I was a solitary child, probably because my knotty identity—Jewish, Catholic, Francophone, Anglophone—meant that I never quite fit in. I was the child whose parent comes to her school to give a lesson on the meaning of Hanukah. I spent my time reading and writing. My first loves were poetry — especially the work of Jacques Prévert, with its musical language — and Chansons Françaises, with their tone of unresolved longing. I read mysteries and thrillers: Alexandre Dumas, Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie. I still love a good story, and I love language.
At the age of twenty my first story, The Red Calf, was published by Prairie Fire. It tells of the grief of a young boy at the death of his sister, an Israeli soldier killed while fighting for a cause that she didn’t believe in. It was my first, successful attempt to use writing to say something political. Despite this early success, I decided that becoming a writer wasn’t a practical decision.
After many attempts to find other work that I could love, and a decade-long stint as an academic, I returned to writing and publishing my creative work. It is challenging at times: I write while raising three children with my husband, and while our life inspires me, on a practical level, it slows me down as an artist. But art prevails. This One Because of the Dead, forthcoming in May 2018, is the result of a decade of work.
My work has been published in literary journals including The Danforth Review, The Fertile Source, Found Press, and Prairie Fire. I blog about karate at pregnantladydoeskarate.com.
I donate ten percent of my writer’s earnings to charity, mainly organizations that help victims of conflict, especially women and children. To date I have donated to Care Canada, the White Helmets, and the Children's Aid Society.
Image above: Saturday Night at Uwajimaya 2016 by Abraham Murley