Author Archives: Gwynne Hunt gwynne1@telus.net

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About Gwynne Hunt gwynne1@telus.net

I am a writer, activist, producer, director and creative performance artist. My new book Through My Lens is based on newspaper clippings going back to 1928; the stories in-between the clippings are about my mom Gunvor Berglund, my step-dad Ronald Robinson and my DNA father Harold Larsen. How did they come together to make me? Some of the research was shocking, some funny but it left me to define the parts of the story I did not know. a tribute to my three parents. My last book, Unlocking the Tin box is about my journey into trying to find our who I was, who my father was; a complicated con man and a carny. But he was more than that and the journey took me as far as doing DNA tests, digging through his old tin box and an examination of my own life. Published by Silver Bow Publishing, available from the Publisher, Amazon and the Author. Fifteen years ago, the book ‘Rampage; the pathology of an epidemic’ written by me was released at the International Celebration of Women in Abbotsford. The book is my personal journey over six years working on the book and the Memory March (a walk/vigil honouring over 4,000 missing and murdered women and children in Canada). It includes interviews with grassroots' workers she met. There are a lot of individual, concerned people who work to end violence against women. One of those women is Mary Billy, a writer and activist in Squamish. There are interviews, case stories and conversations with family member’s who have lost loved ones. The book is not about how we are going to end the violence but an examination of the problems, concerns and stereotypical thinking that keeps us trapped in a cycle of violence. Included are the names of 4,000 missing and murdered women and children that have been compiled for The List. Other books include bruises & bad haircuts (poetry) and Bob & Boo. (illustrated by my grandkids)

The Left Behind Babies

This has been a hard one to write. There is so much emotional baggage attached to this story. But it is not my story it is my mother’s. She was born in Sweden in 1910 and came to Canada with … Continue reading →

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Coming Soon . . .

I’m not done yet. I may just be getting started. I have written and published 5 books. Also a couple ‘just for family’ collections. Written and produced over 30 plays; some of them 7 or 8 times. I’ve published four … Continue reading →

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moving on . . .

There just comes a time in your grief that you reconcile. Read-“A Walk Through the Desert” I am reclaiming who I was. Starting over so to speak. I’ve done the hard work. I’ve felt the pain and now as I … Continue reading →

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The Walk Through the Desert

I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I didn’t want to go.  But the journey presented itself. You died. I had to cross the desert to come to the end of my grief. There is something to be said for past … Continue reading →

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The Art of Storytelling: Preserving Culture Through Tales

Write, breathe, write As an investigative storyteller there is always another story to tell. In some cultures they sat around campfires and passed down their history. In others, they gathered around a bar, drinking and embellishing the crazy stories they … Continue reading →

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If I had to do it all over again, I would still pick you . . .

It has been almost a year since Dave died. It is still hard to say that, write that . . it does not get easier. But I am proud of everything I have accomplished this year without him. Redid the … Continue reading →

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Everything Comes to an End

I have not been keeping up with my posts. Life has been difficult. My husband passed away two months ago. Towards the end it was brutal. I felt pushed to sign off on ‘end of life’ drugs. The doctor advised … Continue reading →

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Writing in the middle of stress

All I seem to write when I am stressed is poetry; angry poetry. There has been a lot of that in the last two years. Mt husband had a stroke and is in a Home;paralyzed on his left side with … Continue reading →

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And on we go . . .

Sometimes survival takes over and writers do not write. This is the saddest of times. I have been writing since I can remember. I stayed home from school for 3 weeks when I was 14 and wrote my first book. … Continue reading →

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On the road again . . .

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