Alexina Dalgetty grew up in Luton, Bedfordshire and moved to Canada as a teenager. She is married and has two young adult children. She discovered Theatre of the Oppressed in university and facilitated T.O. projects with marginalised youth in Edmonton, Alberta. This practice led to her involvement in establishing and administering an alternate and independent high school for youth who have not been successful in other learning environments. Recently she moved to Ontario to run a bed and breakfast and focus on her writing. She remains involved with the school.
Alexina has always been driven to write, even as a child. She has an MFA in playwriting and has had several plays performed, mostly in fringe theatres. She sees the collective creation of T.O. plays and presentations as a natural extension of this passion. Alexina began to write prose about three years ago. She has been shortlisted and longlisted for a variety of prizes, including the TSS short story competition and the Mslexia first novel competition. Recently she has had short pieces published on The Drabble, Reflex fiction, Big Window Review and Flash Fiction Friday.
Q: If you could travel back in time, which of the great writers would you like to meet and why?
A: Can I pick two? I would go back a short time and meet Samuel Beckett because his words and characters never leave me for long. I would also like to meet Jack Kerouac, since for several years of my youth I thought I might be him reincarnated.
Q: Do you have a favourite quote? (From a book, film, song, speech…)
A: ‘In the particular is contained the universal.’ – James Joyce
Q: Is there a book that you keep going back to, and if so, how many times have you read it?
A: Down Among the Women by Fay Weldon. I have probably read it a dozen times since sixth form. The first time I read it I fell off my chair in the school library I was so moved. (I was leaning back on the chair but didn’t hurt myself.)
Custard Walker lived small and private, her life pent up inside self-made borders, pitted by absent dreams and a tough reality. Custard Walker flickered with a worn beauty, her hair uncurling with time and its red fire fading gently into grey. Her eyes had paled to the colour of lime marmalade. But both eyes …