Jane Eaton Hamilton

"I cannot and will not cut my conscience to fit this year’s fashions.” – Lillian Hellman

This what we get killed for

My heart chokes for all the victims, survivors and loved ones of the Orlando executions. We hold you in our queer hearts. Always. All ways.

Excerpt from my 1998 poetry chapbook, Going Santa Fe, which won the League of Canadian Poets Poetry Chapbook Award judged by bill bissett.



Tell me something about lesbians


We are famous for potlucks


Tell me something real


I am trying to tell you

she and I are the same thing


I am trying

to tell you I am a woman

she is a woman

the same thing

as you, just

two people uniting

netting love from the

marine heavens


We comfort each other

when the sky churns like a cauldron

grey foam


Wouldn’t you wish this pleasure

on anyone?




The truth is I grew the

tub of nodding sunflowers

And the bowl of chicken

on the harvest table? I cooked

And the quilt you lie on? I sewed it

And the book in your hands? I wrote it

And the baby’s cheek? I kissed it


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Fair play: can literary festivals pay their way?

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Here’s an issue near and dear to my heart. With nearly everyone around the publishing industry earning at least a piddling wage, from the guy transporting the books to your shop to the guy looking after your plumbing to the editor, guess who still isn’t?

The writer.

Writers toil on a hope that ten percent of the proceeds from sales of their books will pay their mortgage, feed their babies, and keep them in licorice. With books sometimes coming out as infrequently as once a decade, with a best seller in Canada selling only 5000 copies, you can do the math yourself.

It’s appalling that publishing systems are in place to look after everyone all along the chain except for the actual lynchpin of the entire operation.

Now here comes Alex Clark talking about the money for writers at literary festivals. “Pullman’s standpoint was unequivocal: “A festival pays the people who supply the marquees, it pays the printers who print the brochure, it pays the rent for the lecture halls and other places, it pays the people who run the administration and the publicity, it pays for the electricity it uses, it pays for the drinks and dinners it lays on: why is it that the authors, the very people at the centre of the whole thing, the only reason customers come along and buy their tickets in the first place, are the only ones who are expected to work for nothing?”

Fair Play

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