Marion Agnew

Issue #146 of The New Quarterly is now available in print in bookstores and by order from their website.  Because "Atomic Tangerine" appears in that issue, my "writing space" post also appears on their blog this month. You can see it--an example of judicious photo cropping-- at this link . They make selections of their current issue available for free to non-subscribers for brief periods online; you can read all the back issues by subscribing to their newsletter. Thanks, TNQ, for taking such great care of my piece and ensuring that people are able to read it.

I often make mistakes, and try to own them , which means I also look for courses of action that are "never wrong." I wrote about this recently . To that list, I will add something else: going for a walk. Especially when you can retrieve beautiful objects like those below. Or even when you simply enjoy beautiful moments and create beautiful memories.

Dear Everyone: I am so sorry that our group of people talking disturbed you. Some of us didn’t know we were in a designated quiet space, and some of us knew but didn’t remember and were thoughtless. None of which matters. All of us were rude and disrespectful. I’m so sorry for that. I have no excuse. I wish I could un-do it, or make it up to you. I wish I could restore to you the hours that you had hoped would be productive. I’m sure you didn’t get everything done that you’d planned to because we were noisy. More than that, I wish I could give you back your inner peace—the positive resolve with which I imagine you approached your study session in the library. I try to picture your day up to that point. You kissed your kids and slipped out into the morning, skipping breakfast. You wanted to be early to your work shift so you could leave on time and spend your afternoon with your project. While you cleaned or filed or taught or washed dishes or researched or treated...

1. Buying more underpants. 2. Buying more socks. 3. Throwing in a load of laundry (water levels permitting). Hmm, is there a relationship between those three? 4. Slowing down to look, REALLY LOOK, at something. Maybe taking a photo. 5. Being open to *hearing* input while staying thoughtful about *implementing* it. 6. Saying "What do you think?" and "That must have been difficult" or "How interesting." I'm pretty good at #4 but need work on #6. And #5 is always a work in progress. 7. Keeping an extra loaf of bread in the freezer. Bonus points if it's raisin bread! 8. Making scones. Because scones are never wrong.

I recently received word that my essay, "Let d Be the Distance Between Us," will appear in the June issue of The Grief Diaries . I very much appreciated their interest in providing feedback on an earlier version, and my piece is stronger for it. Also, I'm eagerly anticipating the chance to get together with other Creative Nonfiction folks in Toronto at this weekend's annual conference of the Creative Nonfiction Collective . The Friday master classes are sold out and conference registration itself has closed, but there are still several events for which you can just buy a ticket and hear an awesome speaker or several. This year's conference program is here . These "new beginning" events mean a  lot to me. This time of year is difficult. My mother's birthday is tomorrow--she would have been 101 this year--and her death anniversary is early next week. Of course, Mother's Day is also looming. Although I think of my mother every day, even 18 years...

I've been thinking about writing as water. Or swimming. Or something. In this mental picture, the surface is where writing interfaces with the world--maybe publication, maybe beta readers, maybe a trusted editor. Someone other than the writer. Deep water is where ideas lurk and grow. It's where the writer opens herself to recording what is actually happening, as opposed to what she might wish were happening. Where she makes connections among disparate currents, where she finds what she's afraid of and works it into the drafts. Over time, drafts edge closer to the surface. For the past couple of years, I've been working nearer the surface, with words I first wrote 20 years ago. How do they still make sense to me, if they do--or do they make sense in a different way? How do they resonate emotionally today? What feelings have I managed to relinquish through the years, and what have I come to understand that lets me feel these events differently? To make these conne...

Yesterday was the first Wednesday in a couple of years, I think, in which I didn't post something. I was traveling and enjoying being (mostly) offline. As you know, I've been on a vacation in which I've actually been...vacating. It's been great! I've thoroughly enjoyed visiting my sister, seeing her world (the sun! so many degrees on the thermometer!) and her part of the country, and experiencing a change in routine. But I love living here. So one of the highlights of the whole trip: crossing the border yesterday and hearing the agent say, "Welcome home." And it really is, pale sunlight, muddy driveway, filthy floors, dripping eaves, and everything else that goes with spring in the North (which yeah is south of most of the continent). Of course, all that is easier to greet with open arms since I missed the most recent dump of snow and mega windstorm, which my husband delights in describing in great detail as he pounds on the walls. "Every door...