Lullabies for Little Criminals

Powell says to me the other day, "Do you feel like ice cream?"

I replied, "Oooh, yes! When are we going to Ottawa?"

So me, Powell and Mani went to Ottawa today. The plan was to (a) have lunch at La Bodega, and (b) sit in a park and read while roasting in the sun. Of course, in the excitement of getting her favourite sandwich in a rosemary-dusted whole wheat focaccia, Palanca forgets her book in the car. An excellent excuse, she reasons, to go into Chapters and pick up Lullabies for Little Criminals by Heather O'Neill, another Montreal author.

(Ms. Julie is always on duty).

Heather O'Neill makes me want to cry - like a lot - because somehow, she's already managed to get the life that could be mine.

• Published, highly-successful debut novel
• Prize-winner respected by her peers
• Sharing her life with an equally creative partner
• Nice hair

We both grew up in NDG. We're of the same age. Maybe my life was too cushy...

Anyway, when we finally sat on a grassy knoll near the National Gallery of Canada and I cracked open the spine, it was a rush of pleasure to discover just how beautifully Heather O'Neill writes. I even added little stars next to this next passage:

There was something inhuman about her, suddenly, as if when she opened her mouth and tipped it backward you would see mechanical inner workings, like a little dumb weight instead of a tonsil.

Oooh, she's an incredibly talented writer, I realised, that's why she has that life...

I will set myself to my work again this week. I can't do anything about the hair, but I can write, dammit.

My flavours at Pure Gelato - I know you were wondering - lemon and mango. Yummsy.