Ellen Symons, Author

Writing Spaces

  • Work…and worth it

    Today I sent off my novel Hyssop Hill on its first real query to a real agent. So let me tell you. I spent six hours getting this pitch package together. Looking up the agent. Reading about them and the type of book they want. Tailoring my letter and my synopsis so they fit the Read more

  • New publication: “Beneath a Filigree of Scars”

    Please join me in my excitement! My short story, “Beneath a Filigree of Scars,” is now available online in the inaugural issue of Lanark County’s newest Literary Arts Magazine, The LAM! This gem of a magazine is full of local brilliance! Click here to download the mag, and navigate to page 28 for my story. Read more

  • One and twelve

    One and twelve

    First day of the final draft. In 2020, genius-me finished the first draft of my current novel-in-progress, in only six months. Finished! Why do people moan about how hard writing is? Knowing how to read words, and having written a few poems and stories, I surely knew how to write a novel. As my twelve-year-old Read more

  • Five-minute journal

    Five-minute journal

    As of Jan 1, I’ve been using a brilliant journalling technique that a writing instructor shared: Spend five minutes each night before bed writing about your manuscript. (Not working on it, mind you. That comes the next day.) What I discovered about that short story, “Smooch”: I don’t care about Estelle, my main character. She’s Read more

  • Like flying

    Like flying

    When I’m writing well, it feels like flying. Heady, steady, free. No need to steer or fear. Perfect harmony: page, words, brain. I’m not flying now. I’m standing on a rock, holding the pages of a story I’m shaping, and gathering myself to leap with them into flight. I’m crouching, readying, springing up and…no. My Read more

  • The Menagerie

    “You can say no.” Could she? Susan’s finger flicked over the edge of the lawyer’s square conference table, wishing it were round. Straight edges unsettled her: dangerous cliffs, appearing from nowhere, causing her elbow to knock pencils, notepads, cups of coffee to the floor. Causing her brain to fill with images of herself sailing over, Read more

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