Tag Archives: writing inspiration

Whom Do You Wear Your Poppy For?

Whom Do You Wear Your Poppy For?.


Check out this giant chalk poem we wrote at the Vancouver Art Gallery for Remembrance Day.

(If you’d like to read the full poem, just click on the link above!)

I think it is important that we think critically about glorifying soldiers and war, but I think it is extremely important that we actively remember, pass down stories, memories, names, of all different individuals, soldiers AND civilians, who came before us and who lost their lives to war…

What do you think?


Stitching Our Frankensteins

Stitching Our Frankensteins

Third (and final) event review from the 2013 Vancouver International Writers Festival. This event happened on Saturday October 26, 2013. It was called “Character Roles” and was with Fiction authors: Mary Swan, Charlotte Grimshaw, David Macfarlane, and Chad Pelly.

Step by step: word by word


Some days trying to be a writer is exhausting. Volunteering so much time, writing for free, trying to get recognized, appreciated, maybe even paid. You get bummed out because you’re broke and nothing is paying off, but you don’t stop writing because you love it. You can’t imagine doing anything else, being anything else. So you keep plunking away on the keyboard, you submit a hundred stories and get a hundred rejection letters. You apply for as many writing jobs as you can find but everyone tells you, ‘you don’t have enough experience’ even though you’re writing up a storm trying to get this so-called experience… and each step feels like it’s not taking you anywhere… but it is… and all the sudden BAM, you realize you’ve arrived somewhere you weren’t before.

You’ve improved. You’ve been noticed. You’e been read.


Today has been a good day for me and my writing!

I’ve had the most spectacular Monday filled with woohoo’s and YAYS and exciting news all around. I got confirmation I will be attending and reviewing three events for the Vancouver Writers festival, including Beyond Queer where I will get to interview an amazing local author whom I adore: Amber Dawn!!!

Next, I got offered a part time job as  a technical writer/blogger that actually PAYS. It will be tricky, and maybe a little out of my comfort zone, but I am so excited to take on the challenge and learn new techniqes!

And then to top it all off, just hours ago, I was approved to review P!NK at Rogers Arena TONIGHT!!!! She is my favourite artist of all time, and I am so ecstatic that I get to go to her show and then write all about it for Vancouver Weekly!

So be sure to come back and check out my review later this week!

Thanks for your support y’all. ‚̧

And to all my fellow writers and aspiring writers- don’t stop writing, with every word you write you’re getting somewhere!!!! even when it doesn’t feel like it!


Heidi J. Loos

“Oo Oo Ee Ee”


Two drunken monkeys

in our rainbow jungle

you force me to eat bananas because they’re healthy

I eat them because what kind of monkey would I be if I didn’t like bananas, right?

(But I don’t, really…)

They’re too squishy… and phallic.

But I would gladly pick bugs out of your fur

if you had any.

I would groom you all over,

even if you had the unfortunate disposition of a baboon’s backside.

(It’s okay if that doesn’t make sense to you.)

But NO ONE belongs in a zoo.

I would swing from the vines to save you from the lions, the cougars,

and¬†the hyenas… those beautiful, vicious,¬†bitches.

I would, and I will.

But for now, I will sit and wait, keep watch from my tree top, ten storeys high

Head in the clouds, in the rainbows, in my jungle

waiting for my monkey

to return safely home. 




The Dreaded “?”

You know those questions that really crawl under your skin

Creep into chest, and seep vinegar into your veins

The kind of questions that are so unappetizing your gag reflex kicks in

And instead of chewing on an answer you just choke, spit up their question, regurgitate that gem

‚ÄúRight back at ya‚ÄĚ

But they don’t even notice

because to them it’s an easy question with an easy answer.

Even though the question is so fucking vague

And could have a million answers,

They drop their line, fishing for just one aspect of your life to define you.

‚ÄúSo… what do you do?‚ÄĚ

I do a lot of things, I eat, I sleep, I shit, I piss, I fuck, I write stuff like this, I talk shite, I dream, I cry, I dye my hair  

But they don’t want to know these things,

They don’t want to know what I do for fun, who I do for fun,

They don’t want to know my dreams and aspirations, the things that make my heart sing, scream, and do backflips into my stomach, and butterflies into my bladder

They don’t want to know me.

They want to know what it is that ‚ÄúI do‚ÄĚ

That thing that I do for money- “My Job.”

Because that is what defines me-in this capitalist dystopia-

Only it’s not.

I make coffees all day but I’m not a barista

I pour you a beer, shake up your martini, mix up the best damn long island you’ve ever tried

But I’m not a bartender,  

Sure I’ve bartended plenty.

I serve you your breakfast, your lunch and your dinner,

But I’m not your servant

Your server, your waitress, whatever you call it,

They just pay me to do this.

I may do your laundry, fold your clothing,

Take care of your children

But I’m not a nanny.

I’m a full-time writer and part-time worker,

I don‚Äôt do this for money- but I would…

I’m an artist.

I’m a writer.

And I’m a fighter.

And I’m a dreamer.

So yeah…Two days ago I got a job. I am no longer unemployed!¬†Another good old¬†minimum wage job, yay, thanks for asking, (everybody),¬†but it doesn’t define me. I won’t let it define me.¬†

That is all.




Discovering my “Authentic” Heidi Self

Oh shit! I’m faking it again! Or… am I???

I’m not talking about sex. Orgasms are the one thing I definitely wouldn’t fake because,¬†honestly, what is the point in that!?

Then again, I mostly sleep with other¬†women so…

ANYWAY,¬†I have been doing a lot of soul-searching lately… staring into the ocean, or into the deep grey-blue eyes of my own reflection, and at my computer screen late into the night, ogling a¬†blank word document,¬†waiting patiently¬†for answers. I keep pondering the question: who am I? What parts of myself have really been here all along, what parts have changed, are changing, are unscripted or unlearned, are there any¬†‘natural’ or innately Heidi bits, is there an authentic me?


Sometimes I feel like I’m living a lie, or a lot of little lies, I tell myself.¬†Like my emotions lie to my brain, and my heart is a master con artist. Like I act a¬†hundred different parts for a thousand different audiences. Some spectators¬†live in the real world while others slyly¬†inhabit the shadows of my mind. I catch myself in an¬†act, my language has been scripted by another and another¬†before me, and I¬†wonder, is this really me? Or is this just¬†how I want¬†others to perceive me in this moment, in this space, at this time? Am I being fake?¬†

Kind of like J.K. Rowling’s character “Fats” I have been thinking a lot about what is authentic and what is inauthentic, hopefully in a less creepy way,¬†but my brain does go to dark places¬†sometimes…

I’ve decided authenticity is¬†bullshit!¬†But it is not impossible. It only¬†exists in combinations and¬†intersections.¬†Trying to find your true self is the strangest contradiction. Like your self is a thing you can look at, pick up, dust off. I always try to solidify my identity and deny it its fluidity and multiplicity. But I am so many voices, so many pieces.¬†And I am made up of other people’s voices:¬†my mother’s, my sister’s, my brother’s, my lover’s, my father’s, my creative writing prof’s, my women studies prof’s,¬†the people closest to me, the books I’ve read, the movies I’ve seen, the soccer games I’ve played, the classes I’ve taken, the drugs I’ve done, the people I’ve dated, the sex I’ve had…¬†the combination is my authentic self.


but I still feel like I’m faking it sometimes.

I am a broken recording device, that remembers and forgets, mixes up memories and lectures and conversations, and puts things out of context without definable sources.¬†Every moment I am changed and changing and this scares¬†me. I want to be something or someone concrete, someone I can understand and accept as honest, authentic, true. But¬†parts of me don’t believe the¬†other parts. Some of my¬†wants contradict my dreams. Some¬†of my emotions lie. And so I cry out, WHO AM I!?! Who am I reeeeeally?

I’m just another lost soul.

I am struggling with identity because so much of my identity has been crafted in my mind around my relationship with another. I know myself as Heidi¬†the girlfriend. Heidi as a¬†lover, Heidi¬†as a partner, Heidi as a half of a¬†whole. But now I am thousand pieces looking for one specific piece¬†to define me. One truth to guide me, one¬†destiny…


Only some parts of me believe in destiny.

Thanks for reading,


Heidi J. Loos

Cats for Comfort

I’m cat sitting at the moment, and I’ve decided that cats¬†make the best therapists.¬†They will listen to you vent for hours¬†for nothing more than a can¬†of tuna and scratch under the chin.¬†They’ll¬†offer their firm¬†support: a genuine furry faced nuzzle, reminding you that they actually¬†care that you are there and¬†it’s not just about the money… They’ll¬†weigh the pros and cons of¬†your arguments with their paws on your lap, purring loudly, agreeing, yes, no,¬†yes, yes,¬†you definitely have issues,¬†but¬†carry on now, keep scratching…scratching…

Because you are scratching the surface of something bigger, something deeper… childhood trauma.







The Best Advice.

I’m like, so what do you think about that?



What would you do?

“Meow. Meow.”


What should I do?


Purr Purr Purr.

Yeah, okay, fine. I’ll give you a treat.

I know what you’re thinking, you are thinking,¬†ohhh you are one of ‘those’ people….




But the truth is, I do like cats, I like cats¬†a lot, but I also¬†like dogs, like a lot a lot,¬†especially small ones with squashed faces that snort like pigs, and I like hamsters, and hedgehogs, and ferrets,¬†and sugar gliders. I like sugar gliders¬†a lot, like an epic amount because I had them growing up and they are the smartest, coolest, craziest,¬†most loving animals EVER… If you don’t know what a sugar glider is, google it right now,¬†or better yet, youtube¬†them,¬†if you are from Australia, yeah, we do keep your wild life as pets on this side of the world…

I guess my animal loving identity is just as just as open, as pan, as fluid, as QUEER as my sexual identity.


You just can’t put me in a box…¬†can you? ;-P

not unless it’s with a kitty and a fox,

and in that box, there is a monkey wearing socks

And a little girl who talks,

to herself…



But Seriously,

I just have so much love for the creatures of this world…

And I’m feeling a whole lot better about life.

It’s just like my therapist said: sometimes you swallow a little bit of hair and dirt along the way, even when your intentions are pure and clean, and you¬†might not notice it¬†there at first, but eventually all that¬†crap from¬†your past gets stuck in your chest, in your head,¬†in your throat, makes you feel sick, like you just need to spit it all up, and then you do.

And Voila.

When life gives you hairballs, spit them out, and begin again.




A Lesbian Breakup Experience

A Lesbian Breakup Experience

Last Monday I missed my weekly blogging session for the first time since I started this blog in January… And today I struggle to write anything more than a few lines. The last two weeks have been pretty rocky to say the least. I’ve been struggling to keep the promise I made to myself when I first returned home to Canada- to work on myself outside of a relationship- to take care of myself and eat and sleep and drink water, and just basically function on my own…

I am absolutely terrified of being alone, I’m constantly flailing, and it is completely ridiculous, and unhealthy. More than ever, I know I need to work on myself, and find inner strength, acceptance, love and forgiveness for myself for having to make the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make.¬†

So yeah, I’m a complete mess!

Thank-goodness for everyone around me that has been here to listen, and allow me to cry and cry, and be completely emo, depressed, lost, and self-absorbed!

Someone suggested I start reading about other people’s heartbreaks and separation experiences online so I’ve been doing that, but getting annoyed because most of what is on the net is reeeeeally freaking heteronormative not to mention sexist and essentialist! But I did find this one blog that I can really relate to, so I thought I’d share it! ¬†

Just a warning though, if you are recently single and/or in a mentally unstable state, reading this will probably make you cry.



So, I have this HUGE problem with GUILT. It is my go to emotion/state-of-being. AND I AM SICK OF IT! Like this little creature in my stomach burrowing up into my chest then eating a pathway all the way back down, down, down, chewing, tearing, ripping through my insides and down into my intestines. And the worst part? It’s not the kind of upset tummy you can just spew or poop out and feel better- it’s a constant gnawing, flipping, fretting, worrying, guilt-tripping myself!

I make a million little goals for myself and then I feel guilty constantly because I can’t possibly achieve all of them in a week or in a month or whenever it is I have set my most recent deadline for… I’m always putting myself down because I never get enough done- last week I went to the gym 4 times instead of 6 which was my goal, and so I felt shitty about it! But realistically, a couple months ago it would have been a miracle if I even got my ass up off the couch and my face out of a tub of Ben and Jerry’s half baked.

I promised myself I would make fiddling videos every friday but have yet to make another video in over a month… more GUILT…. even though I should pat myself on the back because I have actually been practicing again, and have learned a few new songs, but obviously not enough… more GUILT.

I want so badly to quit my job but, no surprise, I feel SUPER guilty because I don’t want to screw anyone over even though I dread going to work each morning and the management is crap and I get treated like crap and it is not worth my time or the money. But if they call me up and ask me to work extra days, extra hours, I don’t say no because if I did I would feel too guilty!

Do you have this problem?!?!?! How do you deal with it? Please share.


One thing I am trying, is to take the brilliant advice in this video. Check it out.

Of course, not all of my guilt is caused from me effing up, sometimes I don’t even know the route cause of all of the mind-numbing, stomach-flipping guilt- but more often then not it is because I feel like I have messed up, and let myself (or someone else) down in some way.

So, here’s to effing up as process, and flushing all of that guilt down the toilet….

It’s a new week,

It’s a new day,

If I mess up, it’s okay, at least I tried…

Or maybe I didn’t try,

But that doesn’t mean I can’t try now,

And I will try

and try

and try

and try

and try again

to feel pride

to see success in every failure,

to be/feel NOT GUILTY, for a change.

Heidi J. Loos