About Me — Danielle Loewen

Take yourself lightly, and your work seriously

I wrote my first stories back when I was in the single digits. I had one of those pens that wrote in 10 different colours but, if my old notebooks can be trusted, I strongly preferred the purple one. The durable and faintly fruity scent is still there, palpable on the paper.

I confess. I have a terrible habit of telling the story before the story before the story, like those nested Russian dolls. This vice comes from my paternal grandmother, who had an iron grip despite her gnarled and arthritic hands. If she caught you while you ran by — foolishly believing yourself hidden in the herd of grandchildren — she told at least a dozen stories without even taking a breath.

She also happened to be the hero of each one, even if she wasn’t present at the time. She’s passed, but sometimes I think I can still smell her, too. Sun-warmed earth, but slightly musty, like the garden that was her first and foremost love.

Smell is my favourite sense, probably because I’m as near-sighted as a rhinoceros and loud sounds quickly become static, distracting if not downright painful. My discerning nose has given me my taste for scotch (burnt sugar), wine (tobacco and leather), and cooking (cinnamon, rosemary, and mushrooms simmering in white wine). Sadly, rare is the…