Variations

For the first thirty years of my life as a writer, I had a day job as a librarian. The public library proved to be an ideal side hustle because it put me in contact with dozens of people each week: the young, the old, the jaunty, the grumpy, the loopy, the lonely, the clever, and the kind. Every one of them had a story. A small branch in the suburbs of Vancouver was my fair field full of folk.

Like any librarian worth her salt, I had my favourites. One of them, Philip, was an intense and solitary nine-year-old with deep, focused interests that included cemeteries and winemaking. This was in the days before the ­internet, and Philip’s informational needs taxed the resources of our team, but we did our best for him. I respected his enthusiasm for facts, but as I’ve lived my life based on the Gospel According to Fiction, every once in a while I would try to tempt Philip with a story...