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Keynote Address & Teaching the Short Story State of Mind at AWC
Get Lit Writer Series – Alexandra Writers Centre With award-winning authors like Alice Munro, Haruki Murakami, George Saunders, Kurt Vonnegut, there is so much to love and learn. Spend a day Getting Lit on short stories. Learn craft, process, publishing and so much more. Guaranteed to put you in that Short Story State of Mind. May 27, 20239-5pmAWCS Members: $150 | Non-Members: $200 Keynote & Presenterspaulo da costa | Lee Kvern | Leslie Greentree |Sarah L. Pratt | Robert Bose Note: Participation in Get Lit is entirely IN PERSON.Full schedule with times will be available to participants. Blue Pencil Sessions with Your Favourite PresenterSubmit up to 1500 words of a…
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Story on CKUA Radio
This week’s Blindman Brewing Session Story features the work of Calgary-based writer, editor, and translator, Paulo da Costa. Inspired by his winter walks through McHugh Bluff, In Motion explores the natural forces that shape our human endeavours and relationships. Listen at CKUA: To listen to this growing collection of stories, or check out these beautiful Super Stout labels, visit CKUA.com/sessionstories
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Interview & Story in On Spec Magazine
Interview and a new short-story by paulo da costa in issue n.103 of on spec – the canadian magazine of speculative fiction.
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Malahat Review – Seamless Stories Haunt
The January 2014 issue (#185) of the University of Victoria’s Malahat Review features a review of The Green and Purple Skin of the World. Fiction Review by Norma Lundberg The Green and Purple Skin of the World: Stories by paulo da costa (Freehand, 2013). Paperbound, 208 pp., $21.95 The sixteen stories in this collection proceed so seamlessly a reader might initially suspect them of being slight—a smooth skin of words, a faint echo from the title. But just as our skin is only the surface of our complex bodies, these stories are alive with characters in their own complicated worlds. They slowly enter the reader and haunt…
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Palms
Tomás leaned against the muddy wall of the trench furiously whittling a knotted tree branch. He paused, controlled his impatience, not wishing to carve the wrong groove. The knuckles of his hand were white, his fingers numb from the relentless work, the iced air. He unwrapped his frozen fingers from the wood and warmed his hands under his armpits before firing random shots into the night. He waited for the enemy sentinel to dutifully respond. The shots echoed over the hill. Tomás sighed. One more hour of silence would now settle over the trenches. Tomás sealed a rolled cigarette with his tongue and lit the smoke under his coat. As…
