I´m not a dead white guy. I´m a living old white female writer, a prolific unknown, have been for years. I love plays best but I have a large collection of OOP books, mostly first editions, with one or two exceptions, the major one being Beginnings: A Book for Widows which went to four editions, in print for 27 years. Thus I became Canada’s professional widow for which I was granted a D.Litt. by my home university (Manitoba, which stores my archives, saving me from being a Hoarder) and made a humble member of the Order of Canada. No one has ever asked me for a bow tie or a hank of hair to auction off for a fund-raiser; I’ve never served on a cultural arts board nor been a judge of other artists’ work; I can go to movies without being mobbed by adoring fans, though for years I had this quiet cult, a huge underground following of absolutely powerless women who lent each other my book (the one for widows). I’m not complaining. I count my blessings, hoping, as we all do, to persuade the government to alllow us more.