Wallace was born in Kingston, Ontario. She attended Queen's University, Kingston (B.A. 1967, M.A. 1969). In 1970, she moved to Windsor, Ontario, where she founded a women's bookstore and became active in working class and women's activist groups. In 1977, she returned to Kingston, where she worked at a women's shelter and taught at St. Lawrence College and Queen's. She wrote a weekly column for the Kingston Whig-Standard. In 1988, she was writer-in-residence at the University of Western Ontario.
Her collections testify to her social activism involving women's rights, civil rights, and social policy. A primary focus of her work was violence against women and children.
To be honest, my favorite part of this was the dedication, especially this part:
"These poems are for Emmylou Harris, to say thanks for the songs, for how they sing of hot summer nights on the highway and wine and falling in love and Jesus and the light someone puts in the window to guide you home.
They are homely like that and corny and cliched.
And necessary, yes, as my love for that kid who still embarrasses me, angers, hurts, the kid who fails.
They burn from what is strong in me, as each of us, in our best moments, tries to love the noisy, untidy selves we've lost, out there somewhere."
Until she turned, of course, and turned into someone else, one of those faulty appearances you've caught in your own face, probably, in anyone's, shadowy comfort I tried to make for myself that day, nothing to wonder at. It's just how we look at the world sometimes, tensed with the effort that makes our brains hurt, all that work, rejecting what the senses tell us. No wonder we think we have to look so hard. No wonder we stand here, blinking. Grateful and terrified (56-7).