Now that I live in North Carolina, I seldom see temperatures below freezing; such infrequent events cause a spate of news stories on how to keep the family pets from suffering from frostbite and how to protect your exposed pipes. And, consequently, there isn't much talk of hockey here. Colleagues stare blankly at me when I enthuse about the Oilers' last win or when I duck out of a function early to see the last two periods of an important game. Most times, when I tell people I'm editing a book on hockey, the reply is usually something like "You aren't from around here, are you?" No, I'm not and I'm not likely to ever be. No matter how long I've lived here or how much I like it in North Carolina, I wasn't raised with NASCAR and Tar Heel basketball; I grew up chasing a frozen black disk. Maybe it's true that you can't go home again, but it's also true that you can't take home out of you either. For me, hockey is part of home.

That idea may have been in the back of my mind when I proposed this collection in the spring of 1997 to Jerome Martin at Spotted Cow Press. To be honest, I'm not sure. All I remember is that we were in Edmonton, drinking coffee and discussing the final details for my book, Beneath the Horse's Eye, which was also published by Spotted Cow. My impending move to Greenville was on my mind, as well as the coincidental transformation of the Hartford Whalers into the Carolina Hurricanes. I asked Jerome what he thought about a collection of new writing on hockey. He immediately took to the idea and we arranged to put out a call for submissions in the coming months. Ice was beginning to take shape.

We placed ads in Books in Canada and Poets & Writers, crossing our fingers that the vibrant writing about hockey we knew was out there would arrive in my mailbox. And arrive it did, the initial trickle quickly becoming a deluge. News of the collection spread to the Saskatchewan Writers' Guild and Word, to name only a couple of the many places our contributors heard about Ice. The office staff at the English department began to grumble about the amount of mail I received; I almost got a coveted large mailbox out of the deal. As I read through the submissions, I was immediately overwhelmed by the quality of the work and astounded at the variety of perspectives. There were tales of the minor leagues, homages to professional players, memories of youth, connections between parents and children, and descriptions of not only the grace of hockey, but also its terrible beauty. I read poetry and prose of current and former players, of both parents and children of players, of long-time fans, of recent converts. Some of the contributors were reverential in tone, some were philosophical, while others approached their subjects with humor; all of them were filled with energy for the game. From both the volume of submissions and the passions contained in them it is obvious that hockey is an important part of not only my life, but the lives of a lot of people around both Canada and the United States (of the 43 contributors, 23 are from Canada and 20 are from the United States). . . .