Katie Leggitt

Full disclosure.  It's past 1 AM, sitting on my bed, craving scalloped potatoes.  I just finished sending an email to my beloved cousin that I don't get to see often enough, and finally decided to write a new post. It's been a while since my last one, and I don't know if it's because I sleep in so much in the summer, but the writing bug has left the building in me.  That didn't make sense, but it's okay, it's almost 2. I wrote her an email basically updating her on the inner-workings of Katie Leggitt.  I tend to do that with her, because you don't really chit-chat in emails.  Straight to the point, the real point, the juice, the good stuff. I drove to Nashville last week and spent 4 days there and then a day in Memphis.  Part of me thinks Memphis was cooler than Nashville, but maybe because I was only there for a day.  Graceland, Sun Studio, Country Music Hall of Fame, the Ryman Auditorium, Bluebird Cafe, Tootsie's, the Parthenon... did it

A few weeks ago on a road trip to Toronto with my mom, I was toying with the idea of auditing some classes this Fall, specifically, The History of Rock and Roll at Concordia, taught by Craig Morrison.  That night I had a dream that I met him, and last night, that dream came true. I figured since I'm heading to Nashville in a couple of days, I should head on down to the Wheel Club, NDG's very own honky-tonk, or at least on Mondays.  I thought I should get my fill before hitting the road and seeing the real country of country.  If you're not familiar with the place, Monday nights at the Wheel Club are open to the public, and musicians play hillbilly to crowds aged 100 and under.  It's run by Bob Fuller and has been for something like the last 40 years.  Now almost 80, he plays various instruments from his wheelchair, sporting his baby blue cowboy hat and a matching  plaid shirt.  Last night he was playing the upright bass. At the Wheel Club, you feel right at home, su

I've been in story-writing mode lately. I have an idea for a short story that's been developing in my mind over this past month and although I'm not quite ready to share it, it's brewing. I started on it last night, after sitting on the boardwalk in Old Quebec, watching a man sporting a white ponytail playing an accordion and a little girl with long blonde hair dancing to the Parisian tune. Her name will be Petunia and that's all I'll share for now. My problem with writing stories is that if I don't sit down and write it one shot, I have a hard time revisiting it. Most stories just seem to write themselves though, don't they? Such is life, we are all writing ours as we speak and although they may take some unexpected twists and turns here and there, we each create our own reality. So here I am creating mine, taking a break from my supper plans, trying to reach out and inspire yours as I struggle to type on my mom's IPad. It's funny about life.

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a girl named Neverella.  Her mother died when she was very young and her father married an evil woman who had two even eviler daughters.  She was forced to do all the chores, vacuuming, washing the dishes, even picking up the dog poop.  The two sisters, Annie and Dizzie, never had to lift a finger.  Instead, they made fun of Neverella and told her she would never marry a prince.  She was good-for-nothing and Neverella believed it.  She was a very unhappy girl. She grew up hating herself, turned to drugs and alcohol as comfort, and left the family home when she was 17.  She found herself on the streets, hooking for money and vowed never to wash a dish again.  She never went back home, and the family was better off without her. One day, on an acid trip, a fairygodmother visited Neverella and told her if she didn't clean up her act, she would die within a few months.  Neverella shrugged her shoulders and wished for more cocaine an