The best and fastest way for this to grow is for you to share the posts within your networks. A forward goes a long way, and the more subscribers we get, the more I’ll be able to write. The writing may change in the next few months to be a bit more entertaining (we hope) so tell your friends!

Canada is a nation of regions, and in our ongoing debate about what it means to be Canadian (or whether we, here in Alberta, should be), the regional identities they spawn quickly overtake discussions about the national. The thing is, regions are determined, often, by geography, not provincial boundaries, even though it is the concept of a provincial identity that often dominates the discourse. For the few who have driven across the country, this observation seems obvious to the point of redundancy; East-Central Alberta and the Prairie regions of Saskatchewan and Manitoba are of one kind, so too is the Peace Country on both sides of the border. And in what world does Sudbury have anything in common with Toronto?

National borders, though, are often much more rigid, even if there is a shared geography. This is partially due to stark political choices—and realities—overtaking geography’s influence. I’m sure the Italians and French living in the Alps had a lot more in common before Napoleon and Garibaldi had their say (never mind the fact that they didn’t think of themselves as “French” or “Italian” before that).

Wallace Stegner’s Wolf Willow is a lot of things that make one think about identity and memory. Part memoir, part historical fiction, it is a bizarrely structured book, something that really doesn’t work all that well. Stegner’s prose is so engaging and driving, though, that it doesn’t matter. It explores, inconclusively, a region that has both geographical unity and stark nationalist differences, while also grappling with the forces that forge an identity and with how even the things you hate from your youth are a part of you. As he concludes: “I may not know who I am, but I know where I am from.”

Stegner was a 20^th-century American novelist who was a Pulitzer-winning writer (called “The Dean of Western Writers”) who, coincidentally, spent a short but highly influential period of his youth growing up in Eastend, Saskatchewan. His time there was short, but impactful. He changed the town’s name in the book to hide some of the criticism he levels at it throughout, especially when writing about it following a return decades later.

Stegner details the history of the Cypress Hills, a geographic landmark that straddles the Alberta-Saskatchewan border. The law came before the people, in stark contrast to his American birthplace, although the people, plains folk outrunning the law and forged by weather and reality into being hard, pragmatic, and callous, had a lot in common. At least until the law arrived:

The effect of a dry, windy, cold land is obvious to Stegner:

It is Stegner’s idea of the frontier that is most relevant to discussing regional identity in a Canadian context. The frontier is something people chase; it is a dream. Freedom, prosperity, romance (in all senses of the word). Two characters stand out in Wolf Willow: Rusty, an Englishman who finds himself near death working cattle, and Pop Martin, who is a typical small-town prairie booster who thinks they can find immeasurable wealth in the delivery of civilization. Both are looking for something in the frontier, and both are slapped hard by reality: the first by the reality of prairie weather, the second by failure for prosperity to arrive.

But it is starkly different from the American frontier, due to the aforementioned timeline of law before settlement. The idea of the frontier, and the kind of men the frontier creates, is also starkly different in Canada than it is in the United States. This is from the forward by his daughter, Page:

The mythology of a frontier that is rugged, and more importantly, will always be, is refuted in the reality faced by townsfolk, farmers, and cowboys alike. Frontiers change: “Progress destroys what makes a frontier satisfying,” but “Progress? It is impossible not to believe in progress in a frontier town. Every possibility is open, every opportunity still untested.” It’s the catch-22 of the prairies.

Alberta is a frontier. Well, Alberta was a frontier. Part of that identity remains, and it is ingrained in so many of us, but so too is the progress of our economy, and in turn, our identity. Just like the characters in Wolf Willow, in a town not dissimilar to many in Alberta, we’ve gone from the fur trade to open-range ranching to farming, oil and gas, and now tech, finance, and advanced manufacturing. In many ways, our economy now resembles Ontario’s more than it does the Alberta economy of the ‘90s.

Knowing the history Stegner relates about the Cypress Hills country is knowing a lot about the history of Alberta, too. And in doing so, it is understanding that our identity is different, but not wholly, from the nation; that our identity is starkly different from the Americans’, and that this has always been so. Stegner returned to Eastend to research the book and, in doing so, discovered a history he didn’t know while living there. He writes, simply, “I wish I had known some of this.” It’s a lament we should all have, because no one knows enough about their own history. Alberta, just like the rest of Canada, is the product of British law and order, not American anarchy. If anything unites us, from coast to coast, it is that.

Alberta Review relies on subscriptions to operate (we hate ads, and they’re kind of pointless). Please consider subscribing to support the publication.

Subscribe now

Alberta Review is in no way associated with previous iterations of the publication Alberta Review.

The best and fastest way for this to grow is for you to share the posts within your networks. A forward goes a long way, and the more subscribers we get, the more I’ll be able to write. The writing may change in the next few months to be a bit more entertaining (we hope) so tell your friends!

There’s a small category of song that makes me text my musically-inclined friend to ask: “They knew in the studio as they wrote how good this was, right?” The most obvious example is Aerosmith’s Sweet Emotion. Some pieces of art are so undeniably good that even if it’s not your thing, you can recognize their brilliance. It’s what separates the wheat from the chaff; even someone untrained in the technique of an art form or skill can just tell it is of the superlative variety. It’s why Blink-182 is the best pop-punk band ever. You just don’t understand just how damn good a drummer Travis Barker is, but it elevates the overall quality so much, it speaks for itself.

I thought about this while reading Cameron Crowe’s autobiography, The Uncool. Crowe is most famous (probably) for writing and producing Fast Times at Ridgemont High and Almost Famous. But before that, he was writing cover stories for Rolling Stone in his teens, embedding himself with bands like Led Zeppelin and The Allman Brothers at the absolute height of their powers. The passage that sparked my opening thought was about seeing Bruce Springsteen when he was just getting going. It’s easy to forget that the guy who wrote Born to Run was seen more as a new Bob Dylan, a folk singer who wrote deep, meaningful songs to make social commentary. And, his music has never appealed to me. But you have to respect the magic nonetheless. Springsteen was shy, but there was no denying that he had that something and could inspire:

Suddenly everybody was celebrating this small but seismic moment. Springsteen’s shyness receded…The small alley grew even more celebratory. Springsteen had made a mark in a tough town for newcomers. It’s on a night like this that music might spin your life around, give you new passion, point you in an unexpected direction. It was becoming more than a hobby for me, day by day.

On display throughout The Uncool is a passion for music that knows no bounds, and this passion fuels a prose style that is truthful and driving, keeping the narrative going while forcing you to pause exactly when you need to, to fully consider an emotion.

At the same time, he makes it seem like the biggest of feats—a Rolling Stone cover story on the Allman Brothers at 16 after the band had blackballed the magazine was an accident, just a coincidence, and he happened to be the right person at the right time, and nothing else. The persistence and dedication he had to have had are just words, half a sentence; nothing special happened here. Sure, it was the seventies when credentials didn’t matter. But c’mon, the guy clearly has talent, charisma, and ability.

While billed as a memoir, the book is mostly about Crowe’s youth. Lost youth (to him), although if you’re reading it, you’d say he made the absolute most of his youth. At 15, he became a journalist and partied with rock royalty, but felt he had never experienced what it was like to just be a kid in high school. He wrote Fast Times at Ridgemont High to partially reclaim those experiences. At 20, he was embedding himself as a high school student, reliving a life he had never had.

It’s a great book, and a wonderful story about a unique man in a unique period of our cultural history. Sometimes, you pick a book intentionally to match a moment in your life (Hawaii by James A. Michener when you’re going on a trip to, say, Hawaii). Other times, a book accidentally finds the moment right when you need it.

My wife bought me The Uncool for Christmas, so I started reading it shortly after I’d finished my holiday stack. At the same time, I was just back on the farm visiting my family, and my dad had found my old CDs, including the ones that used to live with me in my truck throughout high school and my early 20s. Driving the last new car to have a CD player, I started reliving that period of my life. Music has a way of putting you squarely in a time and place, and I was being shot back to high school in my mind every time I put in a newly discovered old CD.

I wasn’t the most conventional small town Alberta music aficionado. There’s a lot of punk and emo in there. I listened to older country, was even in a band playing older country at that time, but my emotional connection to music was far more raw, far more emotional, than ‘90s honky tonk. It was Green Day and My Chemical Romance. I’d picked up a guitar not because my dad played for years, but because of the lead break in Whole Lotta Love.

Stereotypes exist for a reason. Small town Alberta has many, especially when we’re talking high school kids. Bush/field parties, chopping laps, bonfires. I don’t think much has changed on that front. But thinking back, music was likely the most diverse element. Kids I partied with listened to Eminem, Tool, Metallica, and, of course, Nickelback. Not a lot of country, to be honest, despite the lifted trucks and cowboy boots.

That, I think, was a product of its time, though, just like Crowe’s ability to do what he did was doable only in a particular time and a particular place. In the late aughts, the monoculture was just starting to break down, and microculture dominance hadn’t taken hold. In politics and culture, the urban/rural divide has clearly increased. I wouldn’t be surprised if the same happened to music.

I hope I’m wrong, though. There’s a lot of discussion about Alberta being a distinct place within confederation. And it’s unquestionably different. But within that Alberta stereotype, there’s a lot of diversity. Urban/rural, blue collar/white collar, north/south. Within each of these, too, there are big discrepancies; some will have more in common with their Ontario counterparts than their peers in Edmonton. It’s important to remember that, at the end of the day, behind every stereotype and perception that “they’re all the same,” there’s a farm kid listening to thrash.

Alberta Review relies on subscriptions to operate (we hate ads, and they’re kind of pointless). Please consider subscribing to support the publication.

Subscribe now

Alberta Review is in no way associated with previous iterations of the publication Alberta Review.

The best and fastest way for this to grow is for you to share the posts within your networks. A forward goes a long way, and the more subscribers we get, the more I’ll be able to write. The writing may change in the next few months to be a bit more entertaining (we hope) so tell your friends!

Everyone’s algorithm is different, or at least I assume it is. Either way, mine shows me a lot of hard takes on AI. I see lots of academic studies showing that it doesn’t actually make workers more productive, burns people out, makes it harder to learn new skills, or makes people dumber. Although it does seem weird that we needed a study to show that outsourcing thinking to a machine would cause skills to atrophy. Something something, common sense not being that common, or something.

My algorithm, though, also shows me a lot of the other side—these things are good! They’re inevitable! If you don’t embrace the suck, you’ll be left behind. It costs a lot of water and money to raise an intelligent human, too!

That all being said, AI in the workplace is one thing. That is, likely, inevitable, although there’s a lot left to be decided, from what jobs it will actually make easier, which ones it will eliminate, and which ones it will just make worse. But as video and image generators become “better,” the more pronouncements there are that artists have no place in society. Or, at least, not without AI help.

This, though, is proving to be an unpopular concept, as more and more people turn against mass AI implementation. A recent NBC poll found that 57 per cent of Americans believe the risks of AI outweigh the benefits. When it comes to art, a poll published in an article in Scientific American was even more stark:

Closer to home and much more recent, Calgary Public Library took significant criticism for announcing an AI artist-in-residence program. Things like this are especially gaulling to artists because there is no actual creativity in what AI produces. It merely steals from artists and reproduces their work. It’s like being hired at a job to train the guy who will replace you.

I don’t think it is a profound or revelatory thing to say, but maybe it will be. AI art aside, we’re suffering a crisis of the soul in the Western world right now. From polarized politics to economic malaise and social isolation, we’re in a bit of a slump. I read two books over the last month that articulated clearly that the solution is more humanity and, specifically, more artistry.

The Compassionate Imagination argues for a renewed Canadian cultural contract, where the arts are recentered in policy making, because, without the arts, we lose our connections to each other and to our humanity. The book presents few new ideas—artistic creations force us to think about other people and perspectives, creating empathy—but does present some bold ideas when it comes to arts advocacy. Wyman says that it is wrong to try and argue for more support for culture from government and the public because of economic benefits (although they are quite large) because this minimizes the importance arts and culture have for the souls not just of individuals but our nation. Human fulfilment, he argues, should trump market economics. In the age of AI, this seems more true than ever before.

Wyman’s focus on art’s role in creating empathy and creative thought is the core of his argument that centreing art in our policy-making and society would lead to a better democracy (although he does not make this argument explicitly, and so the subtitle of the book, “how the arts are central to a functioning democracy,” is a bit odd and a glaring omission). Since it was written in 2023, it’s become even more clear. Our souls are hurting, and our political discourse would be so much better if people read a book or watched a movie without interruption or went to a play instead of being on social media. We need something to fulfill us, and art plays that role.

The second book, The Work of Art, is a series of profiles of artists’ great works and how they came to develop them; it is a clear argument that process matters as much as product when it comes to art. In the author’s words, it is “the celebration of the art that happens when instinct meets rigor.” Toiling, thinking, developing, researching. The profiles makes it clear that these things cannot be disconnected from the final end product. It is, without ever saying, a clear refutation of AI produced art. The act of creation is embodied in the final product. The arduous nature developing the kernel of an idea into a great work is what makes the work great. To think that nothing is lost when you prompt an AI is to laugh in the face of artistic creation, and common sense. While that’s the message I got, the book itself is just a massively inspiring, but also frustrating (why can’t I do that!) piece of biography.

If these books made me realize one thing, its this: we talk a lot about AI doing art these days, and, anyone who thinks that is good or even acceptable, simply doesn’t care about art. Because art is process, connection, craft. Humans created pretty things before we built houses, before we farmed, before we built civilization. Making art, creating culture, is at the very core of being human. If you take the human out of it, you take the humanity out of everything.

Alberta once obsessed over supporting the arts. Part of this was because we had a chip on our shoulder, always assuming (probably correctly) that we were looked down upon by the more “cultured” east. One of the best books to read on this is Alberta’s Camelot about the Lougheed government’s obsession with building Alberta’s creative capacity and cultural institutions. Budget 2026 increased funding for the Alberta Foundation for the Arts, which, when everywhere else other than education and health care was cut, was a pretty nice surprise.

More, of course, could be done. Wyman argues for much more financial support for artists, including a type of universal basic income to empower creation. That’s honestly not a bad idea (although the mechanics of it, like who is an artist and who can qualify, would likely be discountingly hard), but at the very least, there should be more emphasis on appreciating art in schools so that greater demand is created, making the economics more lucrative. At least, that’s one possible step.

More than anything, though, there needs to be a societal decision to emphasize that human-created art is good. Full stop. Whether it’s a piece of literary fiction or a popular movie, art enhances our lives because of the human element, not despite it. Teach that in schools, please.

Alberta Review relies on subscriptions to operate (we hate ads, and they’re kind of pointless). Please consider subscribing to support the publication.

Subscribe now

Alberta Review is in no way associated with previous iterations of the publication Alberta Review.

The best and fastest way for this to grow is for you to share the posts within your networks. A forward goes a long way, and the more subscribers we get, the more I’ll be able to write. The writing may change in the next few months to be a bit more entertaining (we hope) so tell your friends!

If you’re a writer, you start wanting to write by reading. For me, at least, this wasn’t reading “great” books or “great” writers. No, I started reading the Wishbone series (also why I got a Jack Russell Terrier as a kid) and Star Wars. Honesty, I think that’s ideal–there’s no way I love reading and writing as much as I do now if the right books, and right kinds of books, hadn’t grabbed me at the exact right moment. The good stuff is the fun stuff, and no amount of snobbery makes the fun stuff bad writing.

However, if you’re serious about literature, you have to get to the great stuff eventually, and for the last few years I’ve been making a much more concerted effort to do so. Late last year, I finally got to Joan Didion.

It is ironic that it took me this long to get here. Thirty-five whole years, although I suppose you can’t count the first few where I couldn’t read (fewer than you’d think, though). It’s ironic because I’ve read so much about her as I sought out work to help me hone my own writing style and craft. Of course, her writing is usually the backdrop to what is written about her. Instead, it is her effortless coolness, how she represented a certain kind of California, now lost. In the words of one reviewer from 1979:

“Joan Didion—or rather the reputation of Joan Didion—is a puzzle. Her writing is praised by critics of almost every political hue, by newspapers as different as the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times, by persons who can agree on scarcely anything else. Her name has become a kind of restful incantation, the invocation of which permits antagonists who are locked in continuous dispute to pause, smile, and say that, of course, she is a splendid writer.”

Less flatteringly, Joseph Epstein, one of my favourite essayists whose opinion I care a great deal about, spoke to the myth as a negative:

“Literary reputation is based on talent, performance, and overall achievement, or so one would have thought. Alas, to think so is often to be mistaken, for much else, sometimes a great deal else, comes into play, elevating some reputations, sinking others.”

I don’t know if the myth is or was true. There will come a time I’ll pick up a biography, no doubt. But what I do know now, after reading Slouching Towards Bethlehem, is that her prose is flawless, evocative, and inspiring.

Even Epstein called the eponymous essay “Slouching Towards Bethlehem” Didion “at her best.” Regardless of one of my favourite writer’s thoughts, this collection will stay on my desk forever, a true motivator to, and the perfect example of how, to write non-fiction. But while reading it—and I’m always trying to relate what I’m reading to what’s happening today or, for the purposes of Alberta Review, the province—I couldn’t help but think of one passage about the hippies she details in the essay living in Haight-Ashbury:

“They are less in rebellion against the society than ignorant of it, able only to feed back certain of its most publicized self doubts, Vietnam, Saran-Wrap, diet pills, the Bomb… They feed back exactly what is given them. Because they do not believe in words—words are for “typeheads,” Chester Anderson tells them, and a thought which needs words is just one more of those ego trips—their only proficient vocabulary is in the society’s platitudes.”

This disinclination for independent and introspective thought, the tendency to make any argument or discussion on politics or society about some overarching, generalized concept that is ill-defined or misunderstood by those speaking, is the essence of our modern, hyper-online populism, of both left and right.

I have a lot of fears about the future, from AI to demographic collapse, but one of them is likely a driver of all the others: a decline in reading. According to the Canadian Leisure & Reading Study 2024, 45 per cent of Canadians read between one and five books in 2024. This is a lot better than our neighbours to the south, where 40 per cent of Americans didn’t read a single book in 2025, but the worrying trends are among youth in Canada, where readers 18 to 29 are reading less than in previous years. This comports with reports out of universities where students are simply unable to read an entire book (death to TikTok, Instagram reels, and whatever Facebook and YouTube are doing to kill attention spans).

An inability to wrestle deeply with words makes democratic discourse impossible, and reading Didion while our political discourse descends into platitudes, debates over one-word answers, and fact-less support for the ideas that make us feel warm and fuzzy makes one think deeply about it. If “the overarching theme of her work was decline—of our politics, the environment, truth, intellectualism.” In “Slouching Towards Bethlehem,” she writes that:

“As it happens, I am still committed to the idea that the ability to think for oneself depends upon one’s mastery of the language, and I am not optimistic about children who will settle for saying, to indicate that their mother and father do not live together, that they come from “a broken home.” They are sixteen, fifteen, fourteen years old, younger all the time, an army of children waiting to be given the words.”

As our country faces the debate over our economy (free trade versus a new national policy focused on state capacity and sovereignty) and how to respond to the new world order (itself a misunderstood phrase drenched in the political and partisan) and our province talks about health care, education, and, of course, the benefits of confederation itself, concerns over platitudes taking over our politics is very, well, concerning.

What is always heartwarming about reading great writers and their great works is realizing that nothing is unprecedented. We’ve had these debates, we’ve acted this childishly before, and we’ve come out the other side. That, of course, doesn’t make the journey less anxiety-inducing or less frustrating. But it supplies at least a little cold comfort.

Alberta Review relies on subscriptions to operate (we hate ads, and they’re kind of pointless). Please consider subscribing to support the publication.

Subscribe now

Alberta Review is in no way associated with previous iterations of the publication Alberta Review.

The best and fastest way for this to grow is for you to share the posts within your networks. A forward goes a long way, and the more subscribers we get, the more I’ll be able to write. The writing may change in the next few months to be a bit more entertaining (we hope) so tell your friends!

It’s become somewhat in vogue to share reading lists and reading goals at the beginning or end of the year (at least from what I see all over the socials). I’ve always had the unwritten reading goal of three books per month, something I could increase if I didn’t read so much news, long-form journalism, and academic articles. I got really bogged down this year when a mail issue resulted in a few months’ worth of New York Review of Books backing up and really bogging down my ability to bang through books. At the end of the day, I was three short of the goal at 33. I’ve lumped my list into categories and provided links where I did do a review.

Short Stories

Creatures of the Kingdom - James A. Michener

The Redemption of Time - Baoshu Baoshu

Honolulu Noir - Various

The Short Story: A Very Short Introduction - Andrew Kahn (Not a short story, but a book about short stories)

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz - Frank L. Baum (Also not a short story technically, but I counted it as such due to brevity and style)

Exhalation - Ted Chiang

I didn’t review any of these, but I did write about short stories as Alberta’s prime literary form:

Sci-Fi and Fantasy

Absolution - Jeff Vandermeer

Halo: Empty Throne - Jeremy Patenaude

Heir to the Empire - Timothy Zahn

Dark Force Rising - Timothy Zahn

The Last Command - Timothy Zahn

X-Wing: Isard’s Revenge - Michael A. Stackpole

Jedi Search - Kevin J. Anderson

Dark Apprentice - Kevin J. Anderson

Champions of the Force - Kevin J. Anderson

Wicked - Gregory Maguire

Son of a Witch - Gregory Maguire

The Mountain in the Sea - Ray Nayler

These would be really hard to do my traditional turn of “how does this relate to Alberta,” but I did write about reading these kinds of books:

Theology-ish

Noah’s Flood - William Ryan and Walter Pitman (reviewed here)

Paradise Lost - John Milton

Legion - William Peter Blatty

Egyptian Mythology: A Traveller’s Guide from Aswan to Alexandria - Garry J. Shaw (reviewed here)

Reading Genesis - Marilynne Robinson

Sports

On the Clock: Behind the Scenes with the Edmonton Oilers at the NHL Draft - Allan Mitchell

The Game - Ken Dryden (reviewed here)

Crossing to Safety - Wallace Stegner (reviewed here)

Slouching Towards Bethlehem - Joan Didion (the title essay is way too relevant to our current times - look for a review soon)

Literary

Riding with Rilke: Reflections on Motorcycles and Books - Ted Bishop (I definitely should’ve reviewed this one - a UofA English prof writing about a continental motorcycle trip speaks to my soul)

Travels with Myself and Another - Martha Gellhorn (reviewed here)

Random

Origins: How the Earth Shaped Human History - Lewis Dartnell (reviewed here)

The Eye Test: A Case for Human Creativity in the Age of Analytics - Chris Jones (referenced a lot in my review of The Game)

Canada’s Main Street: The Epic Story of the Trans-Canada Highway - Craig Baird

Proto: How One Ancient Language Went Global - Laura Spinney

Alberta Review relies on subscriptions to operate (we hate ads, and they’re kind of pointless). Please consider subscribing to support the publication.

Subscribe now

Alberta Review is in no way associated with previous iterations of the publication Alberta Review.

The best and fastest way for this to grow is for you to share the posts within your networks. A forward goes a long way, and the more subscribers we get, the more I’ll be able to write. The writing may change in the next few months to be a bit more entertaining (we hope) so tell your friends!

Read more

The best and fastest way for this to grow is for you to share the posts within your networks. A forward goes a long way, and the more subscribers we get, the more I’ll be able to write. The writing may change in the next few months to be a bit more entertaining (we hope) so tell your friends!

Read more

Read more

The best and fastest way for this to grow is for you to share the posts within your networks. A forward goes a long way, and the more subscribers we get, the more I’ll be able to write. The writing may change in the next few months to be a bit more entertaining (we hope) so tell your friends!

Read more

The best and fastest way for this to grow is for you to share the posts within your networks. A forward goes a long way, and the more subscribers we get, the more I’ll be able to write. The writing may change in the next few months to be a bit more entertaining (we hope) so tell your friends!

Read more

The best and fastest way for this to grow is for you to share the posts within your networks. A forward goes a long way, and the more subscribers we get, the more I’ll be able to write. The writing may change in the next few months to be a bit more entertaining (we hope) so tell your friends!

Read more

The best and fastest way for this to grow is for you to share the posts within your networks. A forward goes a long way, and the more subscribers we get, the more I’ll be able to write. The writing may change in the next few months to be a bit more entertaining (we hope) so tell your friends!

Read more

The best and fastest way for us to grow is for you to share the posts within your networks. A forward goes a long way, and the more subscribers we get, the more we’ll be able to write. The writing may change in the next few months to be a bit more entertaining (we hope) so tell your friends!

Read more

The best and fastest way for us to grow is for you to share the posts within your networks. A forward goes a long way, and the more subscribers we get, the more we’ll be able to write. The writing may change in the next few months to be a bit more entertaining (we hope) so tell your friends!

Read more

The best and fastest way for us to grow is for you to share the posts within your networks. A forward goes a long way, and the more subscribers we get, the more we’ll be able to write. The writing may change in the next few months to be a bit more entertaining (we hope) so tell your friends!

Read more

The best and fastest way for us to grow is for you to share the posts within your networks. A forward goes a long way, and the more subscribers we get, the more we’ll be able to write. The writing may change in the next few months to be a bit more entertaining (we hope) so tell your friends!

Read more

The best and fastest way for us to grow is for you to share the posts within your networks. A forward goes a long way, and the more subscribers we get, the more we’ll be able to write. The writing may change in the next few months to be a bit more entertaining (we hope) so tell your friends!

Read more

The best and fastest way for us to grow is for you to share the posts within your networks. A forward goes a long way, and the more subscribers we get, the more we’ll be able to write. The writing may change in the next few months to be a bit more entertaining (we hope) so tell your friends!

Read more

The best and fastest way for us to grow is for you to share the posts within your networks. A forward goes a long way, and the more subscribers we get, the more we’ll be able to write. The writing may change in the next few months to be a bit more entertaining (we hope) so tell your friends!

Read more

I greatly appreciate your continued support. Alberta Review has some aggressive growth goals this year, but we can’t do it without your support. We live in exciting times, and my goal is to inject some semblance of perspective.

If you want to help with this, please forward this email or share it on social media. Also, liking this post helps our visibilit…

Read more