Marta McIllroy

Marta McIllroy

My family — and any family history — seemed to have few claims to any geographical community, beyond Toronto — though I’m the first generation born here. Sometimes, looking around, and thinking of my own experience, I might be tempted to say that I grew up in a community of abuse — the abused, the abusive — but basically that’s no community.

Perhaps that’s why I’ve been a lone soul much of my life — relying on my imagination for company. Perhaps that’s why writing suits me.

I always wrote. We were that kind of family, books were the most important things and reading was a religion. But writing for an audience was never in my head. I wrote things down for me — not an audience.

Maybe I had enough horror growing up, so I don’t fear much about being an adult. I have grand plans, so many ideas I want to put down and I’m very curious to see what I write.

Hope can lead to a dream and the dreams seem so small and quiet — peace near water — an opportunity to spend time writing. And reading, always. And sharing the writing feels like being part of a community, in so many ways.

Productions

Photos

Photos by John Lauener