Category: Ephemera

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The Fantasy of the Cool Girl

by Dana Ewachow

The Cool Girl exists in beer commercials and raunchy comedies. She lives in chick flicks that want to fling internalized misogyny at their female target demographic. She’s just “one of the guys.” Last year, I wrote a piece about Manic Pixie Dream Girls: the fantasy of a beautiful, quirky young woman who helps push a man out of his comfort zone.

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Un-dream Away the Trump Era with Me

by E Martin Nolan

We live in untrustworthy times, haunted increasingly by bad dreams. Trump’s terrible dream overcame the lamely peddled and tainted dream of his opponent. It overcame his obvious unfitness for office. Now he is president. What can be done about it? Let’s un-dream the bad dreams.

Trump’s dream feeds on anger and resentment stoked by outlets shilling false or skewed stories,

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All Sales Final: Literary Toronto After Honest Ed’s

by Jason Freure

Nobody has bothered to change the lightbulbs for years. Still, the marquee on Honest Ed’s always gave Bathurst and Bloor the atmosphere of a side show, like a piece of the Ex preserved out of season. But now that the lights are off for good and the wrecking ball is on its way, a big piece of Toronto’s self-image is missing from the Annex.

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Year-End Sign Off

by Jason Freure

The Town Crier is taking some time off! It’s been a busy year and we’re finally wrapping it up until January.

We published a lot in 2016 and it was an exciting thing to see. I feel lucky to have had the chance to publish pieces like Evangeline Freedman’s graphic essay on Julie Doucet,

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Bob Dylan: “I Can’t Think for You, You Have to Decide”

by E Martin Nolan

After the hot takes on his Nobel Prize had cooled and as the award ceremony approached, Bob Dylan reminded us of why he deserved the honour. He declined to attend. Another great spurn from the master.

Dylan is still known for his early protest songs. His great ’60s anthems were “the conscience of a generation”—or something like that.

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Nom de Plume

by Naben Ruthnum

Pseudonyms can be born not out of a desire to fictionalize the self, but to appease non-fictional market realities. Ed McBain, otherwise known as Evan Hunter, wanted to publish an early novel under his own name, S.A. or Salvatore Lombino. His agent gently told him that was his choice, but an Italian last name on the cover would hurt sales.

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Writing in the Nooks and Crannies

by Sarah Feldbloom

A few years ago, I was hired to deliver media and visual arts programming to the youth in a Cree community by James Bay. After that contract, I stayed to teach at the local high school and began dating one of the managers at the Northern store—an import too, from rural Nova Scotia.

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Beneath the Snow Piles

by Laura McPhee-Browne

for Ruth Rendell

Laura turned her key in the lock and heard the familiar click of home, to warmth, to Adnan and to rubbing moisturizer into her nose to calm the wind-chill burn. It had been particularly direful out there this evening, and her walk from Dundas Street East to King Street West had been hunched,

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Immersion

by Miriam Breslow

For two weeks, I woke into panic attacks. It was the December exam period of the third year of my undergraduate degree. I was afraid of evening and afraid of morning, afraid of failing and my brain and the piles of work in front of me. I was afraid of the weeks I still had to endure before I could hand in my final paper and go home.