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, published in April 2109, is the result of a decade of work.
My work has been published or is forthcoming in literary journals including The Antigonish Review, Wasafiri Magazine, 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