Kendall Defoe
Bio
Teacher, reader, writer, dreamer... I am a college instructor who cannot stop letting his thoughts end up on the page. No AI. No Fake Work. It's all me...
And I did this:
Achievements (6)
Stories (850)
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The End of an Error
It has been some time since I have written here. I look back at my ninety-plus stories here and wonder what it all will lead to; how far I can go with these ideas and basic brain droppings. There are other pages I contribute to, and I have other responsibilities and ideas in front of me. But I cannot ignore something that has happened recently at my place of work. I cannot just sit here and head into another weekend with papers to mark, laundry to clean and my general routine when I have free time.
By Kendall Defoe 4 years ago in Confessions
Rules for Media Students
I have been teaching at a college in my adopted hometown of Montréal for many years now, and one of my courses is a media class that was developed for them in English. I have taught this particular course for over a decade now, and one of the things that I have discovered is that my students are quite conservative. This is not to say that there has been no talent in my classes. It means that I have had to shock them out of their complacency about what work in the film business will be like and what types of jobs are available out there.
By Kendall Defoe 4 years ago in Education
J.
Note: This story was one that I completed as an undergraduate. The rule was we had to take one line from two separate books and use them at the beginning and at the end of the story (that may explain the strange quotations included in this piece - I do not remember the names of the books used).
By Kendall Defoe 4 years ago in Fiction
Supellectilem Cladis!
As of 5:15 AM this morning, I have stopped being a consumer of flatpack products from that Swedish company. I did not expect to have such a dramatic epiphany, but I realize now that I should have seen the signs earlier. And when you hear my story, you will understand my decision.
By Kendall Defoe 4 years ago in Confessions
Nobel-ling It
It is now a very cold day in January, and there seems to be some talk about the Super Bowl and the eventual winners and losers of the great American grudge match. I really do not care for big sports events, excluding the Stanley Cup (mostly for the joy of seeing the Toronto Maple Leafs once again refuse to accept their pathetic nature and just suffer properly in the regular season). But there is one event that I do look forward to every autumn. This is the Nobel Prize season, a week taken out of October to both disturb and annoy those few who still care.
By Kendall Defoe 4 years ago in Writers
Nocturnal
“You gotta listen to your dad. No is a no.” That was his mother, but he was not really listening anymore. When he heard the old man snoring next to his mother in the next room, he knew that his time had come. There was a space between his bedroom window and the abandoned field that he could cross in about two minutes (ledge, barrel, grass) and then there would be time to make it out to the building.
By Kendall Defoe 4 years ago in Fiction
The Mattress Jump
With a new year comes the set of promises that we all make and call resolutions. We resolve to do things like lose weight, eat right, read more, change jobs, find a loving relationship, or simply give up something. My own set of resolutions was very simple: get a new phone (done); exercise more (already on my way with jogging, yoga and other exercises); take a chance on relationships (Covid-19 has made this a very interesting challenge). But there was one other thing that I decided to do and have had planned in my mind for more than a year: a new bed.
By Kendall Defoe 4 years ago in Confessions
The Seven Types of Cold
As a Canadian, I am often asked, “Why?” This question, of course, confuses me until I realize that the person who poses it wants a clear answer about the weather. Over the last week, winter has asserted itself in my adopted hometown of Hampstead, Quebec (a Montreal suburb with more quiet than I deserve). Ice is now hidden under a dusting of snow, and it is very hard to take a step without the feeling that you are about to connect to pavement and asphalt in a very painful and intimate way. I do understand why the question exists.
By Kendall Defoe 4 years ago in Humans
