by Maryanna Gabriel
One day, not too long ago and while worrying about bears gnawing upon my window, in an awkward moment I splashed orange juice hither and yon. My gosh.
I had a houseguest, so I tried to appear nonchalant and quickly mopped up. One of my literary magazines was soaked, and without hesitation I lobbed it into recycling.
Not the end of the story.
Recently, I did a random search, and to my astonishment, I discovered I had a book review. Imagine. It slowly dawned the review was in the tossed magazine. Wow. And here I was in transit from the Kootenays. How nail-biting. Was the review a good one?
How is an author to sleep?
I finally picked up the reordered copy at my new post box. The review was by New York teacher and writer Stacey Engels. I guess if you call being compared to Emily Carr, "almost verbatim Carr", a good review, then it sure was (Emily was a writer as well as an artist).
And probably a better manager with her juice. Then gain, now that I think about it, perhaps not.
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| The Malahat Review (University of Victoria) Issue 223 |