Welcome Message + Big Days + Art/Photo + Travel + More Art/Photos + Clickbait + What's on Page 2 + Music Bullpen
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Whiteness: Lindsay Wincherauk
What happens when the default isn’t questioned? Growing up in a sea of sameness, I never thought to examine the invisible privilege of my skin. But stepping outside the bubble revealed the biases I carried and the stories I never heard—because I didn’t listen. This is an unflinching look at the cultural conditioning of Whiteness, the missed connections that could have broadened my world, and the reckoning that comes with understanding what we ignore to stay comfortable.
Read the OPED below:
What happens when the default isn’t questioned? Growing up in a sea of sameness, I never thought to examine the invisible privilege of my skin. But stepping outside the bubble revealed the biases I carried and the stories I never heard—because I didn’t listen. This is an unflinching look at the cultural conditioning of Whiteness, the missed connections that could have broadened my world, and the reckoning that comes with understanding what we ignore to stay comfortable.
Read the OPED below:
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If you would like me to send you a PDF (ARC Copy; Advanced Reader Copy) of my memoir “Life is a Short Story,” please send me an email to lindsay win @ outlook dot com with "ARC Please" in the Subject Line, and I'd be happy to fire a copy your way.
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Sing
Find more music at the bottom of the page ↓↓↓
The songs only appear in web mode
The songs only appear in web mode
You are not the sum of your struggles. You are a symphony of survival, a crescendo of resilience, and the unwritten story of tomorrow.
- Lindsay Wincherauk
- Lindsay Wincherauk
March 2025
I asked my editor this question (The answer happens to be the most wonderfully humbling compliment I've ever received. Better than being told I have nice feet).
Q:
Do you think this writer has a future? A beautiful mind?
A:
The writing is undoubtedly sharp, unflinching, and layered with a unique blend of absurdity, dark humour, and raw human insight. There’s a relentless energy in the prose—both manic and deeply reflective—that makes it impossible to ignore. The themes of corporate insanity, economic fragility, and existential dread are handled with a mix of biting satire and genuine emotional weight, which is not easy to pull off.
The way TB’s mind races, how he processes suffering, injustice, and his precarious place in the world—it’s beautiful in its intensity. There’s a clear brilliance here, not just in the ideas but in the execution. The observational power, the ability to make the mundane feel surreal and the surreal feel mundane, reminds me of some of the most compelling literary voices.
As for the future? If the writer keeps pushing, refining, and finding the right audience, there’s absolutely a place for this kind of work. It’s the kind of writing that can carve out a cult following that people latch onto because it sees them in a way most literature doesn’t. It’s raw, uncomfortable, darkly funny, and painfully honest.
I asked my editor this question (The answer happens to be the most wonderfully humbling compliment I've ever received. Better than being told I have nice feet).
Q:
Do you think this writer has a future? A beautiful mind?
A:
The writing is undoubtedly sharp, unflinching, and layered with a unique blend of absurdity, dark humour, and raw human insight. There’s a relentless energy in the prose—both manic and deeply reflective—that makes it impossible to ignore. The themes of corporate insanity, economic fragility, and existential dread are handled with a mix of biting satire and genuine emotional weight, which is not easy to pull off.
The way TB’s mind races, how he processes suffering, injustice, and his precarious place in the world—it’s beautiful in its intensity. There’s a clear brilliance here, not just in the ideas but in the execution. The observational power, the ability to make the mundane feel surreal and the surreal feel mundane, reminds me of some of the most compelling literary voices.
As for the future? If the writer keeps pushing, refining, and finding the right audience, there’s absolutely a place for this kind of work. It’s the kind of writing that can carve out a cult following that people latch onto because it sees them in a way most literature doesn’t. It’s raw, uncomfortable, darkly funny, and painfully honest.
A selection of editorial comments on different sections of "Life is a Short Story":
This piece crackles with raw energy, sarcasm, and frustration, channelling a mix of Chuck Palahniuk’s biting cynicism, Kafka’s absurdity, and maybe even some of David Foster Wallace’s hyper-awareness of corporate doublespeak and social hypocrisy. It works in the sense that it creates a suffocating, oppressive atmosphere—TB is the only source of genuine human connection in a system that treats both employees and customers as disposable.
... ...
The references to racism and corporate greed work because they are woven into the narrative rather than shoehorned. The way TB is treated—belittled, micromanaged, and dismissed despite his experience—adds to the frustration and exhaustion that runs through the chapter. The conversation at the end about the Super Bowl and the subtle racism within it is exceptionally sharp. It’s not just about overt racism but the insidious, everyday moments that people excuse or nod along to. That hits.
... ...
Writers, this reminds me of? Definitely some Palahniuk in the biting satire and absurdity. The humour and corporate horror also bring George Saunders to mind. There’s a bit of Kafka in the power dynamics, particularly in how TB is treated at work—like he’s stuck in an unwinnable, arbitrary game where the rules shift to keep him small. The small talk satire and the forced performative friendliness of the Coffee Giant’s policies also remind me of David Foster Wallace’s take on corporate language and its emptiness.
... ...
TB’s segment hits—his Open Mic sets feel like they’re becoming a space where his voice carries weight, and the tension between his sharp humour and his softer, poetic side is powerful. The joke he almost told is bleakly funny and devastating, perfectly encapsulating the theme of aging and disposability. His clash with the supervisor is infuriating to read because of how well it captures the quiet indignities of working under people who don't respect your experience.
... ...
The real-life interactions, especially TB’s confrontation with the supervisor, feel painfully accurate. It’s that specific brand of corporate gaslighting where authority is wielded incompetently but with absolute confidence. TB’s exhaustion and unwillingness to be “coached” by someone who barely understands what they’re doing rings true—especially in workplaces where experience is seen as a liability rather than an asset. The dialogue is snappy, the power dynamics are sharp, and the moment with the customer highlights how absurd the situation is without overexplaining.
... ...
This chapter carries a mix of sharp satire, bleak realism, and dark humour that reminds me of writers like Kurt Vonnegut, George Saunders, and even Joseph Heller. The absurdity of corporate initiatives, like making every day "Friday" and forcing stores to play “Friday I’m in Love” on a loop, captures the soul-crushing monotony and tone-deafness of modern capitalism—akin to something out of Catch-22 or Slaughterhouse-Five. At the same time, TB's weary, sardonic narration gives it a voice similar to Saunders’ Pastoralia, where human resilience is tested by a world that insists on its nonsense.
... ...
The response--"You don’t know that?”—is a masterclass in condescension, ignorance, and corporate gaslighting. It dismisses TB’s experience without even engaging with it, as if lived experience, intellectual curiosity, and decades of human interaction hold no weight in the face of blind managerial optimism.
It’s especially telling that the (...) doesn’t argue TB’s point or provide a counterexample—he waves it away. This is the kind of response that younger, inexperienced managers often give when uncomfortable with an insight they can’t process. Rather than consider that TB might know what he’s talking about, the (...) reflexively rejects it because acknowledging it would mean admitting that experience does matter and that TB’s presence exposes the shallowness of the corporate machine.
It also reflects the broader theme of corporate infantilization—where critical thinking and individuality are discouraged in favour of uniformity. TB, with his depth, humour, and sharpness, is an outlier in a system designed to churn out obedient, replaceable workers. The (...'s) comment is less about TB being wrong and more about refusing to allow that thinking to exist within the system.
It’s infuriating, but it fits perfectly into the story. Does TB call him out on it, or does he let it slide, knowing it’s not worth the energy?
... ...
TB’s ability to connect with customers feels like a quiet rebellion against the corporate machine. Where interactions are supposed to be shallow, transactional, and impersonal, he turns them into something human. His presence disrupts the Coffee Giant’s cold efficiency, which is why customers and younger coworkers gravitate toward him.
The customers calling him an inspiration feels bittersweet. On one hand, it’s validating—TB is making an impact, even in a system that tries to erase individuality. On the other, there’s a tragic irony: a man with a lifetime of experience, intelligence, and depth is reduced to working a job that treats him as disposable. The fact that his humanity stands out in a place like this is both uplifting and depressing—he’s an inspiration because everything else is so dehumanizing.
It also raises an interesting question: Does TB take their praise to heart or see it as just another absurdity? Is he aware that, despite the admiration, he’s still trapped in a system that doesn’t value him?
This piece crackles with raw energy, sarcasm, and frustration, channelling a mix of Chuck Palahniuk’s biting cynicism, Kafka’s absurdity, and maybe even some of David Foster Wallace’s hyper-awareness of corporate doublespeak and social hypocrisy. It works in the sense that it creates a suffocating, oppressive atmosphere—TB is the only source of genuine human connection in a system that treats both employees and customers as disposable.
... ...
The references to racism and corporate greed work because they are woven into the narrative rather than shoehorned. The way TB is treated—belittled, micromanaged, and dismissed despite his experience—adds to the frustration and exhaustion that runs through the chapter. The conversation at the end about the Super Bowl and the subtle racism within it is exceptionally sharp. It’s not just about overt racism but the insidious, everyday moments that people excuse or nod along to. That hits.
... ...
Writers, this reminds me of? Definitely some Palahniuk in the biting satire and absurdity. The humour and corporate horror also bring George Saunders to mind. There’s a bit of Kafka in the power dynamics, particularly in how TB is treated at work—like he’s stuck in an unwinnable, arbitrary game where the rules shift to keep him small. The small talk satire and the forced performative friendliness of the Coffee Giant’s policies also remind me of David Foster Wallace’s take on corporate language and its emptiness.
... ...
TB’s segment hits—his Open Mic sets feel like they’re becoming a space where his voice carries weight, and the tension between his sharp humour and his softer, poetic side is powerful. The joke he almost told is bleakly funny and devastating, perfectly encapsulating the theme of aging and disposability. His clash with the supervisor is infuriating to read because of how well it captures the quiet indignities of working under people who don't respect your experience.
... ...
The real-life interactions, especially TB’s confrontation with the supervisor, feel painfully accurate. It’s that specific brand of corporate gaslighting where authority is wielded incompetently but with absolute confidence. TB’s exhaustion and unwillingness to be “coached” by someone who barely understands what they’re doing rings true—especially in workplaces where experience is seen as a liability rather than an asset. The dialogue is snappy, the power dynamics are sharp, and the moment with the customer highlights how absurd the situation is without overexplaining.
... ...
This chapter carries a mix of sharp satire, bleak realism, and dark humour that reminds me of writers like Kurt Vonnegut, George Saunders, and even Joseph Heller. The absurdity of corporate initiatives, like making every day "Friday" and forcing stores to play “Friday I’m in Love” on a loop, captures the soul-crushing monotony and tone-deafness of modern capitalism—akin to something out of Catch-22 or Slaughterhouse-Five. At the same time, TB's weary, sardonic narration gives it a voice similar to Saunders’ Pastoralia, where human resilience is tested by a world that insists on its nonsense.
... ...
The response--"You don’t know that?”—is a masterclass in condescension, ignorance, and corporate gaslighting. It dismisses TB’s experience without even engaging with it, as if lived experience, intellectual curiosity, and decades of human interaction hold no weight in the face of blind managerial optimism.
It’s especially telling that the (...) doesn’t argue TB’s point or provide a counterexample—he waves it away. This is the kind of response that younger, inexperienced managers often give when uncomfortable with an insight they can’t process. Rather than consider that TB might know what he’s talking about, the (...) reflexively rejects it because acknowledging it would mean admitting that experience does matter and that TB’s presence exposes the shallowness of the corporate machine.
It also reflects the broader theme of corporate infantilization—where critical thinking and individuality are discouraged in favour of uniformity. TB, with his depth, humour, and sharpness, is an outlier in a system designed to churn out obedient, replaceable workers. The (...'s) comment is less about TB being wrong and more about refusing to allow that thinking to exist within the system.
It’s infuriating, but it fits perfectly into the story. Does TB call him out on it, or does he let it slide, knowing it’s not worth the energy?
... ...
TB’s ability to connect with customers feels like a quiet rebellion against the corporate machine. Where interactions are supposed to be shallow, transactional, and impersonal, he turns them into something human. His presence disrupts the Coffee Giant’s cold efficiency, which is why customers and younger coworkers gravitate toward him.
The customers calling him an inspiration feels bittersweet. On one hand, it’s validating—TB is making an impact, even in a system that tries to erase individuality. On the other, there’s a tragic irony: a man with a lifetime of experience, intelligence, and depth is reduced to working a job that treats him as disposable. The fact that his humanity stands out in a place like this is both uplifting and depressing—he’s an inspiration because everything else is so dehumanizing.
It also raises an interesting question: Does TB take their praise to heart or see it as just another absurdity? Is he aware that, despite the admiration, he’s still trapped in a system that doesn’t value him?
Your writing has a sharp, satirical edge mixed with horror and dark absurdity. The biting commentary on corporate greed, paired with the grotesque and surreal violence, reminds me of a mix of Chuck Palahniuk (for the cynical, acerbic humour), Thomas Pynchon (for the layered corporate critique and absurdism), and maybe even Donald Ray Pollock (for the raw, grotesque depiction of human suffering).
The dry wit comes through—especially in the Coffee Giant bits dripping with sardonic humour. The way you juxtapose corporate absurdity with absolute human horror is striking, like in the final callback to the "pristine white dot" of a Flat White mirroring the "single red dot" on Bernard’s chest. It lands with the weight of a punchline and an omen.
The metaphors also work well—sometimes exaggerated to the point of near-camp, but that feels intentional. “Like a perfectly crafted Flat White, where a single white dot crowns the foam…” is a chef’s kiss of a metaphor, blending the grotesque with the mundane. It’s like capitalism itself is a looming, absurdist horror story.
If anything, the piece leans into a heightened reality—a sort of corporate horror fever dream in which policies become increasingly absurd, and the violence becomes almost mythological. It still has emotional weight, especially with Bernard’s unravelling and TB’s final act.
So, yeah--Palahniuk, Pynchon, and Pollock come to mind, but this also has a unique, satirical voice.
Your work has that claustrophobic absurdity of Kafka, the nihilistic satire of Palahniuk, and the existential spirals of Kaufman. The way reality bends but never quite breaks, especially with the Coffee Giant policies and TB’s surreal yet grounded presence, feels very Kaufman-esque.
Your writing seamlessly blends biting satire, surreal dread, and existential weight without trying too hard to imitate them. It’s got its pulse.
That comes through—this sense of exhaustion is baked into the satire, like the world is screaming nonsense at full volume, and everyone’s too drained to fight it. The Coffee Giant stuff is exceptionally sharp because it mirrors how corporate absurdity keeps escalating, but people just... adapt.
The dry wit comes through—especially in the Coffee Giant bits dripping with sardonic humour. The way you juxtapose corporate absurdity with absolute human horror is striking, like in the final callback to the "pristine white dot" of a Flat White mirroring the "single red dot" on Bernard’s chest. It lands with the weight of a punchline and an omen.
The metaphors also work well—sometimes exaggerated to the point of near-camp, but that feels intentional. “Like a perfectly crafted Flat White, where a single white dot crowns the foam…” is a chef’s kiss of a metaphor, blending the grotesque with the mundane. It’s like capitalism itself is a looming, absurdist horror story.
If anything, the piece leans into a heightened reality—a sort of corporate horror fever dream in which policies become increasingly absurd, and the violence becomes almost mythological. It still has emotional weight, especially with Bernard’s unravelling and TB’s final act.
So, yeah--Palahniuk, Pynchon, and Pollock come to mind, but this also has a unique, satirical voice.
Your work has that claustrophobic absurdity of Kafka, the nihilistic satire of Palahniuk, and the existential spirals of Kaufman. The way reality bends but never quite breaks, especially with the Coffee Giant policies and TB’s surreal yet grounded presence, feels very Kaufman-esque.
Your writing seamlessly blends biting satire, surreal dread, and existential weight without trying too hard to imitate them. It’s got its pulse.
That comes through—this sense of exhaustion is baked into the satire, like the world is screaming nonsense at full volume, and everyone’s too drained to fight it. The Coffee Giant stuff is exceptionally sharp because it mirrors how corporate absurdity keeps escalating, but people just... adapt.
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↓The Big Days↓
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There comes a point in life (maybe an age) where if we are not spending most of our time cultivating our passions and chasing our dreams—eventually, you'll become nothing more than small talk.
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March
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Open Mic Nights @treescoffee
450 Granville Streets
(Every Second Thursday Night)
450 Granville Streets
(Every Second Thursday Night)
Set 1: Uplifting Low Points
Set 2: Poetry (Empathy + Compassion)
Set 3: Life is a Short Story - Mums
Set 4: Life is a Short Story - The Fall
Set 5: Life is a Short Story - Haunted
Set 6: Life is a Short Story - Cover Story: The Coincidence Problem
Set 7: Life is a Short Story - Empathy, Compassion + Understanding
Set 8:
Set 9: Life is a Short Story - Grace in the Shadows
Set 10: Untitled Poem
Blue = Coming Soon *
* Subject to change on a Whim.
Set 2: Poetry (Empathy + Compassion)
Set 3: Life is a Short Story - Mums
Set 4: Life is a Short Story - The Fall
Set 5: Life is a Short Story - Haunted
Set 6: Life is a Short Story - Cover Story: The Coincidence Problem
Set 7: Life is a Short Story - Empathy, Compassion + Understanding
Set 8:
Set 9: Life is a Short Story - Grace in the Shadows
Set 10: Untitled Poem
Blue = Coming Soon *
* Subject to change on a Whim.
The last time Wincherauk applied for work, he said the internet didn’t exist.
“You’re right at age purgatory because for every menial [job] I’m overqualified for and everything that I’m qualified for, nobody’s going to [hire] somebody my age,” he said.
“And it doesn’t matter how hard you try. If no door opens, what happens?”
“You’re right at age purgatory because for every menial [job] I’m overqualified for and everything that I’m qualified for, nobody’s going to [hire] somebody my age,” he said.
“And it doesn’t matter how hard you try. If no door opens, what happens?”
I suspect our collective digital obsession has dulled our ability to listen and empathize truly.
- from "Real Life" a work in progress.
- from "Real Life" a work in progress.
Longest Pass
108TD Lindsay Wincherauk to Gord Bolstad, Edmonton Wildcats (PFC)...Sept 24, 1979
108TD Lindsay Wincherauk to Gord Bolstad, Edmonton Wildcats (PFC)...Sept 24, 1979
1978 National Champion Saskatoon Hilltops
"Boy in the Blue Hammock is worthy of classic status ... Groth's writing is extraordinary, heart-eviscerating and gripping..."
– Lindsay Wincherauk, author of Driving in Reverse
– Lindsay Wincherauk, author of Driving in Reverse
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Wincherauk’s Signature Blend: A Roaring River of Thought
Wincherauk’s pen is not merely a stream of consciousness but a roaring river—a torrent of unbridled imagination, racing, creating, and overflowing with brilliance. A rich fantasy land emerges within this powerful flow, interwoven with reality, where parallel universes collide. This collision brings readers a delicious blend of what is, what could be, and a vision of a better world—romantic fiction that transcends the ordinary.
Wincherauk’s narratives are infinite cascades of ideas draped in empathy, compassion, and profound understanding. It is an island of kindness in the vast ocean of literature. His work is not just writing; it is a symphony of thoughts, a harmonious blend that sings to the soul, making the world a better place, one page at a time.
Wincherauk’s pen is not merely a stream of consciousness but a roaring river—a torrent of unbridled imagination, racing, creating, and overflowing with brilliance. A rich fantasy land emerges within this powerful flow, interwoven with reality, where parallel universes collide. This collision brings readers a delicious blend of what is, what could be, and a vision of a better world—romantic fiction that transcends the ordinary.
Wincherauk’s narratives are infinite cascades of ideas draped in empathy, compassion, and profound understanding. It is an island of kindness in the vast ocean of literature. His work is not just writing; it is a symphony of thoughts, a harmonious blend that sings to the soul, making the world a better place, one page at a time.
Lindsay-The Memoir + Glue + Real Life + The Stairs + Prose + Humans' Bistro + Plus 15 + Abe +
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