Why I Wrote A Flicker of Time

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My father died a few years back. He was the last of his generation in my family and so his passing and my loss were profound. It got me thinking:

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How is the worth of a life measured? By thoughts and deeds? By successes and failures? By choices and consequences managed? By the people who come and go and perhaps leave an imprint? Or is it merely the amount of time spent on this earth?

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Maybe it's all just a collection of random molecules arranged into whatever it is we are. Who knows? But as human beings, we tend to not just merely exist but to  seek out meaning to our existence.

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Those thoughts brought me back to my dad and the life he led, the events of his life, his struggles, his outlook, his ability to adapt and meet adversity head-on with determination and often with humour -- his simple and optimistic view of the world in a century of uncertainty and upheaval. How remarkable he was!

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At first my dad was reluctant to discuss anything about his life, locking away the treasures of his memories. But after my mother passed away, a door creaked open just a crack aand -- although the floodgates never fully opened all the way -- those memories began to trickle out little by little: observations and experiences that molded him into the man that he became.

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This made me think of all of the untold stories in the world, of people who lived their lives and passed into history without ever having told his or her story.

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And so I wrote A Flicker of TIme, the tale of someone who grew up and changed alongside the ever-changing city in which he lived and died. The result is a historical fiction set in Toronto that blazes through the 20th century and into the 21st. It is inspired by the stories my father told me about his life, mixed with a little imagination and a touch of magical realism.

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The memory of my father is, to me, the worth of his life.