen. In the context of writing an essay, I understand what the person means when I receive this feedback. I need to come to rest at some point late in the essay, even if it’s not a full stop or a final destination. It’s at least a pause, a “so far, here’s what I think“ moment. Basically, it’s an answer to the reader’s question, “So what?“ Not a “lesson” for them to learn. Just a breath. A “Thanks for spending time with me! See you later!“ In life (the part that isn’t writing, or perhaps writing for publication), I may always have questions. And I really want to ask (myself) the right questions. Good questions—useful to me, and therefore perhaps to others, though that’s not required. Meanwhile the writing a...

For  several months, I've been keeping track of five things  I'd like to remember from that month. Here's what came up in November.  As I post this, it's November 32nd. Is too. One. Sunny days. Literal ones. November is normally a grey and dreary month up here. The leaves are long-off the trees, and the temperature bobs around zero/freezing. This year we’ve had many sunny mornings, which helps my overall mood considerably. And the sun’s always there, even when I can’t see it. A random assortment of driftglass-- rather like these Five Things posts Two. Surprises. A publication that accepted one of my pieces years ago, The Walleye, recently produced a gorgeous anthology. It showcases both the original illustrations and the selected regional creative writing published over ten years. And I did nothing but answer my email! A real reason for deep gratitude. Three. Lunch. Because it’s my birthday month, I’ve had the pleasure of sharing noonish lunch meals with several peo...

Last month, Making Up the Gods and I received an Arts and Heritage Award from the City of Thunder Bay. You can read more about it here.   A frozen river? Nah, just light snow on a rock surface between moss clumps. The awardees in the two categories ahead of me chose not to make comments, so when my time came, I opted to follow their "less is more" approach and start near the end of what I thought I might say. (Though of course I didn't give up the chance for a microphone, when invited.) But I've been thinking since of ways I wish I'd spoken more into that evening as part of an ongoing conversation about art. So anyway, here's a mildly revised version of what I might have said a month ago. Thank you so much, I’m surprised and grateful. We all know how funders and government people talk about arts and artists, right? “The arts contributes X million to the economy. Our ticket sales are up by blah blah percent. Eleventy thousand people participated in the arts in ...

For  several months, I've been keeping track of five things  I'd like to remember from that month. Here's what came up in October. The award was created especially for the 2025 ceremony by artists Callen Retter and Robin Gathercole, drawing inspiration from Thunder Bay’s unique cultural and natural landscape, blending contemporary style with a strong sense of place. The layers are amazing.  One. It takes a village. Not very original, I know. Earlier this year, a local writing buddy nominated me for an award, based on MAKING UP THE GODS. The award wasn’t even on my radar, and her gesture was so kind. In those occasional 3 AMs when sleep is elusive and your writing projects all seem stupid, I remembered the kind act of this nomination.   Two. I can do my part. The awards program let me know how to proceed if I wanted to. And I decided I wanted to. Sometimes my mother was right when she’d say, “you have to put yourself out there.” There’s room between being passive an...

People enjoy feeling wistful—at least that’s what I’ve come to think. Especially in the autumn. Yes it’s beautiful, but rhapsodizing about “the red maples, the yellow birches, all against the evergreen backdrop!” feels to me to be more about grasping the last of summer than a way to welcome a new season. messing about in a rowboat Admittedly, autumn as a season on the calendar stretches far longer than the leaves stay on the trees, and it is difficult to find beauty of the traditional “eye catching flame in the trees” sort come late October early November. In my ongoing series of thoughts about obituaries and saying goodbye and wrapping up a person‘s life, I’m also thinking just in general about endings and beginnings and changing. Possibly it’s a way to deal with things (waves hands at “the world today"), but possibly it’s because I’m approaching a birthday ending in five. This birthday requires me to sign up for things—or not. To make choices that will affect my long-term future...