B’s Mom was born to Russian immigrants in the last part of the last century in Sicamous, BC, the duck plucking Capital of the area immediately surrounding it. At age two, her parents happily discovered she was a duck plucking prodigy and exhibited her far and wide to the awe and amazement of any motorist bored enough to turn off the road at any opportunity.

A duck feather mite allergy was to prematurely end her dash to fame and B’s Mom would spend her teen years breaking into neighbour’s houses, cleaning up, and leaving a nice fruit basket.

At eighteen she travelled to the big city, where language barriers and her love of “plucking” lured her into the seedy underground of prostitution. Her complete inability to employ sexual euphemisms landed her in jail seven times in the first week, and a young officer became smitten with her and married her.

The young officer died a year later from ear cancer. Taking her meager savings, B’s Mom opened a small silverware tarnishing shop located, logically she thought, next to a silverware polishing shop. Unfortunately , B’s Mom discovered too late that most people tarnish stuff themselves and the shop folded.

Now B’s Mom has attained a BA in English. She has done the seemingly impossible, having gone straight from extreme poverty to massive debt having attained absolutely nothing physical to show for it.

She soothes her troubled mind by taking any opportunity to write absolute rubbish and post it in every available space.

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I write, I make pithy observations (humour me here), I pun atrociously and unapologetically. I follow politics.  For music, I love Tom Waits, Miles Davis, and Nick Drake, but I also like Nirvana, the White Stripes and Meatloaf. Some authors I like are Mark Twain, Gabriel Garcia Márquez, Don DeLillo, Thomas Hardy, Laurence Sterne, and Margaret Atwood.  I love William Blake, Walt Whitman, and W.C.W.. I have a thing for horror movies and children’s movies. I also like graphic novels.

I have a BA in English Literature, and I have studied Creative Writing. I am a trained baker, and I am particularly opinionated about pie dough and couverture.

I would like very much to write in a magical realism style, but I’ve discovered I am way too pragmatic for that, and so my writing tends towards homourous or gritty or just plain disgusting. :/

The words, “This has too much garlic in it,” mean absolutely nothing to me.