This is an exciting year for the Northwestern Ontario Writers Workshop. We have many new events and programs being offered, including our Peer-to-Peer Review. 
 
This provides you an opportunity to gain insights into your own work while also supporting other writers by providing them some thoughts and suggestions of your own. 
 
Commencing at the start of November and again in April, NOWW will accept submissions from writers wishing to receive feedback on their work. Guidelines will be posted in October. 
 
Shortly thereafter, anyone who has submitted their own work for review, will then receive an email containing a fellow writer’s submission. All who enter to receive feedback, will also provide feedback to another writer. This means that each writer is also a reviewer. 
 
Responses will be completed on a short form to ensure consistency of review for all who enter. We look forward to connecting writers and developing a system for critique and review that is available to all and helps us grow and improve in our craft. 
 
The Peer-to-Peer Review will work as follows: 
 
Timeline:
 
Day 1:             Peer-to-Peer Review Opens

Day 1-7:          Submissions may be sent in to the Peer-to-Peer Review Program.

Day 8:       Submissions will be mailed to the reviewer. Each participant will receive a     submission.

Day 9-29:      Reviewers will read and consider a submission and complete the Peer-to-Peer Response Form which they will then email to admin@nowwwriters.ca

Day 30:        Participants will receive an email containing the Peer-to-Peer Response Form       for their work.
 
Rules:
 
1.     Entries must be written in English.
2.     Only electronic submissions will be accepted, preferably in Microsoft word, RTF or PDF files.
3.     Submissions will only be accepted until Midnight, Eastern Time on the 7thnight. Any submissions received after this time will not be eligible for the Peer-to-Peer Program that month.
4.     Only one submission per Peer-to-Peer Review Month. You may submit once in November and once in April per year. 
5.     One submission of poetry is not to exceed 150 lines, in 12-point font, single-spaced. Note that if you are using specific formatting, pdf is the preferred document type.
6.     One submission of playwriting, fiction, creative nonfiction, YA, etc. is not to exceed 5 pages, double-spaced, in 12-point font.
7.     Submissions can be of any format: poetry, playwriting, fiction, creative nonfiction, YA, etc. in any style and of any theme.
8.     If you submit something to be reviewed, you are required to be a reviewer for someone else.
9.     You will return only the Peer-to-Peer Response Form. If you would like to discuss the submission further with the writer, please contact NOWW.
10.  If you have difficulties with returning the Peer-to-Peer Response Form, please contact NOWW in advance of the deadline.
11.  There is no fee to participate in the Peer-to-Peer Review Program.
12.  Pleasedo notinclude your name on your submission. 
13.  Provide your name and Title of Entry in the body of your email.
14.  Email entries to: admin@nowwwriters.ca
 
 
Eligibility:
 
To participate in the Peer-to-Peer Program you must be a member in good standing of the Northwestern Ontario Writers Workshop.
 
 
 

Dirty hands, bare feet, rosy cheeks, I was a child of the mud and sky. Fences, rock walls, boarders, and boundaries didn’t exist; they were just one more object to climb, like the swaying crab-apple tree, the rusted tin roof of the back shed, or the wooded composted heap. My parents would release me into the yard after breakfast, an inexorable hurricane. I roamed.


Of all my adventures, my favourite exploration was that of a strange old tub stuck in the middle of the yard, slowly sinking, consumed by earth and time. At night, I would lie awake thinking of the multitudinous crawly creatures that would stray unwittingly over the smooth porcelain sides, falling off the edge of the world as they knew it. And in the mornings, my sister and I would tumble out the back door, a flurry of small padding feet across the deck, in a race to throw ourselves upon the grass and peer over the ledge, to stare down in wonder upon the microcosm below. I was the goddess of them all, those centipedes, grasshoppers, ants, and aphids – and they were my subjects. The beetles were best, with a hidden rainbow to be discovered along the contours of their shiny shells when you held them up to the light. “Eat that one, I dare you” I would say to my wide-eyed little sister, her mouth already smeared with dirt. Our grubby hands were Titans released from the blue abyss above. They scurried. 


But one day, as we continued to chronicle our assortment of creatures, a matted brown nose shot up from the grassy plug hole and shockingly sharp teeth gnashed at the ants migrating up the tub’s slanted walls. We leapt from the tub with a shriek and the creature retreated into darkness. When it did not reappear, I told my sister to take a stick and jam it into the hole, to draw the trespasser out, but the hole was too deep to reach and it stuck. We filled the breach to the roots. It was a shrew, mom told us that night at the dinner table, and we should leave it alone. We waited weeks for it to return, our fingers curled tentatively around the overgrown edges along the tub. We darned not enter. But it never came back. Slowly, the long grass staked its claim, pushing its way through the ever-growing web of ceramic cracks, moisture pooled along the rutted foundation, and the acrid waters became a sea of decomposing insect carcasses. Meanwhile, overhead, we watched the stagnant little world be swallowed whole. We mourned.

 
     When I learn my body escaped, I can’t react. At least, not like I would have before. I have no nails to chew, no shoulders to tense, no cortisol to signal fight, flight to my brain. That’s Disembodiment’s whole selling point, after all. Lack of physicality increases productivity! Without a bladder, there’s no need for bathroom breaks. Without a stomach, no need for lunchtime nourishment. Coffee even becomes irrelevant. Coffee! It’s surprising how alert your mind functions when not captive to a demanding body crying, “Feed me! Walk me! Let’s play! Squirrel!” Kidding on that last one, but really, without the benefit of higher consciousness, humans are more or less like dogs. I’m not saying kill your dog. Just sometimes, when you need to get stuff done, the dog’s best left with a sitter. That’s all.

     Luckily, Disembodiment Tech set up shop (in my neighbourhood of all places!) in a clinic on Fourth above a weed dispensary. Like weed, I thought I’d give it a try once, just once, see what all the buzz was about—though I sorta, kinda got hooked. You can’t blame me. Disembodiment was a game changer! At first, it was just about distraction-free productivity. You know how your brain creates dopamine whenever you get a Like, essentially addicting itself to social media? Not a problem when you don’t have organs! I finished a week’s worth of work in eight hours. Then, two weeks’ worth in a half day. Soon, it evolved into something else entirely. It’s not just that I’d meet up with other Disembodied in the Cloud, it’s that We’d become One.  

     Click. A chord painlessly plugs into my cervical spine. OK, it hurts a little, but not more than a bee sting. My consciousness releases into the Cloud, while my body—set to Zombie Mode—dumbly walks the day away on a treadmill like a hamster in a wheel. Good for the heart they say. Not to mention the calves.  

     Except today, when my session expires, I’m not returned to my body.
​
    “The bodies escaped.” A clinician appears on a billboard beside the Information Super Highway. Her pores look like tar pits, nose too close to her webcam. I zoom out. Better. She’s panicked, sweat beads dripping from her forehead. “Details are scant, though we’re told it was a large-scale event. All over the globe, bodies walked out. Just like that.”

    Enslaved to my body, I would have angered. Asked to speak to a manager. Demanded a refund! WROTE A SCATHING ONLINE REVIEW! Not my fault. Damn adrenal glands. I was under the influence of cortisol and adrenaline, mmmkay? 

     In the Cloud, it’s different. Not beholden to bodies, We Free. 

    We fly into the universe. On our way, We see headlines providing clues to Our bodies’ fates. Mass Migration to Coast! Bodies Taking Over Beaches Worldwide! And, Our personal favourite, Should Bodies Be Granted Human Rights?  
​
    With no pulse to keep rhythm, we chant: We Free, We Free, We Free.  
    

Congratulations to the winners of the NOWW Flash Fiction Contest. 
​
Please enjoy the 3rd place winner, Laura-Lee Pernsky, and her story Mama Bear We will have the second, and first place winner posted very soon.  

“You should take the baby and go for a walk,” he said on his way out the door.
 
I had never wanted to hit someone so badly in my life.
 
I know he meant well, but he thinks that he gets it. He held my hand through it all, sure. Counted the breaths. Brought me the ice chips. Woke me up when I fell asleep through pushes because I was just so exhausted from being torn apart, and then sat beside me as they sliced my belly open and removed our son from the warm cavity of my abdomen.
 
But he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t have flashbacks of blood stained sheets, of excruciating pain, of failing as our baby tried, no, demandedto be brought into this world.
 
And he doesn’t understand the new fears… of everything. Climate change. Measles outbreaks. People who drive too fast on our road. I have to protect this tiny boy from everything and it terrifies me.
 
It had been a brutally cold winter, and no one wants to take a newborn out in that. But now spring was tiptoeing in. The incessant drip, drip of melting icicles on the overhang of our deck. A sun that shone not only light but warmth through our picture window where I would gaze out both hungrily and fearfully as the baby and I would sit in the recliner to nurse and nap. I decided to brave it.
 
I bundled him up in a buffalo plaid bunting suit and tucked him carefully into the carseat, wrapping him in blankets and pulling a little knitted hat down almost over his eyes. I nearly forgot my own hat, but that’s what seems to happen when you become a mom. Off we went.
 
My first steps were tentative, as they are likely to be when you’ve recently recovered from major surgery. My thoughts remained dark despite the bright cerulean sky.
 
We went about a kilometre, then the exhaustion took over and I turned toward home. A sudden rustling caught my attention, and I froze in terror as a bear emerged from the underbrush in the ditch. She was so black she was the absence of colour. I couldn’t move, could barely breathe. Two tiny, scraggly cubs crept out behind her, and our eyes locked over our babies. She stopped and raised her muzzle, tasting my scent of milk and hormones on the April breeze.
 
“It’s okay, Mama,” I whispered as she stared me down, daring me to interfere as the cubs trotted across the road. Then she followed them and disappeared into the leaves.
 
I found a strength I didn’t know I had as I pushed the stroller home at a trot, and exhaled in relief as the door closed behind us. I picked up my son and hugged him tightly. The world was scary for every mother, but I could do this. He was my cub, and I was his mama bear, and we were in this together.

By the time Idmon had been pushed away from twenty three houses, he suffered a broken leg, four eye pokes, a burnt scalp and more scrapes and scratches than he cared to count.  His back ached."Get out!" they would shout at him, when they had words at all, but most often they simply screamed and struck out, trying to rid him from their spaces, even the planet. He knew their hospitality so he was usually prepared, but sometimes he wasn't quite quick enough. A warm space, that's all he wanted. Somewhere in from the wind, somewhere that wouldn't make him too tired to move and freeze his skeleton to the sidewalk. A little food, too. That would be nice.
 
He knew he was intimidating. For his size, he was stronger than anyone ought to be, and they didn't much like his cunning, either. They didn't see that he could be of great help, a vigilant night watchman, and keep order in the depths of their households. His very survival depended on watching, but here he was again, broken. 
 
His entire body throbbed and he had to drag himself onward after an old woman in hair rollers went after him with an umbrella all the way until the end of her driveway, where a man then tried to run him over with his car.  Still, he never fought back. What was the point? So here he was, on the doorstep of house number twenty four. Idmon looked up, hopeful. Please have mercy on my soul. Take me in and let me be of service. I promise I will make you happy until I die. 
 
Firelight glowed through the windowpanes and Idmon yearned to be within. He took a few painful steps, winced, and drug his broken body toward the front door when a small boy leapt out of the house, scarf and hat falling away as he chased a restless dog onto the lawn. "Help me. Please. Angel of heaven!" Idmon begged the child. The boy bent over to retrieve his hat and regarded Idmon for the first time, slumped there, spasming in pain. Like the others, the boy was wary, too, but little boys were good at seeing past ugly exteriors. They knew ugly could be useful. 
The dog sniffed Idmon's face, but the boy held the dog away, patting its rump back up the stairs. "Go. Go in!" Then the boy reached out to Idmon, leading him with gentle hands into the safety of the house and away from the crippling cold.  "Merciful God! Thank you for this boy!" Idmon cried with happiness as the boy smiled down upon him, carried him upstairs, and deposited him into a glass box. Then Idmon was quickly swallowed by a lizard.  Spiders were useful after all.