Deepam Wadds offered a session on May 17.
Winner of The Writers’ Union of Canada’s 2016 short prose contest, Deepam (Susan) Wadds’ short fiction and poetry have been featured in literary journals and anthologies, including Room and carte blanche magazines. The first two chapters of her novel, “What the Living Do,” won Lazuli Literary Group’s writing contest, and was published in Azure’s winter 2017 issue.
A graduate of the Humber School for Writers, Susan is certified in the Amherst Writers & Artists (AWA) method of writing workshop facilitation. Since 2014, she has been leading writing workshops and retreats in Canada, internationally, and most recently, virtually.
by Sue Reynolds
Ah, that’s the old definition. The new definition is “phenomenon of Lego.”
Here are the phenomenons of Lego:
- Despite the fact that Lego blocks are merely six-sided shapes with eight corners, when
someone steps on one in the middle of the night with their bare foot while heading to the
bathroom, it will feel as though it is made of spikes and blades.
2. If you are trying to assemble a Lego kit to make a Millennium Falcon or a Medieval
Castle with drawbridge and dragon, at least one key piece will be missing
3. Once snapped together Lego pieces will require breaking your fingernails to pry them
4. If you are not assembling a kit but instead, using random Lego pieces to build something
out of your imagination, nine times out of 11 what you build will be either a racing car or
5. If what you built is a racing car and your brother also builds a racing car, and if you
decide to smash these two racing cars together (because, after all, what else could you do
post-assembly that would be half as satisfying?) pieces will end up shattered into their
original components, no fingernails necessary. And even though you try to pick up all the
pieces, at least one will not be found or put away. However, your mother will find it on
her way to the bathroom at 2 a.m. with her bare foot.
by Barbara-Helen Hill
Sitting on the bus, her cigarette dangling from her lips she skittishly moved around in her seat. The bus stopped and she looked around to see if she was to get off at this place. She had no idea where she was but she stood up and sat down a few times until the driver hollered Melinda sit down. He knew of her and was used to seeing her on the bus. “Why my damned bus I’ll never know,” he said to himself. She sat down and furtively glanced around. She looked out the window and mumbled at the lady that only she could see.
“Mom, I can’t do this Mom. I can’t make this work. Why’d you do this to me? I was perfectly happy at your house. I could move back to your house. You can make this your house and I can move to your house. I can’t even get them sons a bitches to do their own dishes. No, I ain’t kicking Sandra out. That’s how I get my money for groceries and I need my money from them for the medicine – I need my vodka. I drink that bottle to put me to sleep. I can’t sleep without it. I can’t find the cigarettes. Did you leave them for me? I said I wanted cigarettes and the marijuana. The shower isn’t working and the bathroom is stuck. I thought you’d fixed it. Chuck ain’t working no more he quit because they were all using at the working place. I can’t do it mom.”
The bus stopped at the next corner and the driver hollered “Okay Melinda you can get off now. You only have a block that way to get to your place.” She got up and walked down the aisle of the bus to the exit. She turned and looked at the driver and said ‘thanks Oliver’. She stepped down of the bus step and walked towards the next block. The driver closed the door and as he pulled the bus away he answered the little kid sitting in the front seat who asked, “how come she called you Oliver dad?” I don’t know son, I haven’t been Oliver for many years.
Thank you for joining us to Write Around the World!
For the rest of the summer, watch our blog! We are sharing writing from AWA’s yearly marathon fundraiser, which happened this year all-online throughout the month of May.
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