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    Creative Writing Fiction

    The Other Side of the River

    The bear stood on the side of the road with his front paws turned in and his head down so that the hump of his back stood up like a half-folded jackknife. From time to time he shuffled his paws in the dust of the side of the road. He was brown with fine blonde guard hairs that gave him a red-blonde colour hunters called cinnamon in the right light.

    It was seven in the morning in the middle of June.

    The bear sneezed, blowing strings of thick, mucus-flecked spit out the side of his mouth. Blood oozed from the wet slits of his nose and he swayed from side to side like a boxer who’d gone up to block a left and taken a right jab by surprise. His  bottom jaw hung unevenly, one side slightly lower than the other, tongue lolling, velvety-looking between this teeth.  His jaw was broken and he couldn’t close his mouth, so he drooled constantly.

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  • Creative Writing Fiction

    Red Mountain

    In January, Northern Public Affairs received correspondence from Lori Fox (formerly Garrison) questioning whether her creative writing, published on NPA’s blog, was culturally appropriate. Upon review, the publisher respects the instinct…