nothing's too good for my baby: the CM magazine review

nothing's too good for my baby: the CM magazine review

"Flight of the Griffons is much more than an adventure story ...  the character of Missy and her fellow pirates gives readers faith in the tenacity and goodness of human nature. ... Flight of the Griffons could be read as a stand-alone, but to have read the first one in the series would make it even more satisfying! So buy both volumes!"

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alberta alberta

I watched for raised eyebrows among parents and teachers, because I come to oil country with a book about radicals who wish for the end of pipelines. But that's not what it's about. It's the friction point of prosperity and concern, ability and disability, the loss of bodily presence and the gain of ghost messages. It's misplaced outrage and well-placed courage. It's banjo song and smoke in your eye. Stories hinge there, swinging this way and that.

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the Griffons tour Alberta

It begins on Sunday: a suitcase full of books! Pirates in oil country! I fly into Edmonton and from there it's buses and rental cars all around the province, to schools in Lethbridge and a blessing ceremony in Stand Off—lucky me happens to be passing through for a smudging and I'll be there soaking it up, reading, and stocking their library with Missy and airborne resistance.

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Alberta trilogy

If you're writing an environmental revenge fantasy, the big story, for now, is under that big sky. Or one of the big stories. All that black gold. In a restaurant in Banff I sat next to a guy who'd grown up in Fort McMurray, where the oil sands are, and he told me he doesn't recognize a single street from his youth. He said over and over again I don't know what happened. Everything's gone.

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big drop: the book launch

Penelope, my editor, kicks me like a rock down a street. She won't let me mope. Whenever I'm down she posts pictures of a gulper eel to my Facebook and says HA HA THIS IS YOU. And I go GOD. PENELOPE. She's so brutal and so brilliant. She is telling me, right now, to quit thinking I'm special by being afraid to open the box that's on its way from the printer in Quebec.

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maybes and fortunes and books on the way

These are strange and excellent days, veering wildly from one to the other. I don't know that there's room for anyone. I don't know that there is anyone, that apparently rare composite of not-dull and not-crazy. Which is sad, maybe? I can't decide. Live by yourself long enough—especially when you work from home—and autonomous luxury bleeds into odd habits and self-isolation.

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April come she will

Now for what's next: lists and mulch and manuscripts, because god knows I'm behind. Now that Flight of the Griffons is on the presses, I'll start editing this fall's picture book with Nimbus—a book of monster poems for 4-8 year olds called If I Were A Zombie. And I'll keep fussing over a growing posse of literary rejects because hope is a warm doughnut, ultimately empty but sweet enough to keep you from drifting off at the wheel.

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