The Truth Talk to me

I use a process in my work that gets me to the core of any challenge, and leads to what I call an Essential Truth that – once formulated – informs everything else. So, what’s the Truth about Andrew Crighton and iPrimate? It’s HELP.

I’m at a place in my career where I’m exploring new horizons and breaking boundaries to help others… and help myself. I’ll tell you a lot more about it sometime, but, essentially, the new horizons have to do with VOCATION and the breaking boundaries has to do with LOCATION.

VOCATION means publishing… for a writer. And for this writer that means non-traditional publishing (you’re reading it). And it means content (you’re reading it). Whether my new horizons serve ME or YOU, they’re challenging and rewarding.

LOCATION is about flexibility. Kids have gone; home in the city less relevant. I still have one foot in Toronto, but I’m really living on the shores of Georgian Bay. Some people know I have a 1989 Volkswagen bus/camper in which I can go anywhere, anytime to write. And meet. And collaborate. But, mostly, breaking boundaries has to do with the Internet. I’m determined to get more clients/patrons/working relationships/ partners in other geographies, because we all really share the same geography, these days (you’re reading it).

So, it’s about VOCATION, LOCATION. And it’s about HELP.

May I?

Andrew Crighton, iPrimate
127 Kingswood Road
Toronto, Ontario m4e 3n4

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Archives: March 2012


    Something about this ‘View from the Trees’ venture harks back to what I was doing in 1973… in my 20’s… when I was an eager, bubbling vessel of creative passion (aren’t we all in our 20’s?) I was a ‘journalist’. By this, I don’t mean I was writing for magazines or dailies… no, I was writing for myself. I wrote and illustrated a personal journal, which was a creative outlet for my emerging skills. Its subject was whatever was in front of my face.  Here’s a page from it. Whatever it was – notebook, sketchbook, workbook, daybook – my journal expressed my view(s) of[...]


    First, there were the trees. Stand upon stand. Row upon row; they covered the land wherever they could grow. And they did. Grow. Even where they couldn’t. Woodenly stubborn, gnarled and knotty on the windswept rocks. Or tall and haughty in the depth of the woods. We, primates. We lived there. We loved there. We were tree dwellers. Below us was the ground – hard and horizontal. Inhabited by meat-eaters and other toothy types, it was a dangerous place all growling and grim, with rules of the game about which beasts win. And lose. Not me, thank you, I’m happy swinging out on a limb.[...]