“There are 32 ways to tell a story, and I’ve used everyone, but there’s only one plot, things are not as they seem.

Jim Thompson

I was running out of something.

Like patience, love, or steam.

Maybe never had them anyway.

Just a wish inside a dream.

Getting jacked up on adrenaline.

From a haunting distant fear.

Something real not imagined.

From a time called yesteryear.

So I sat down and did nothing.

No assumptions, to let it go.

I prayed and said some words to God.

Might be best that you don’t know.

The savages we descended from; we pretend they weren’t us…

We think we are different.

This thing we call civility is questionable, at least.

Why are we so offended at our heritage?

Look how far we’ve grown.

“How tall we are, we’ve learned so much!”

Why the shame? Why pretend?

Given what they were dealing with, I can’t say that I’d have done anything better or different…

My father was very careful and thorough: Only now, I can see and appreciate the brilliance in the absence of his efforts. To not have to unlearn anything is proving to be invaluable.

To have a lifetime of trial and errors without the bothersome interference of elders teaching and paving the way can now be reflected upon in a rich tapestry of original experience.

Thanks, Dad!

Dennis Mantin was born in Toronto in 1958. However, he grew up in rural Nova Scotia and Cape Breton, where he was introduced to painting and literature.

Mantin left the east coast for Alberta in 1980 and landed a job as a nude model at the Banff School of Fine Arts with acclaimed American Painter and Sculpter Eric Fischl. Meeting Fischl opened his feelings and eyes to really seeing color and tone; even in the most unexpected places.

In 1992, after having returned to Toronto, Mantin dedicated himself to painting and had the good fortune to meet the extraordinary Canadian poetic Painter Paul Fournier, which ignited a lifelong creative friendship. With Fournier’s mentoring, Dennis mounted his first solo exhibition in an antique store in The Beaches neighborhood of Toronto.

After a decade of painting and exhibitions, raising a family and life circumstances forced Mantin to give his attention elsewhere.

In May of 2014, Mantin renewed his relationship with painting and was invited to share Paul Fournier’s studio, which culminated in a solo exhibition at the Abbozzo Gallery at 401 Richmond Street. The exhibition was called The Meditation and alluded to Mantin’s recent interest and dedication to the practice and study of mindfulness Meditation.

While working on The Meditation, Mantin was encouraged to reexamine his writings, which stimulated a revision of a short screenplay from 20 years earlier.

The short film, a 15-minute drama entitled The Meditation, was written, directed, and produced by Mantin in 2017 and featured world renowned actor Jonathan Hyde of the Royal Shakespearen Academy. Jonathan won best supporting actor at the Top Shorts Online Film Festival, and Dennis received an honorable mention for narrative at the same festival. The film received the Award of Excellence from the Canada Shorts Film Festival in 2017.

Dennis started his WordPress blog in 2013 and has over 2000 posts in the decade that followed.

In the autumn of 2023, Dennis will publish his first novel, ‘LOOK THEM IN THE EYES’ with Canadian publisher Friesen Press.

Dennis is a single father, currently living in Toronto with his 12 years old daughter Zylia and their cat Ned.

Dennis Mantin

The sun is shining brightly in the hour past the dawn.

I haven’t had a shower yet or exactly know  what I’ll put on.

The Misses is still sleeping, and he kid is off to school.

There’s a coffee in my future, and the Donald still does rule.

I’ve been worried about nothing and been slightly entertained.

The worriers are stressing about losses and low gains.

The internet is filling all those heads with made-up lies.

And I will write and film and fill my days with how’s and why’s…

The summers heat has landed on our shores a beaten path.

The anger here is felt by some,the others feel their wrath.

They never knew the hardships, just mythology from a book.

Technology begat luxury and in this foundations shook.

The old men knew their errors and knew none were turning back.

Me, I left for cooler shores with my luggage on a rack.

The satellites are humming, but no one hears that sound.

Looking skyward hearing drumming. Few ears are to the ground.

The movie has no soundtrack.

That was playing in my head.

The theme was for the living.

The plot was for the dead.

It’s a story of hereafter.

Like the myths a child’s told.

Equal portions tears and laughter.

You get the girl but not the gold.

The Sunday rains came early.

Damp Sidewalks Saturday night.

The stylish got out umbrellas.

To see the brawl tween left and right.

The jabs that started early.

Are more for show, dramatic flair.

The internet is all the rage.

With so much noise so contraire.

There’s a shortage here on blue dye.

And the one that makes hair green.

All the battle plans have strategies.

That don’t offend or seem too mean.

I went home and locked the castle.

In fact, I never left the moat.

I just fired up the drawbridge.

And just let those voices shout.