I am thrilled and honoured to have this post published by the Quebec Writers Federation as part of their “Chronicling the Days” writing project. Pop over to the site to read the experience of other writers during the pandemic.
Welcome to QWF series ‘Chronicling the Days’, specifically for this strange uneasy time of coronavirus and pandemic, of social distancing and self isolation, of lockdown and quarantine. In April 2020, we invited writers in Quebec to submit a story – of a single day at this time, because while we’re all living through this time, […]
via Chronicling the Days – Linda Thompson — QWF Writes
I was surprised how saddened I was to learn that Christie Blatchford, a well-known Canadian journalist, had died this week. Surprised because when I first started to read her columns, she irritated me to no end. Apparently, I was not alone. She was a “love her or hate her” kind of journalist. Despite that, I continued to read her as if I was looking to pick a fight. There’s no doubt that if that fight had ever happened, she would have been the clear victor. Her way with words, her smarts and in your face style of writing were not things to be reckoned with.
Then she started to grow on me. I found myself agreeing with her opinions more often. Other times, even if I disagreed, I respected her perspective and the way she presented it. In response to a comment calling her a nasty anti-feminist, she denied being an anti-feminist then added, “I might be nasty, though. That might be true.”
She wrote with passion and clarity, two things that don’t always go hand-in-hand. She was Canada’s first female sports columnist at the Globe & Mail in 1973. She did a stint with Canadian troops covering the war Afghanistan. Most recently, she spent her days in courtrooms covering high profile trials and writing with fervour about how the justice system often fails victims. One headline in an article about her death read that she was “unafraid and unapologetic” and that was certainly true. I am only sorry that I didn’t discover her earlier. RIP Christie Blatchford.
Dead at 68: Christie Blatchford was a tenacious voice for victims, a thorn to the smug
This week, Linda G. Hill’s prompt for Stream of Conscious Saturday is the word “rib”.
I CAN’T DO IT … but today I will. Making stream of consciousness writing exercises public just feels wrong . SoC exercises are supposed to be private attempts at nudging the writer within to unleash hidden gems. No one is supposed to see them! So I do them, but confine them to the privacy of my own journal … then I hide the journal to make sure no one stumbles across it. But to put the crazy ramblings in my head down on paper or up on the screen and subject other people to them??? Like Adam, I’d rather give up a rib.
Even now, I hesitate to press “Publish”. My hands are sweaty and my stomach’s in a knot, but here we go …