March 6th, 2008

Peterborough Panel Post-Mortem

Though I did have to get up at 5 in order to be at the bus station by 6:15 in order to hang around for half an hour to get the 6:45 bus, the trek out was sadly without incident. I read a bit, took a nap, avoided eye contact with the guy who was talking to no one. When I arrived I was under instructions to take a taxi to Trent, for which I’d be reimbursed. I was dreading this, because I am afraid of taxis (I am not even embarrassed about this phobia. I really don’t know more people don’t have it–you spend your whole formative period being told that if you get into a stranger’s car, they will kill you in a disgusting manner, only to later be told that it’s ok if you give them money.)

But then I saw a lovely city bus that helpfully said “Trent” right on it. When I got on, there was Nine Inch Nails playing on a little stereo under the driver’s seat, and when I didn’t have the right change, the much-pierced driver said not to worry about it.

Peterborough is awfully awfully pretty. I’ve already forgotten the name of the river there, but it’s gorgeous. The campus is nice, too–a few strange fan-shaped buildings, and rather sprawling (the bus drove for a long time on-campus before we got the library) but it has a bridge *right over the river*. Between classes, the bridge crowds up like a school hallway, only more scenic.

I hung around the library for the morning, got given all the coffee and fruit I could handle (I won a bonus cup in roll-up-the-rim-to-win! This post hasn’t even reached noon or any literature yet! I am going to focus!) and a room with a view to read and write in. Then there was lunch, which was good even though I couldn’t really identify what kind of sandwich I had. It had some sort of fish in it. (Focussing=failure.)

The panel *was* intimidating*, but in a good way. The other participants had done this sort of thing before—several of them are profs and do it all the time—and they seemed able to formulate complete thesis statements on the fly. The conversation seemed to me remarkably cogent and focussed, mainly about the role of writers outside of writing fiction and poetry. Thus, we talked a lot about teaching and learning, which I felt qualified to talk about at least a little, and a lot about critics and “public intellectuals, which is something that intimidates me greatly. I always *mean* to figure out how I could usefully review and criticize (two different things, I’m pretty sure) but I really haven’t yet. The discussion gave me some ideas.

*Shut Up He Explained* is nearly 400 pages, and it’s quite wide-ranging, so a lot of the things that hit me hardest–how a writer transubstantiates fact into fiction, and how artistry operates on a sentence level–didn’t get covered. Maybe there will be another panel?

Then there was coffee and chatter, and I was most relieved that it was over and I hadn’t said anything horrid (though I felt a bit guilty for having introduced the phrase “the joy of the text” to the discussion—surely I could’ve thought of a less lame way to convey that). Some of the writers went to another writer’s house for drinks and classy snacks, including something that, though I ate a lot of it, could really have been anything. Italian antipasto, but with corn? Salsa, only sweet? Some sort of chutney? Why am I still *on* about the food?

In this more informal discussion, I was still pretty bug-eyed and silent, but I asked enough questions (“Wait, *who* did he punch?” “Is that person dead?”) to follow the flow. As illuminating as the first, really.

Then there was an early dinner, because apparently if you are in PTBO on a Tuesday, you either have leave by 7:30 or sleep there. I will restrain myself from describing that meal (curry!) Everyone refrained from rolling their eyes when I said the day had been “a wonderful experience” (worse than “the joy of the text”) and I got on the Greyhound and went home in the blizzard. When I got here, there was lightning in the snow.

It really *was* a wonderful experience, though, is the thing.

What is this love
RR

July 25th, 2007

O-Town, Backstreet, *NSYNC

Yes, I was off for the weekend in O-Town/Ottawa, land of sunny skies and buildings so beautiful they inspire patriotism and even architectural study (well, we’ll see). At least, the canal, the art museum, the parliament buildings and Laurk&Dave’s lawn all looked smashing. And I was put up in splendour at my hosts’ new *house*. For those who haven’t seen it, L&D’s new place really is amazing: curvy staircase, room with a dormer window (mine!) and a china cabinet that *lights up when you touch the hinges*. I want to live there.

Ahem.

Ottawa also contains the lovely Ms. Fred and, in delightful coincidence, KT as well. Fred provided colour commentary on our drive through downtown and KT was even prevailed upon to sit with me on the train back and be charming. And there was Mexican food eaten out of doors and the Renoir exhibit and lots of chattering.

Also a visit to a gym much fancier than mine, where you can plug your earphones into your cardio machine and hear what is playing on any of a bank of televisions. I live in a tv-less bubble, and it is probably tragic how exciting I found all this. I was allegedly not watching the show wherein the family of Nick Carter, former Backstreet Boy, noisily implodes. I kept unplugging my earphone jack and determinedly not watching, only to get sucked back in by the puzzling visuals on the screen. Did you know that Carter’s sisters have a lot of body image problems? That the family has way too many dogs that aren’t properly housebroken? That his teenaged brother is happy to cuddle in bed with his dad? Aren’t you sorry you do now? Nick Carter himself actually did not appear on the episode, having apparently disappeared according to his noticeably unperturbed sisters. The whole thing perturbed *me*, so it was just as well when it was time to go and I was forced to unplug for good. Poor Carters.

I got back on Monday and tried to get back to work as quickly as possibly, but things felt somehow not quite in sync. In general, I feel like I’m quite far behind on my writing, but I couldn’t tell you what engenders this feeling. It’s not like anyone’s yelling at me for missed deadlines or anything. Could it be that I’ve actually reached the point where I’m as addicted to time at my desk as I am to caffeine? Weird. No wonder I couldn’t deal with television.

Anyway, I’m back at it, although if the over-reach in this post title is any indication, it’ll be a while until I’m fully up to speed!

She’s throwing her charm away
RR

June 20th, 2007

I went away…

but now am back. Hooray? Well, it’s nice to see Toronto again, especially this morning, after last night’s mini-hurricaine washed away the humidity and smog (less of an improvement: the lightning took out the big tree in front of the library). But really, I was starting to grow pretty attached to NYC and certainly didn’t see nearly enough of it in the scant five days I was there. No one wants the play-by-play, I am sure, but the gist is that it was fabulous. In short:

JetBlue is an amazing airline of punctuality, mini-tvs, legroom and animal crackers.

I was delighted by how navigable the subways were. You just look at a map to see where you want to go and where you are, then find the line(s) that go in between (or check hopstop.com for various routes). The whole express/local distinction takes a little getting used to, but otherwise easy-peasy.

Small Kitten is well and thriving, with a cute apartment, amusing friends and a fine sense of style. Sabrina has instituted a policy of biting where I am concerned, but I think I love her anyway. She’s just too beautiful not to love.

I ate many delicious things, including a classic New York bagel (far better than Toronto, though very different from/possibly not as good as Montreal bagels). Also IHOP pancakes, which are as fantastic as everyone says, complete with pink strawberry syrup and unlimited coffee. Mmmm….

I walked like a crazy person–from Chinatown through Little Italy and Soho to Washington Square on Thursday, along the Coney Island Beach and then across the Brooklyn Bridge to the South Street Seaport on Friday (thanks, Melaniah, for your tour-guiding fortitude), 30 blocks along Central Park West and back on Saturday (I got confused), and from somewhere I can’t remember to and through Columbia on Sunday. Whew. It was fantastic.

I went to Coney Island, from whence my people sprung! It was neat, but I am still not sure I felt *of* the place. We ate at Nathan’s, but I had roasted chicken and vegetables because there are no veggie dogs in all of New York City. How weird and antidiluvian. Also no recycling bins. More on these topics later, I’m sure.

I met many of Melanie’s fascinating friends, and somehow let them suck me into singing in public. We are still not sure how that happened.

Ok, so that’s the short version and it is not all that short, and there is more to come. The point is that I had a fantastic time, and can’t believe the party is over and that I am at work eating a weird vegetarian sandwich that appears to consist mainly of shredded carrots. I miss you NYC, Melanie, Sabrina!!!!

If you can make it there
RR

June 14th, 2007

Landed

I’ve been in NYC less than 16 hours and I’ve already: sat on a patio, met four people whose name starts with M and one that doesn’t, been bitten by Sabrina (it was a love bite), had some diet Coke Plus (with vitamins and minerals!), been confused about that A train, been thoroughly well-entertained! And the trip and day are still quite young! To the Bronx, to IHOP, to Soho and beyond….

You have no scars on your face / and you cannot handle pressure
RR

June 12th, 2007

End and Goodbye

I should really be just posting a quick goodbye before I leave for NYC, and then getting *on* with packing and watering the plants and taking out the garbage before I go. I *should* do that, but I feel that it is of paramount importance that I first let you just how very good Joshua Ferris’s novel Then We Came to the End is: extremely so.

Sorry, I’m really bad at rave reviews. Even though I constantly read good books, you’ll mainly only hear me mention pans. I can be articulate about why something sucks, but my exhortations to read something good always sound like, “You’d like it, ’cause it’s really good. Like, um, really good. I was so impressed. Really, impressed.” But it usually doesn’t much matter, because I generally read stuff that everyone already knows is good (do I need to tell you how floored I was by Michael Winter’s One Last Good Look? Probably not.)

But Ferris is American, and being mainly hyped as an “office” writer, not that I even know what that is. And sure it’s a novel about an office, and accessible and funny and social enough that lots of angry office folks would likely love it. But it is also, technically, a masterpiece of voice and structure such as one (well, I) can’t usually find on the shelf.

I read it because I saw a capsule review in The New Yorker that basically just said it was pretty good for a book written in the first person plural. I wanted to read it ’cause *I* am writing a story in the first person plural, and I wanted some help with it, since it’s not going too well, and I don’t know many other things written in that voice–just The Virgin Suicides and “A Rose for Emily,” I think (others? suggestions welcome!) As it turns out, Ferris couldn’t really help me both because our projects are too different and because he is probably a genius and I am sadly not one.

But, gosh, I wish I were. I *can* tell you it is really hard to write a united voice for a group, and even harder to convince a reader that that’s the only valid way to do that, and Ferris totally succeeds. In fact, he succeeds to the point where I can’t tell you some of the more marvelous things he did with the voice because it would *wreck the ending.* How amazing is that, to marry form and content to that extent?

Possibly, this is not the book for everyone, but if this sounds at all appealing, you totally need to go read. It’s nearly 400 pages, but it won’t take you long, I swear.

Also, I’m off to NYC sorta tonight and definitely tomorrow. So miss me lots and find me at Sabrina’s place if you are desperate to get hold of me. Otherwise, expect highlights upon my return. And three rolls of film, natch.

Looked out into the blackness
RR