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Biography |
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I was born in 1967 in Montreal Canada. The fourth child of 5 children, born to Valeada
May and Cecil Gilbert. My parents were both from Ontario, my mother was born in the small northern community of Mattawa Ontario, and my Father, was born near Hamilton.
My Grand Father George, was born in London in the East end in 1878 and
relocated to a family owned residence in Westminster as a young child,
just south of Big Ben. We believe the residence was the former
residence of another relative,
Mr. John Harrison, the man who
invented the chronometer and made naval navigation in the early days
possible. My Mothers father was a
Railroad man and a
Log Driver
in Nothern ontario. He died in my mothers arms when she was just 13. As
the second youngest in my family it was natural for me to thrive under
challenges and to pursue my interests under the guidance of my older
siblings. The first 14 years of my life were spent in Montreal, while
the past few decades have found me settled in the Prairies. The western
provinces are beautiful with the definitive four seasons and gorgeous
sunsets. I find that just waking up to the sounds and smells of the
prairies helps to fire my creative inspiration, and imaginings.
I began writing at an early age, around 13 years old. I was inspired by several mentors in my life who were in many ways very close to me. I was raised Catholic for the first years of my life, and later in my twenties I would rediscover religion within the Christian communities. However at this stage of my life I have become much more spiritual and less concerned with the political correctness of one particular religion or another. God will be God regardless of what I think of Him. Although I have had many possitive and influential people in my immediate life, I give credit to my grade school teacher, Mrs. Sheila Keating, who fine tuned the love I have for writing and prose, simply by revealing her own love for the written word. She would read us passages from novels, poetry, and explain in detail the nuances of what the writer was trying to say through the story, this fascinated me. It is a debt of gratitude, that I owe her for giving to me the gift of the pen and paper.
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I can never tell when or where an idea
for a piece of writing will come from. Often it's when my mind is
"somewhere else", we writers tend to be in that state often. I
have had so many of my very best works come to me on little scraps of
paper while I was working at some other project. Sometimes the
most mundane of tasks can ultimately free our minds to greater things, I
have always believed that. It would seem that the problem solving
tools we have, work best in a relaxed state. When we forget about
ourselves, we truly can become better than we are in that moment. While I aspire to write other things and have started several books, poetry and literature have always been a great passion of mine. At times I feel as though it is the requirement of my day to try and write “something, anything”. I love the way that it makes me feel, to complete a chapter or a significant piece of writing, and it seems to me to be necessary as well. In order to kick start myself, I often choose to disappear to the cabin for a few days to write and collect my thoughts on paper before returning to hammer them into some sort of work, but it never seems much like work to me, I just love to write. |
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