Power Q & A with Caitlin Galway

Q: Your short fiction collection, A Song for Wildcats (Dundurn Press, 2025), is remarkable in many regards: it has lilting, poetic language, haunting and gorgeous imagery, and—what we want to ask you about today—an unusual structure. Your book is made up of five longer stories, as opposed to many shorter ones. Would you tell us about writing longer form short fiction?

A: The longer form definitely comes naturally to me, though it’s not something I set out to do, so much as a reflection of how I think. I’ve learned to see my own intuitive approaches more clearly, and how to amplify or deconstruct them, challenge or upend them. Something particular that I’ve realized is that as I write, everything is somewhat of a spiderweb; ideas emerge connected to several other ideas, which connect to one layer, then another, and so on. It’s part of what feeds me electricity as a writer: this instantaneous, sparking interaction between narrative, symbolism, philosophy, psychological and emotional interiority, history, and commentary, and I find that it means the story will probably need more breathing room. 

“The Lyrebird’s Bell”, for example, on a narrative level is a story about two young girls and the absorbing, even disturbing bond they form in response to isolation and familial abuse. There’s a prominent layer exploring the complexities of human relationships, and another navigating grief, trauma, and the impulse to retain some shred of love. However, it’s also a story about essentialism, and how metaphysical reflection might manifest in the mind of a child desperate to make sense of the inexplicable. It’s also about imagination, both as joy and necessity, and why it’s so often steeped in myth. 

Those layers need to engage with one another thoughtfully and meaningfully, and as a result, I usually feel a certain elasticity to a story. It keeps lengthening because it demands more space to explore itself, and for me, it’s a matter of being receptive and listening.

More about A Song for Wildcats:

Infatuation and violence grow between two girls in the enchanting wilderness of postwar Australia as they spin disturbing fantasies to escape their families. Two young men in the midst of the 1968 French student revolts navigate — and at times resist — the philosophical and emotional nature of love. An orphaned boy and his estranged aunt are thrown together on a quiet peninsula at the height of the Troubles in Ireland, where their deeply rooted fear attracts the attention of shape-shifting phantoms of war.

The five long-form stories in A Song for Wildcats are uncanny portraits of grief and resilience and are imbued with unique beauty, insight, and resonance from one of the country's most exciting authors.

About Caitlin Galway:

Caitlin Galway is the author of the novel Bonavere Howl and the forthcoming short story collection A Song for Wildcats. Her work has appeared in Best Canadian Stories 2025, EVENT, Gloria Vanderbilt's Carter V. Cooper Anthology, House of Anansi's The Broken Social Scene Story Project (selected by Feist), The Ex-Puritan as the 2020 Morton Prize winner (selected by Pasha Malla), Riddle Fence as the 2011 Short Fiction Contest winner, and on CBC Books as the Stranger than Fiction Prize winner (selected by Heather O'Neill).

Power Q & A with Anthony Bidulka

We are beyond thrilled to be welcoming many time award-winning author, Anthony Bidulka to our blog to talk to us about his compulsively readable and utterly absorbing new mystery thriller, Home Fires Burn (Stonehouse Publishing, June 1, 2025). Anthony is a Canadian legend of the mystery thriller genre who writes from places and perspectives that you don’t often see represented on the page.

Welcome Anthony to our Power Q & A to tell us about his new book!

Home Fires Burn by Anthony Bidulka, published by Stonehouse Publishing.

Q: When so many mystery novels are set in global metropolis, tell us about the importance to you as an author of setting your book in a smaller city in Saskatchewan.

A: Even as a young boy growing up on a small family farm in rural Saskatchewan I knew I wanted to write. And I had a lot of ideas. What I didn't have was an answer to the question: Why do I write? In my case it took decades to come up with the concise answer I have today. My WHY is this: I write to tell stories about underrepresented people and underrepresented places in a way that is accessible and entertaining. 

Part of the reason for this is that growing up and even as a young adult, I rarely saw myself or my place or my community reflected in mainstream fiction. But when I did, it was mind-blowing, and felt important. Representation is important. As I came to define what was important to me as a writer this was top of mind. 

From a purely practical side of things, finding a way to distinguish yourself in a very competitive industry is not a bad thing. With my first series I was able to factually claim that my protagonist, Russell Quant, was the first and only wine-swilling, wise-cracking, world-travelling, ex-cop, ex-farm boy, gay, rookie Canadian prairie private eye. With my current trilogy, I can describe my heroine Merry Bell as the first and only kick-butt, Canadian prairie, transgender P.I. To be able to do so sets me apart as a writer, is pretty cool, and serves my WHY perfectly. 

ABOUT HOME FIRES BURN:

From the author of Crime Writers of Canada Best Crime Novel, Going to Beautiful, comes the final, standalone book of the Merry Bell trilogy. A celebrated philanthropist is found slumped against his car, frozen to death. Trans private investigator Merry Bell is hired by his son, country music star Evan Whatley, to find out the truth behind what really happened on that desolate stretch of road. As Merry’s investigation uncovers old wounds that never healed, her own are revealed as she confronts her pre-transition past and questions the boundaries of family and friendship.

About Anthony Bidulka:

Anthony Bidulka’s books have been shortlisted for Crime Writers of Canada Awards of Excellence, Saskatchewan Book Awards, a ReLit award, and Lambda Literary Awards. Flight of Aquavit was awarded the Lambda Literary Award for Best Men’s Mystery, making Bidulka the first Canadian to win in that category. In 2023, in addition to being shortlisted for a Saskatchewan Book Award and Alberta Book Publishing Award, Going to Beautiful won an Independent Publisher Book Award being named Gold Medalist as the 2023 Canada West Best Overall Fiction novel and was awarded the Crime Writers of Canada Award of Excellence as Canada’s Best Crime Novel for 2023.

Excerpt from Home Fires Burn by Anthony Bidulka

Prologue I

John gazed down at his bloody, raw hands. Curlicues of peeling skin had frozen and snapped off, falling into a crimson mound of snow and wood shards, all that was left of the fence post. The car’s windows and doors, even its hood and trunk, scratched and dented but otherwise intact, had all been subjected to a brutal beating.

Turning his back on the cruelly impenetrable vehicle, John allowed his body to flag, using the solidity of the car’s frame to hold himself up while he tried to catch his ragged breath. The intense, violent effort had caused him to sweat profusely. As he’d grown hotter, he’d torn the scarf from his neck and tossed it to the ground. He now considered retrieving it, but the effort seemed Herculean. He needed rest. But there was no time for rest. 

John Whatley was not done for. There was still hope. He had to keep moving. Constant movement would stave off the conditions intent on killing him, at least until he found help or a place to shelter. The Saskatchewan countryside is littered with homesteads, grain storage units, even an abandoned farmyard would do. He just had to find one. Just one. Then he could get out of the cold, out of the wind. Out of death’s grasp. If he couldn’t find shelter, if no one came for him, then he would damn well keep moving until he reached the city of Livingsky, until he found his way home. He was in a challenging situation, he could admit that much, but he also knew without doubt, that the same persistence that had served him so well in building a successful business would serve him now too.  

Gingerly, he crouched down and reached out to reclaim the scarf, tugging to free it from where the warmth of his sweat had caused the fabric to freeze to the ground. Refastening it for optimum protection, and more determined than ever, John buried his battered hands within the pockets of his jacket and stamped his boots to loosen the treads of snow. 

As he collected himself, an unwelcome, stubborn truth emerged in his brain like a mind thistle. On average, fifteen people die from hyperthermia/exposure in Saskatchewan every year. It was a grim statistic that most people in the province were aware of, having heard it over and over again throughout their lives. In the past, John would scoff at the warnings, thinking to himself: what idiot living in Saskatchewan wouldn’t have the common sense to be prepared? Shivering in the remote darkness, he grumbled out loud: Idiot, meet John. John, meet Idiot.

Idiot not not, people needed him. He’d been a good man, helped a great many people. He’d lived a good life. He most certainly did not deserve to have it end this way. So it was with surprise when, after wiping away a build-up of delicate snowflakes from his face—when did it start snowing?—John looked up and saw the unexpected.

On the horizon. A diffused halo. It was…Livingsky. My god, it’s Livingsky! 

He’d obviously made excellent progress. He would swear the twinkling skyline was not there even a few seconds ago. The city was closer than he’d dared to hope. His plan was working. 

John noted that his limbs felt sluggish, but fortunately the cold had become less of an issue as time passed. Knowing his horrific dilemma would soon be over was probably helping his body withstand the elements. Hope was a powerful thing. Never forget that, he told himself, repeating it in his head like a mantra.

With more effort than he expected he’d need, John urged his torso to move. If he was going to assess his progress, he’d need to turn around and look behind him, find the car in the distance (if it was even still visible). But, strangely, his body resisted. Instead of moving forward, it rolled, slowly, cumbersomely, rotating until it wedged itself into a crook of something big and solid.

What the…?

John’s confusion turned to surprise, then shock, then back to surprise. In that horrible moment he realized he wasn’t on the road, halfway to Livingsky. He wasn’t even upright. He was on the ground, cheek and jowl flattened against icy snow, lying next to his car.

Excerpt from Home Fires Burn by Anthony Bidulka © 2025 by Anthony Bidulka. Reprinted by permission of Stonehouse Publishing.

Home Fires Burn by Anthony Bidulka, published by Stonehouse Publishing.

ABOUT HOME FIRES BURN:

From the author of Crime Writers of Canada Best Crime Novel, Going to Beautiful, comes the final, standalone book of the Merry Bell trilogy. A celebrated philanthropist is found slumped against his car, frozen to death. Trans private investigator Merry Bell is hired by his son, country music star Evan Whatley, to find out the truth behind what really happened on that desolate stretch of road. As Merry’s investigation uncovers old wounds that never healed, her own are revealed as she confronts her pre-transition past and questions the boundaries of family and friendship.

About Anthony Bidulka:

Anthony Bidulka’s books have been shortlisted for Crime Writers of Canada Awards of Excellence, Saskatchewan Book Awards, a ReLit award, and Lambda Literary Awards. Flight of Aquavit was awarded the Lambda Literary Award for Best Men’s Mystery, making Bidulka the first Canadian to win in that category. In 2023, in addition to being shortlisted for a Saskatchewan Book Award and Alberta Book Publishing Award, Going to Beautiful won an Independent Publisher Book Award being named Gold Medalist as the 2023 Canada West Best Overall Fiction novel and was awarded the Crime Writers of Canada Award of Excellence as Canada’s Best Crime Novel for 2023.

Excerpt from Iris and the Dead by Miranda Schreiber (Book*Hug Press, 2025)

I wrote a story for you in a journal and it vanished. Yes, van- ished. The journal itself disappeared. Where do such missing things go?

In the story I laid down all the things I wanted you to understand. I wanted to write it because, in the years since we lay in the yellow grass, I have come to some knowledge. I cannot recall the contents of the story in full. Because of its loss, I sobbed and felt like the victim of a cruel and unusual fate.

Do you think you can write it again, said my mother when I told her.

In some ways, I said. I mean, only in part.

But the heart of the story is gone and I no longer own it.

Still, my need to speak with you seems to have no end. As I wanted to tell you, in every possible universe, when presented with what you offered me, I take it.

May I begin again?

Part I: Sickness

On My Rights as the Author

What do you remember of me? Is it difficult to make out? I know your mind, which doesn’t take much interest in the past, has possibly let me rot for years. Lacking attention, per- haps the sounds we heard together have shrunk and become difficult to name. The colours you associated with me, mixed together now, present a peculiar new hue. Maybe a bronze, made up of grey lake water and the sun.

Some of my memories of you have been darkened by the things I’ve heard and seen in the time since we knew one another. Seeing pictures of you online almost removes you more from me; an image of you in red light by the water seems to have nothing to do with you. It is only occasionally that something comes up in front of me—in that hard way vir- tual things do, so that the rest of the world recedes—and I’m flooded with feeling. For you, I know these memories might have died. For me, they keep. For you, have they simply been discarded? And if they have, to where? What I want to know is, where are the things that have vanished?

For me, very few things end. I can revisit funny memories and put a different name on them. The uncanny ones I’ve wanted to speak with you about. I am sick to death of being dazzled, of lacking the words. We did not have a love affair.

As I said, I have a story to tell you: a better one than I ever could have come up with at the time I knew you. In many ways, I am teeming with knowledge about what was hap- pening during the time we spent together, and beyond. But I should admit I’m not just trying to pass on the knowledge

I’ve come to. I also have questions to ask you. Even as I write with vital information I’m bewildered. But the answers I need may be in that place where the vanished objects go, because I am unsure that even you have them.

On the Beginning

When I was twelve I lost my mind.

The phrase doesn’t bother me. I think it’s correct. I lost my mind as accidentally as I lost pencils and five-dollar bills. Maybe my mind flew down the sky to a land of the dead. I don’t believe this, of course. But it’s better to think it was somewhere.

On the Study of Strange Things

A gift is frightening. It comes with moorings. I am indebted to you, which makes this whole thing stranger. You overflow, my love. You exceed. For years your gift and its consequences seemed uncontrollable.

Part of you helped me because you wanted to free me. That was the gift you gave. But another part of you wanted to keep me in a contractual relation. Because a gift creates a debtor; gratitude flows forever as all of the gift’s effects play out. And in another way you left me so little. I have letters, a T-shirt. There is some documentation of our time together. My unsent emails are a study in bewilderment. When I was twenty I thought about writing to you: Of course this isn’t to overlook the wonderful things you did for me, but I’ve been thinking about the cost… Still, however, the uninformed archivist would never be able to sort our data from noise. A colossus of evi- dence claims we were meaningless to one another. I myself, evaluating it, could make a strong case for barely knowing you. I could argue the following: there is only one photo of these women together. Neither has ever wished the other merry Christmas. The one card they exchanged said, “Thanks for everything thus far.” Therefore, these two women knew each other briefly and then forgot one another. These two women spent a few months together and didn’t think much about

it after.

But really, the card was written in panic. It implored. “Thus far” actually meant I must have more. “Thus far” was intended to mean I’m old enough now, although I wrote it when I was very young.

Excerpt from Iris and the Dead by Miranda Schreiber copyright © 2025 by Miranda Schreiber. Reprinted by permission of Book*hug Press.

Miranda Schreiber’s Iris and the Dead (Book*hug Press, June 10, 2025).

About Iris and the Dead:

Iris and the Dead unfurls the hidden power dynamics of abuse, offering a beguiling inquiry into intergenerational trauma, moral ambiguity, and queer identity. This haunting exploration of love and desire, disability and madness, and trauma and recovery, is a diaristic marvel for fans of Annie Erneaux.

Weaving personal memory with magic realism and folklore, Iris and the Dead asks: What if you could look back and tell someone exactly how they changed the course of your life?

For our narrator, that someone is Iris, the counsellor with whom she developed an unusual, almost violent bond. There are things she needs to tell Iris: some that she hid during the brief time they knew each other, and some that she has learned since. She was missing her mind the autumn they spent together and has since regained it.

Miranda Schreiber. Photo credit: Sarah Bodri.

MIRANDA SCHREIBER is a Toronto-based writer and researcher. Her work has appeared in places like the Toronto Star, the Walrus, the Globe and Mail, BBC, and the National Post. She has been nominated for a digital publishing award by the National Media Foundation and was the recipient of the Solidarity and Pride Champion Award from the Ontario Federation of Labour. Iris and the Dead is her debut book.