A few weeks ago, a retired French teacher walked into my small shop in Montreal. At first, she was simply another customer. We chatted a little, as I often do with the people who come through the door. Eventually, she became interested in one of my books, a short French novella titled La lettre et le silence. To be honest, I felt a little embarrassed selling it to her. The book is only thirty-six pages long. Compared with the hundreds of pages of many novels, it felt almost f

It started with 517.90 dollars. In January of this year, an unfamiliar phone number was added to my PayPal account. Shortly afterward, my password was changed. Then a total of $517.90 USD was spent through three separate transactions that I did not authorize. Like many people, I assumed the situation would be straightforward. An account had been compromised. The transactions would be investigated. The facts would be reviewed. The money would either be returned or a clear expl

There are moments when time does not announce itself loudly. It does not arrive through birthdays. It does not arrive through grey hair. It does not arrive through a doctor’s appointment or a formal milestone. Sometimes, it appears in the middle of an ordinary conversation with a customer in the shop. Over the past few months, this has happened more than once. While chatting with customers, the topic of age would come up naturally. I would mention my age casually, without muc

Yesterday, a couple walked into our small shop to renew their Canadian passport photos. At first glance, there was nothing unusual about the visit. We take passport photos every day. But as we talked, their story gradually unfolded. Like me, they came from Northwestern China. We even discovered a shared affection for Qin Opera, the powerful and ancient theatrical tradition of our region. Both husband and wife had earned PhDs in aerodynamics in China. They belonged to a genera

Yesterday at our little shop in Montreal, we were reminded—again—that what we print is rarely just ink on material. A young man from Cameroon came in urgently. He was preparing for his wedding this weekend in Montreal and needed a pop-up banner—fast. The kind of portable display you usually see at trade shows, business booths, or events, but here it was destined for something far more intimate: a wedding space filled with friends, family, and two lives quietly converging. We

Some days in a small shop feel ordinary at first, but quietly accumulate meanings you don’t notice until later. Today began like one of those days. A young man came into our store holding a dog in his arms. He spoke gently, but there was a clear purpose in his request: he needed passport photos for his father, who was seated in a wheelchair due to a disability. Annie prepared everything as she always does—backdrop, camera, setup, routine. The kind of calm efficiency that come

Recently, I became curious about book titles. Like many independent authors, I occasionally search online to see whether a title has been used before, whether similar books exist, and how readers might react to certain words. What I discovered was not surprising. Words like fold, floating, shadow, dream, river, and world appear everywhere. They are almost universal literary magnets. They are concrete enough to create an image, yet abstract enough to hold many meanings. At fir

Earlier today, I published a blog post about a quiet rainy day in my shop. After several days of heat and humidity, the rain had finally arrived. The weather was cooler, the streets were calmer, and for most of the day, not a single customer had walked through my door. I wrote about how running a neighborhood print and photo shop is about more than making sales. Of course, revenue matters. Rent must be paid. Families must be supported. But what I missed most was something muc

There is a particular kind of story that refuses to behave like it matters too much. It keeps undercutting its own seriousness, even when things get intense, even when people are kidnapped, or marriages are reorganized like logistics problems, or entire companies start to look like accidental governments. The story I’ve been writing — Nonimportantech — is like that. The name itself already carries a kind of self-defense mechanism. It sounds dismissive, almost ironic, as if th

Today I attended Kendra’s Summer Weekend Flea Market for the third time as a small business participant. Back in 2024, the market was held directly on Notre-Dame Street. In 2025, it moved to Sir-George-Étienne-Cartier Square Park. This year, it returned again to the same park. The location has remained familiar, but the atmosphere has clearly evolved each year. It feels more alive, more crowded, and more confident in its own rhythm. In the days leading up to the event, I was