Exquisite Corpse

A sometimes surreal exercise in cooperative writing to be performed by a rotating cast of Torontonians, one hundred words at a time.

Friday, May 6, 2016

A Letter to my Future Self

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That two-pound tub of tahini you just purchased won’t expire till 2019, so there’s every chance you’ll forget where you finally did find...
9 comments:
Tuesday, February 2, 2016

The Last Days of Mon Patou, Part III

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I finally got my answer to how Riley's dog was faring among the trampling cows at his new home. Turned out, he’d never reached it. Whil...
Sunday, January 31, 2016

The Last Days of Mon Patou, Part II

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Riley was writing happy emails about moving in with her beau. But she never answered when I asked how her dog, Mon Patou, was doing. I tr...
Friday, January 29, 2016

The Last Days of Mon Patou, Part I

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I adored Mon Patou. We’d taken to each other instantly, lunging and feinting as we played in the new snow. He’d used to work with a whole...
Sunday, January 10, 2016

Your report on the subway

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I saw your report on the subway. The one from the SickKids Neuroscopy Department. You’re sitting sleepy in your parka, between a man and a ...
Tuesday, November 10, 2015

What We Remember Depends

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Nola’s kindergarten class made felt poppies on Friday to teach them about Remembrance Day, and to wear to the concert put on by the older ki...
12 comments:
Sunday, November 8, 2015

Men of Tin, Take Pity

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In fields of Oz the poppies blew, succumbing the blood of beast and man to luscious slumber. Dorothy slept, and Toto too, and their burly...
10 comments:
Monday, September 21, 2015

More Reasons to Throw Them Out

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Won’t meet with premiers. Won’t meet with chiefs. Stifle dissent, vilify opponents, exploit anxiety. Leave a vacuum then excoriate those f...
Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Bobby Martin IX: Guacamole

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Mrs. Terplitsky brought over guacamole this time. Cally wondered how to eat guacamole when Theo had died, alone and upset. He’d been worr...
Sunday, September 13, 2015

Bobby Martin VIII: Peaceful

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“Bears attack rapidly, Mrs. W-w-webb,” said the coroner. “Your husband w-w-would've died almost immediately, p-p-peacefully even.”    ...
Friday, September 11, 2015

Bobby Martin VII: The demise of Dr. Webb

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Lugging his bags up the steps, Theo failed to notice that no boat was docked next door. Then the clatter coming from Cy and Deb’s turned int...
Monday, September 7, 2015

Bobby Martin VI: Comforter

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Cally Webb snuggled into the comforter, eking out her perfect dream. She was in a chalet. With Theo, who actually had taken a vacation. The...
Sunday, September 6, 2015

Bobby Martin V

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Theo rose early, scribbled a note to Cally, then drove north. The cottage on Fire Box Island had been in the Webb family since his grandfath...
Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Patriot of a nation

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Consider me a patriot of the nation of Procrastination. Crastinum is Latin for tomorrow ( cras ) + a time-related suffix ( tinus ). It onc...
Thursday, August 27, 2015

Bobby Martin IV

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Dr. Webb woke at 2 am chilled. His wife had taken all the blankets again. He had dreamed of skulls seen through the flesh — a row of faces, ...
Thursday, August 20, 2015

Viagra for Women

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The FDA has approved a drug said to enhance female sex drive by activating sexual impulses in the brain.    Addyi (generic: flibanserin)...
Wednesday, August 19, 2015

Bobby Martin, part III

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“The FBI? Like a Special Agent!” The doctor smiled at Bobby. ”So, you see words? Words that tell you things?”      Bobby stared out at Co...
Wednesday, August 12, 2015

Why the Conservatives Must Go, in 100 Words

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Ideology over analysis. Dinosaur of the day. Newspeak about “democratic reform.” A useless census. Voter suppression. Contempt of parliame...
Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Bobby Martin II: I See You

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“Please don’t think I’m crazy,” Bobby’s mother said to the doctor. She knew she had a crazy story to tell and now she looked crazy too. Her...
1 comment:
Saturday, August 8, 2015

Robert Martin’s Hamster and Other Dead Things

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It started with his hamster. Bobby barely spoke, “Mummy, why can I see Hammy’s bones?”      Robert Martin’s mother approached the cage to ...
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