Tag Archives: Noreen Shanahan

How funny is death? SPOW Conference Part Two

Posted on July 17, 2013 by

Or is that really the question I want to ask? I am forever niggled by something having to do with writing obituaries and it has, partly, to do with the reactions from womenfolk and menfolk, children folk too (although less … Continue reading →

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Timbits and dinosaur poop

Posted on June 22, 2013 by

Writing the lede to a piece of journalism can feel like dangling from a rope over the abyss. I’m there now, puttering up to write another obituary, sitting in a Queen Street coffee shop while rain thunders down, trying to … Continue reading →

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A toast to James Pon’s grandfather

Posted on May 16, 2013 by

James Pon’s grandfather filled my mind during this rail trip from Montreal to Toronto last month. It was he, along with hundreds of other Chinese workers, who built this railway–although on the other side of the Rocky mountains. Last month, … Continue reading →

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Writing about housewives

Posted on January 23, 2013 by

How do I write about housewives? It has been my consistent belief that there is a story, nay, many stories, in every individual life. It’s just a matter of finding them. Sometimes it means sitting someone down, making this person … Continue reading →

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Differences in labour and the need for choice

Posted on December 11, 2012 by

Sometimes I sleep among the dead. Anxiety stirs me in the night, often after I file an obituary with the Globe & Mail. I can be lost to all worldly cares, softly purring, tucked away all feline-like in bed when … Continue reading →

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Vera Barker and President Kennedy

Posted on November 22, 2012 by

“It’s my Grandma’s birthday! I pledge to drink wine in her honour too.”  That’s an email sent to me by Vera Barker’s granddaughter, Heather Anne, earlier today. “It’s also the day they shot Kennedy but we don’t talk about that … Continue reading →

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Voices of the “untongued dead”

Posted on November 13, 2012 by

I recently came across an essay by Matthew Skelton, a teacher of book history in Mainz, Germany. He describes sorting through a collection of old books and papers left by an obscure librarian named Elma Mitchell after her death in … Continue reading →

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