Cafe Aphra: An Online Community for Writers

I set a goal to write 5 minutes in Nov.  My plan was to write when I got up in the morning before getting on with the day. As you may well know that is easier said than done. Not discounting needing to pee, as I get older it seems to take longer and longer to get settled into the day.  This morning, for instance, I was going to write about the vivid dream I was in on awakening, instead find myself telling you how and where I write. I write at my computer desk which is in the bedroom of my small walk-up co-op apartment in down town  Toronto . I live across the street from the  University  of  Toronto Bookstore  in the heart of  Canada 's largest University. As well, I am close to 7 major hospitals, between 2 men's shelters and near the Centre for Addiction Research and Mental Health.  There is a streetcar stop outside, a subway 3 scant blocks away at Queen's Park, t...

Well done all - we're 5 days in, nearly 18% completed, and finding our daily writing rhythms. I've loved the various posts we've received. Sara's had a slightly delayed start, but the motivation and enthusiasm for her writing leaps off out of her emails, and I know that she'll be busy working today. Jan's hunting for her pen (!) - use a pencil, Jan, and, if that's disappeared too, just sing out those words until they're written in your soul. We have also been joined by some new writers who'll be hanging out with us in Cafe Aphra for our November journey. Welcome. Today my mind is upon how much  little control we have over the direction of our writing. I've never been a great one for planning, but I thought I was sitting down to write a first chapter set in England. Instead, the novel has situated itself in America. Rather than the blue double-decker bus I used to ride to school, Jenna (or possible Jo) rides a bright yellow American Thomas; ra...

Decades decay Only remnants remain Rust resists Orange rots to brown. Still, babies are born When the sun shines yellow Or under shades of midnight blue As lovers jostle everything but touch aside                for an indigo moment. Grass and children grow tall Life colours expand to red White divides, becomes A faint rainbow that explodes   Inverts to grey.           . Charcoal edges the space when children leave                        Friends and painters die                                   (or you do) Then decades decay And remnants remain Orange to...

And so November begins.... A range of writers, a range of writing targets, and a huge sense of anticipation.  Linda Dawn will be free-writing for five minutes a day through November. Linda Dawn, we would love to know where this writing takes you - poetry? memoir? fiction? reflections on your day? I imagine you at your desk today, picking up your pen and watching the words spiral across the page. Did you write this morning or will you find the space in the evening, after night has fallen across your city?  Sara, Heather, and another member of our cafe have each committed to working on their ongoing writing projects for at least an hour a day. They're driving hard - thirty hours across the month. A whole load of writing! I'm fortunate enough to know both Sara's and Heather's writing - it's beautiful, thought-provoking stuff with powerful characters and a strong sense of place. Heather has the most accessible witch I have ever met and I almost wept with ...

We get a babysitter. We visit a public toilet. We go into the unisex disabled one so we don’t get into trouble and lock the door, check it’s secure. We’ve bought a new knife; a fancy penknife like Bear Grylls has. We’ve brought some fizzy wine. The door is busy with names, declarations, some swear words. I sit on the edge of the closed toilet lid and go to place the small cool bag containing the wine and the glasses on the floor. There are damp, discoloured patches there spreading into each other and I keep it on my lap. I can smell an abrasive mix of bleach and urine but take a sip of the wine and let the sharp fizz on my tongue distract me. He leans against the wall, takes out the knife and pokes at his fingertips with the point. We drink a glass of wine whilst we discuss what we will do. The bubbles make me feel dreamy. I’d like something meaningful, significant. Finally we decide. I pour another glass and sip. He begins to scrape. He looks strong and manly, his handsome face...

I don’t have a poem for you this week.   I have only my reflections on a feature in the ‘BBC 100   Women’   series about poets in Afghanistan which captured my imagination , roused my admiration and humbled me in a single heartbeat. You see, my confession is that I too like to dabble with poetry.   I have a complex relationship with poetry.   I have little control over my reaction to it. In various moods, at different times, I can love it, be indifferent to it, or even mock it.   I have actually been afraid of poems (particularly during literature exams) and nursed a shameful fear of not interpreting poems intelligently.    But I have never, EVER, questioned my right to attempt to write poetry, short stories or anything else.   I have never questioned my right to education or even to literacy itself. But as an aspiring writer and poet in Scotland I can afford the luxury of ambivalence. For me poetry has never been a matter of life and de...

My brother-in-law is a runner: a proper runner. He looks like a runner, thinks like a runner, and doesn't make a sound as he glides along the tarmac training for his next marathon. He tells me that he uses target-setting software to motivate him and maintain his commitment to training. In contrast to my brother-in-law, I'm not a "runner". I have old running shoes which look brand new due to lack of use and my physique is (ahem) not that of a "runner" - when I thunder jog down our street it seems as though the neighboring houses quiver upon their foundations. In fairness, the world's greatest optimist would refuse a bet upon me ever completing a marathon. But, I've started using the same target-setting software and I like it. I've set my own running targets for the next month. Small, achievable targets, which might not seem like very much to a "runner", but which give me a real sense of achievement. I won't be running in any races...