Anne Maclachlan, NM

Critically Acclaimed Writer

Anne Maclachlan and storytelling love each other. They have been found together sitting in trees, W-R-I-T-I-N-G. The former editor of Santa Fean magazine and a writer at several newspapers, Anne is an award-winning journalist, an experienced interviewer, the author of 17 pre-school through college-level books and several short stories, and is an actual, brand-new screenwriter. She also recently completed her first novel, done on a dare. She was raised in both the Canadian and U.S. school systems, so she can tell when to have a sense of humour. Anne has interviewed and written about celebrities, politicians, activists, and fellow writers. She knows that everyone has a special story to tell — and it’s always an exciting one.

As a Story Terrace writer, Anne interviews customers and turns their life stories into books. Get to know her better by reading her autobiographical anecdote below.

The Edge of the World

I was holding tightly to my Daddy’s hand as we walked along the pavement towards a world of deep, overwhelming noise, through misty wet air, and into the moving clouds. When the white air shifted, I saw all the water in the world fall over the edge of the earth as far across as I could see, but nobody seemed frightened. Most were pointing and some were laughing and smiling, and all seemed every bit as amazed as I felt.

As Daddy lifted me up at the big fence, and held me tight, a better view of this tumultuous world appeared and I suddenly knew exactly where my family had brought me. What an adventure! What a place to visit! We had come to the edge of the world, and here it was dropping off into the sky and disappearing into the clouds.

“Where does the water go, Daddy?” I asked, and Daddy explained about the water going away and around the world and coming back. What an astonishing thing was water, that it could find its massive way back from oblivion and into the rivers again. All the way back from the edge of the world.

“Is this the end of the world?” I was certain that it was so, but not having the word for “edge” I used “end,” and I knew from Daddy’s answer that he hadn’t understood.

Our family lingered there, mist-kissed, soaking in this overwhelmingly noisy, wet, white, and grey place that was where the water left the earth.

—Niagara Falls, Canadian side

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