: About Me

I never did enjoy writing about myself... Let's see, where to begin. Well, I'm Emily. I'm 25, I'm a Cancer, and I enjoy long walks on the beach...

I grew up in a small tourist town in South-Western Ontario (Canada). The annual visitors instilled in me a loathing of tourists, but a curiosity to see where they came from. I attended university not far from where I grew up. After graduating, and a few (well, six) failed attempts to gain entry to graduate school, I began to feel restless and bored in my small town, and decided I wanted to see more of the world.

So I scrimped and saved for six months and about a year-and-a-half ago, I moved to England. By myself. When I stepped off the plane at Gatwick Airport, I was homeless, unemployed, and I didn't know a single person in the country. Incidentally, those are things that immigration officers do not want to hear. So after waiting in a queue for two-and-a-half hours, and then arguing with the immigration officer that I wasn't in fact a vagrant, and I would find work as soon as I could, I officially arrived in London.

London and I didn't get off to a great start. To begin with, I couldn't find my way out of London Bridge train station. I had to ask for help. And when I finally found my hostel, their computer was broken and they weren't checking anyone in. I was miserable. I was alone in a strange place, I had been awake for well over 30 hours, and all I wanted to do was put my head down and rest. On top of that, owing to the fact that I have never learned to pack lightly (and I had been in the same clothes for well over 30 hours), I realised, to my horror, I smelled. Forget putting my head down, all I wanted was a shower.

I didn't stay long in London. After two days, I made my way out to the West Country. After three weeks, I had a job in a pub, which was great for meeting people, and I had two housemates who were (mercifully) normal and (even better) fun. I still live in the West Country, in a certain UNESCO World Heritage City. I just can't escape the tourists! I've discovered that the West is the best part of England for two reasons: The surf and the cider.

Writing has always been something I wanted to do, but I've always managed to convince myself I don't have the time. I studied psychology at university, and writing paper after tedious paper in meticulous APA format for a time made me want to throw up at the mention of the words write, compose, jot, compile, formulate, record, etc. But I'm over that now. I've never been published (I've never tried), except in my high school yearbook. My English teacher published my personal essay on my phobia of public toilets, and I remain immensely proud of the fact that the entire class of 2000-2001 knows exactly what I do when I'm in a cubicle.

So now that I have the time, I've decided to give writing a go. On top of writing on Helium, I'm taking a freelance journalism course through the London School of Journalism. I don't find writing easy, but what I like about it is finding the right words and then trying to get them in the right order. I'm hoping that writing on Helium and for my course I'll build some confidence in my writing, and who knows where it will go from there.

My passion is ...

Sport in general. Liverpool Football Club specifically

I know too much about ...

Pearl Jam

My parents always told me ...

never trust a man who says "trust me"

My childhood ambition ...

to be an astronaut. Or Prime Minister

My favorite memory ...

the sun setting at Woolacombe, Devon

Why I write ...

I can't honestly answer that. Compulsion? Now that just sounds bad

What I am reading/watching/listening to ...

Rushdie/24/Debussy

My first job ...

I believe my offical title was "Pizza Goddess"

My best moment ...

standing up for the first time on my surf board

My inspiration ...

the sea

Creative Writing > Reflections Reflections: What would you order for your last meal?

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I've never understood the concept of offering condemned men and women a final meal of their choice. To me, it seems to offer little or no consolation. No matter what the prisoner orders, they're still going to die, very publicly, and very soon. It's as if the State is saying, "No hard feelings, but we're going to kill you anyway." I've never really contemplated what I'd order for a last meal. I mean, I don't ever plan to find myself on death row, and the fact I'm Canadian means I'd have to try pretty hard to end up there. The only other context I can think of that involves ordering a last ...

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