What happens when you finally listen, not to the noise of the world, but to the quiet hum beneath it?
When life became too loud, Ellen Nasser began to listen. What started as a few stolen minutes each morning turned into a practice of presence—a way of finding meaning in the ordinary and beauty in the ache of becoming.
In Interlude, she traces a journey that begins on the Canadian Prairies and moves through the wider landscapes of travel, motherhood, and self-discovery. From the endless skies of Saskatchewan to the unfamiliar roads of elsewhere, Nasser reflects on what it means to belong—to a place, to a family, to oneself.
Ellen Nasser invites readers into the real textures of a day: the prayer of repetition, the stillness after an argument, the sting of self-doubt that asks to be met with gentleness. Between lists and losses, folded laundry and unfinished thoughts, she searches for grace in persistence—the small, steady work of staying open. Her devotion is not ornamental; it's found in the act of staying—with what hurts, with what heals, with the body's ache to believe again. Even the art of writing this book became a form of prayer: a daily return to presence, a way of holding life long enough to see the light moving through it.
Told with warmth, humour, and radical honesty, Interlude is a lyrical memoir about love, loss, and the quiet faith that grows in the midst of uncertainty. It's a companion for anyone navigating change, seeking meaning, or learning to soften in a world that often demands the opposite.
Written from her home on the Canadian Prairies, Interlude marks Ellen Nasser's luminous debut.
