Kathryn Kuitenbrouwer grew up on a lolling fifty-acre farm in Ontario, where she had inordinate amounts of freedom and independence. The only danger was getting lost in the backwoods fairyland, falling asleep in the bed made by a clump of cedar trees, or getting caught by the boot in a frogpond. These were dangers she sought out daily. In some way, writing stories is a way back into these singular, unhinged experiences, because even in their strangeness, they felt both free and real. Kathryn now lives in Toronto, where she tramps the parks, the university, the lakeshore and the cafés. The deepest secret to writing, she believes, is to write what she sees, and smells, and hears, which is not always what is really there.