What a fantastic way to kick off my 2012 school visits. I had the pleasure of talking to the students at St. Lucy Elementary, and they were awesome. Lots of laughs and some great volunteers for my writing games. Thanks to the students at St. Lucy for making me feel so welcome, and an extra special thanks to the public speaking club members who introduced me and thanked me at the end.

Just finished two sessions at St. Sylvester and St. Rita. The kids were awesome at both schools. Thank you, Calgary Wordfest, for bringing me to your excellent festival. Thanks to the students at Ecole St. Sylvester and St. Rita School for being great audiences.

Two more schools tomorrow and two on Friday, then I make the long trek back home.

I have a winner. Congratulations to Alicia, who was one of the many kids who submitted monster creations at the St. Albert Children's Festival and the Edmonton Public Library summer reading programs.

I've chosen Alicia's Pebble Face monster, a beast that has a face made of rocks and a body made of twigs. He blends into the ground and can grab people from below. I loved the creature because it could camouflage itself and because it can make a creepy rock clicking sound. I'm going to work this monster into the fourth book in the Barnabas Bigfoot series. Yay, Alicia! I will dedicate the fourth novel in the series to you.

Thanks to everyone else for creating your monsters. I'm going to keep them in my pile of creatures. If I need another creature, I just might dig into the pile and use your creation.

I know you've been waiting to find out which creature I picked, but there are just so many good monsters that I have to take the weekend to think about it. The good news is that I've narrowed the list down to 8 monsters, which have been created at various locations across the city and at the St. Albert Children's Festival.

Once I've picked the top monster, I'll scan the drawing and post the winner on the website. I might even post the shortlisted creations and possibly use them in a future novel.

Thanks for your patience and have a wonderful long weekend.

Marty

Great news! I finally have the time to sift through the hundreds of monster creations I collected over the summer. I hope to find the featured creature for the fourth novel in the Barnabas Bigfoot Series.

Stay tuned for my results, which should be out by the end of this week.

Last night, my two worlds came together. As audiences were waiting to go into my political satire, Mothership Down, pint-sized fans of my kids books at a nearby summer reading club party snuck out to chat with me. It was hard to explain to them that my play wasn't for kids. Thankfully, the pizza arrived and trumped me. Although, I think I might have lost a few Mothership Down audience members to the pizza as well.

One innocent question kicked off my existential angst. All I did was post a Facebook status update that read, "Who remembers the original green onion cakes at the Edmonton Fringe?" Over 50 people responded. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who noticed a distinct difference between the green onion cakes of today and the ones of yesteryear. As I reminisced about the taste of those crispy treats, I realized that they could easily be a metaphor for Fringe artists.

Today, there's a new crop of talent performers and playwrights strutting through Old Strathcona, enjoying the adoration of reviewers and audiences alike. They've risen above the fray of over 150 productions to stand atop the festival as queens and kings of this year's Fringe. I applaud their success and celebrate the arrival of the new blood that will keep this festival going for another 30 years. I smile when I see familiar faces still producing great work at the festival. And yet, I know there are many others who have been and gone, like the original green onion cake.

Today's Fringe-goer might cast a sideways glance at me and wonder if I've lost my mind. Green onion cakes have gone nowhere. They are as much a staple of this festival as the indoor shows. And yet, they are different. The green onion cakes I knew and loved were crispy and light, and they were part of my daily Fringe diet. When the original vendor left, another came in to fill the void. The new treats weren't worse than the originals; they were just different. For those who remembered the original treats, something was lost. For those tasting these new green onion cakes for the first time, there was no difference. You could argue that even if these new eaters had the chance to taste the originals, they would say the new ones tasted better.

So it goes with Fringe artists. While some of the pioneers are still around and producing great work, others have gone elsewhere and the only evidence of their passing is a yellowed Fringe program in a basement box of summer souvenirs. Audiences embrace the new artists, never knowing who came before, only celebrating what is right before their eyes. And as I watch the new artists celebrate their time on stage at this never-ending party, I know some will stay and some will go. That's the way of the Fringe and the way of life. Things change.

Some would argue that you can never go back. Once the Fringe moves on, you either move on with it or you just move along. A large part of me has come to accept that the festival has changed. Some say for the better; others say for the worse. I say it's just changed, but as long as you can find one indelible experience that becomes a lasting memory, the festival will always have a place in your heart.

I experienced that magic moment the other day and, surprisingly, it was not on the main Fringe site. My show was in a downtown BYOV, far away from the party in Old Strathcona. Just before the performance, I checked out a downtown Chinese restaurant on a friend's recommendation. To my sheer joy, I discovered the chef was the maker of the original green onion cakes at the Fringe. As soon as I took my first bite, I was transported back to the early '90s when I was one of the many revellers celebrating the party that no one wanted to end. The treat was exactly as I remembered and for a second all was right with the world.

On our closing night, I plan to take one more trip to the restaurant to order a green onion cake, and then I'll head back to the theatre to strike the set. I'll look across the river and imagine that I can hear the applause at the indoor shows for the artists, old and new, and if I squint hard enough, I just might see a line-up for green onion cakes. Then I'll turn off the lights and go home. Until we meet again.