"I had agreed to pick up Kate [not her real name] on my way to the centre. When I got to her house she was alone with her kids. Her husband was out hunting and she'd asked her dad to babysit. He hadn't showed yet, so we sat down to wait for him. We visited, I tried out my Inuktitut on the kids, we talked about kids.

Kate said she'd been writing in her journal and I asked if I could see it. She had to look for it, rummaging through the cupboards and getting a chair to stand on so she could search in the cupboard above the fridge. I heard lots of complaining sounds about how the kids were always getting into her stuff and she couldn't keep anything to herself. I wondered how it could be hard to find something in her house which is almost bare. Not full of "stuff" like mine is. She finally found her journal and I started to read.

There is something very magical about her writing. I feel bombarded by her words, even though she writes simply and in broken English. One part that sticks in my mind is when she talks about a recent incident - very descriptive and I could see the events in my mind as if I was there. Then she wrote, "When will my life be normal? Just go along? It's so crazy. So fucking crazy. Never normal. Just shit, shit, shit. All the time shit." Some of it was underlined and darkened by writing over many times with the pen. She captured the voice in my own head with those words - phrases - ideas- rage - We talked about how we might be able to get our writing published.