I've always had trouble with motivation; this explains a lot. Once I find something that works for me, it usually stops working. It's that whole self-sabotage-I-need-five-life-coaches thing. So I try new things.

Take this weekend for example. Friday was spent at a Keep Toronto Reading event, where Linwood Barclay, a Toronto Star columnist I truly enjoy, spoke about the curse of being a writer and making a living at it. What followed was a discussion with four Toronto-based writers on their work, their muses and their feelings about the city. All were given the assignment to write a page or two on a story that involves a library. When Warren Dunford read his tale, I knew I had discovered a new favourite author. Delicious details, captivating characters...I felt sorry for the authors who followed him, though all four did a fabulous job.

On Sunday I met up with a girlfriend who's just as wacky as I am and we went to Michelle Rowen's first-ever book signing at the World's Biggest Bookstore. Michelle sat between two accomplished authors (Margaret Moore and Kayla Perrin) and looked right at home. It was a festive event, being right around Valentine's Day and all, with performers on stilts, men handing out pink carnations and cake.

One day, I might get to be the one sitting at the table. No, not the cake table, the book-signing table. Maybe I should go pen shopping, just to be prepared.