October 25th, 2011
What’s going on
Reviews In case you missed it, there was a very nice review of *The Big Dream* in the National Post on Saturday–you can get the online version here. There’s a less nice but still interesting review of *TBD* in the November issue of Quill and Quire, on the stands now–I’ll post the link when it goes online.
Launches I completely failed to attend the Insomniac Press fall launch last night–or rather, I failed *at* attending, because I did actually go to the launch. I was there mainly in excitement over Jamie Popowich’s Metraville, though in general Insomniac books are pretty stellar and I was looking forward to all the readers. But I was sick, I was tired, and then it finally happened–a Toronto event got started so late that I could not last until it *began*. It was not Insomniac’s fault–everyone else was having a blast, and I wouldn’t have wanted to speed along the festivities. I just have a terrible cold, and am flirting with laryngitis, so in deference to my reading tonight wouldn’t talk to people unless I could get right on top of them and whisper in their ears, which wasn’t making me very popular. And finally, about an hour after the show was supposed to start the room started to spin and I needed to go home. I failed the reading, where my only role was to sit and listen. Lame!
But I did go home and sleep for 10 hours and when I woke up I could speak in a voice heard by people who don’t want to know me intimately, thus I could survive the day and give a tolerably good reading to the very dedicated Ryerson students who made it to class in the rain to hear me!
Laryngitis Why do I seem to lose my voice at least once every year, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you why–because when I was young and stupid I got very sick with strep throat and did not see a doctor. After close to a week of this, I was feverish, mute, and living in a very sad, strange and entirely silent world of my own. When I was finally taken to the doctor and given some antibiotics, it was too late, though I didn’t know it–I apparently have scars on my vocal cords.
I figured this out because, though my everyday speaking voice is normally (rather loud at times, actually), even the slightest cold or cough irritates my vocal cords to Marilyn-like huskiness; if it gets slightly worse or I try to talk a lot, I’m rendered mute for days. I met a woman in her 60s with the same condition who says it only gets worse as you age–for her, the huskiness was apparent in her voice all the time.
What is the moral of the story? Go to the doctor when you are sick!!!
October 20th, 2011
Readings: a user’s guide
I’ve been blogging too long–I think I might have already written this post, but I can’t find it. If you’ve already read this, please ignore.
It’s book season, and I’m at a lot of readings these days and doing some myself (including a lovely one last night at Trent University in Peterborough). At most readings and pretty much every launch, there’s a few people who aren’t particularly book buffs; they’re just friend, family, or coworkers of the reader. They’re there to be supportive, and to try something new–but they sometimes look a bit baffled, scared, or bored. Next time, direct reading newbies to this post, where all elementary reading questions shall be answered!
Will there be cover? Sometimes yes, mainly no. The best way to figure this out is to ask, or check the listing, poster, or Facebook invitation. A rule of thumb is that regular reading series are usually pay-what-you-can or free, launches are usually free (but not always), and library programs are often free too. You’ll usually pay at festivals, and anything held in a theatre. But for big name authors, there’s cover pretty much everywhere. Prices are unlikely to exceed $20.
I haven’t read any of the books being read from. Can I still go? Sure! Think of readings as both a stand-alone performance and a kind of sampler or taste test from the books–it’s enough to enjoy on it’s own, but if you really like it, you might want to buy the whole thing.
But I don’t want to buy the book! Help! Calm down, it’s fine–many people come to readings just to enjoy the readings. Simply stear clear of the sales table if you don’t want to buy a book. If you aren’t sure, you can go look at the books for sale and then *still* not buy one–really! Anyone who would give you a hard time is being so rude you don’t have to be polite in turn. But in general, yes, be polite. Once a woman came up after a reading and asked me where she might buy my book. I told her some stores, but also mentioned that I had some copied for sale with me, and motioned to take one out of my bag, and she backed away with her hands raised. Seriously? Yeah, seriously.
Will the author sign my book? The author would be delighted. Within reason, you can ask for what you want inscribed–to yourself or someone else, and a (brief) message. In a long lineup for a very popular author, you might not get the opportunity to make such requests, but at the very least, the author should ask how to spell your name.
One funny thing I’ve seen a couple times is someone declining to purchase a book and instead asking an author to sign the reading program, or a blank piece of paper. That strikes me as so odd as to be sort of interesting–if that’s something you want to do, shine on you crazy diamond.
Also, if you want the author *not* to sign you book, that’s your perogative. Sometimes at very big events, books are pre-signed, and you may have to flip through the stack or ask for one from the back, but it’s your money–the seller will oblige.
I showed up on time and nothing’s happening–just all these people milling around in a bar. Sigh. Sorry about this. Nothing literary starts on time. In Toronto it’s really bad–sometimes more than a 45-minute delay (usually it’s about half an hour after “doors open”); I’ve heard in other cities it’s less. Definitely plan on the event starting later than the invitation says; the upside is that the social time beforehand is pretty fun.
Who am I going to socialize with–I don’t know anyone here? Reading types are often friendly and, ironically, also often solitary types who go to events alone and welcome idle conversation at the bar. And since you’re all there for the same reason, you have a natural opening to chat–asking about the writers on the slate tonight. Or if you prefer, read a book or stare moodily into space–it all fits.
Everyone says literary readings are boring. I don’t want to be bored! Try going to readings where there’s more than one person on the bill–that way, if you don’t enjoy one piece the evening’s not a write-off. Try reading a little bit of someone’s work to see if you will like it, and then only go to readings where you think you at least might like the work. And keep in mind–some people just don’t like being read to. For them, page-narrative needs to stay on the page, and that’s that. If you think that’s you, stay home and read, unless you need to go to support a friend. But do try to keep an open mind once you’re in the room–there’s nothing worse than really looking forward to an event, then sitting next to someone who has nothing but complaints before it even starts.
I tried, but I’m bored and I want to leave / I only wanted to hear my friend and not these other schmoes / I need to get home before the babysitter purchases heroin with my Paypal account. Of course, you gotta do what you gotta do. But if you think this might happen, plan on it–sit at the back, buy your books at the beginning, and maybe leave at a break if you can. If you must walk out during the middle of someone’s poem, at least be quiet, and forgo saying goodbye to people. I can’t help it: if I’m reading and I see you walk out, it feels hurtful; if you make a big loud fuss about it, it feels spiteful.
I don’t like the reading, but I made this nice friend earlier–let’s whisper-chat!! Oh god. No, don’t do this. That said, everybody does this, and the more readings you go to, the more likely you are to know lots of people in the room and be dying to talk to them. Please please please, limit to, “It’s nice to see you” and “Your sleeve is in the candle flame,” and save the rest for intermission.
I loved that reading! Should I tell the author? / I have many questions about the book / I have many questions about my own personal writing. Yes, tell the author you liked the reading–that always goes well. You can be a little critical–“why did you choose that passage?” or some such–but if you disliked the whole affair you might want to leave that opinion unvoiced and just swear you’ll never go back. Feel free to ask a question about the book, maybe two, and of course you can ask a quick question about the world of writing in general, too. Please keep in mind that if the event is crowded, or even if it isn’t, this might not be the place to get an in-depth analysis of your future prospects as a vampire/true-crime writer. Try asking if the writer has a card, or a contact form on his/her website, so you can get in touch in the future. Be sure to remind him/her of where you met when you do.
Oh, no, the reading is over–now what? My personal suggestion is ice-cream.
October 18th, 2011
What I Like to Talk About–an incredibly revealing post
Ages ago, I heard someone describe a topic as his “favourite topic of conversation.” At the time, I was young and thought that a very foolish thing to say/believe–surely the goodness of any given conversation was what the other talkers brought to it; surely there was no topic inherently good but that talking makes it so.
Which I still believe, but I also now realize that I have a number of topics, in the absense of anyone supplying a different one, I will always enjoy. And the things on this list are, in some cases, embarrassing–if you read this list for me, maybe for anyone, it will tell you a lot about my personality. So, ok, go:
1) People we might know in common. I will always try to figure out mutual acquaintances if you live or have ever lived anywhere near anyone I have ever known. You could be generous and say it’s my community spirit or some such, but sometimes it’s a puzzle and I like to find degrees of separation. And sometimes I think I honestly can’t believe I no longer live in the small town of my childhood, with my family and 3 friends being the only people I know.
2) People I know–or preferably whom we both know–and why they are awesome. I like thinking about what, specifically, I like about a person, and how their mind seems to work to make them fun, smart, generous, talented, funny, whatever. This can occasionally take a dark turn–I’m not above analyzing what’s wrong with someone–but the bright side is funner. And there’s something really bonding about two people co-liking a third person.
3) On the same token, a book we have both read and what we thought of it. I love discussing books, of course, but the conversation only truly sings if we’ve both read the text under discussion. I can definitely make a case for why you *should* (or shouldn’t) read a book that I’ve read, and I am receptive to being told as well, but after a while that’s less a conversation than an exchange of monologues. Less fun.
4) Cats. CATS CATS CATS.
5) What we’re going to do next. And then after that. And what we’ll have for lunch, and what would be a thing to have for lunch that would generate enough leftovers for tomorrow’s lunch, and also where it might be less expensive to shop for shoes and what lunch restaurants would be close by at that point, and what bus we would catch to make it to the movie on time, and then alternative bus routes in case we might like one of those better, and what other movie we might see if we are late for that one. Sometimes people who thought they liked me spend a long hectic day with me and find out that they don’t like me that much after all.
6) The weather. Seriously, it’s very interesting, and anyway, it’s going to affect what I’m doing this weekend.
7) What I’m doing this weekend. Also what you’re doing this weekend. Good things to do on future weekends…
See, I’m sort of inane, no? It’s weird to discover so much about myself from a list of things I already knew–separately–that I liked. What are your favourite topics of conversation??
October 13th, 2011
Rose-coloured reviews *Real Life* by Sharon Butala
Real Life by Sharon Butala is the 10th book I’ve read for the Off the Shelf reading challenge. Like many books on this list, I read it because it was starting to get embarrassing that I hadn’t. Not so much the specific book as the author: Butala has a strong reputation as a serious writer, for “writ[ing] with scrupulous honesty and without a lick of pretension.” (so says *Books in Canada*)
She does and, though I had some serious problems with the book, I too am in awe of Butala’s subtle, wry, taut prose. I felt the best story in the collection was “Light.” The story is about Lucia, a fairly average middle-aged woman who leaves her city, her home, and her husband to stay with her developmentally delayed, polio-crippled sister during her–probably final–struggle with cancer. During their time together, she cares for Elaine matter-of-factly, with no obvious tenderness but a great deal of love. Nevertheless, the gap between their lives and their minds is so great that there is little connection, almost no dialogue.
At home, her husband George misses her, but tries to support her in her task. He’s a professor, and lends her books to help pass the long hours of vigilance, but balks when she asks him for books about the Holocaust. He gives in almost immediately, though, and eventually explains to her the difference between the Holocaust narratives she’s reading, and the ones he suggests: “‘Those books will tell you the story…[b]ut none of them are works of art, and they have in common a failure to express the full scope of what happened…The books on this list will help you…’ he hesitated ‘come to terms,’ he added finally, shrugging, as if such a thing were hardly possible.”
And that’s the crux of the story–the inevitably failed struggle to understand true suffering from the outside. Lucia never really understands Elaine’s feelings, and through the story seems to move towards the knowledge that she can’t. “Now Lucia can’t bring herself to try to talk to Elaine about her impending death, and she hates herself for her desire, which she can no longer deny, that Elaine should give up this fight she can’t win.”
Empathy is so hard, is what I think this story is really about, and the more obvious where we should place our sympathies–those who suffered and died at the hands of Nazis, Elaine who was dealt a bad genetic hand thrice over–the more distance we have to cross to do so. That’s how I read the story, anyway, and also gorgeous evocation of love in all it’s horrible imperfection.
Though I enjoyed the rest of the book–the other 9 stories–a good deal, in a way “Light” points up some of the things I found troublesome in the others. Because Elaine is so delayed, illiterate, and often struggling to breathe, the lack of dialogue in that story is appropriate, and serves to emphasize the loneliness of dying. However, almost all the stories in the collection are grounded in the interior monologue of a single character, and this works sometimes better than others. In “Night Class,” Christine spends a great deal of time alone, driving to a far-off university outpost, but even before she takes the job she is so deeply ensconced in her own–admittedly persuasive–viewpoint that she neglects others with almost unforgivable ease. That story makes perfect sense in terms of POV, however excruciating it actually is to read (very, but that’s an achievement, too).
However, if I were the sort of person who put down books unfinished, I might’ve done it after the first and title story, concerning a woman whose ex husband suddenly reappears decades after their divorce. You find, extremely gradually, that there was a complex and heart-rending series of events at the root of their split. But this all comes out slow-fade memories from the much older woman, and I felt like we never get to hear anyone’s real feelings or motivations for what they did. I mean, I didn’t–I couldn’t put together from the tense and grim conversation in a coffee shop decades later where the connection between these people ever existed, much less what truly severed with it.
Lack of connection is what was truly problematic for me in this collection. Many of the stories were really single-character pieces, someone thinking through situations and insights alone in her own head. They might think *about* other people, but never actually engage with them. This worked when there was a true impediment to connection, as in “Light” or “Night Class;” people devastated by their inability to interact with other humans are much more relatable than characters like Jenna in “Saskatchewan,” who doesn’t seem to try. Jenna is a writer from a small town in the title province, “has a real cowboy for a husband,” writes semi-successful books for a publisher in Toronto, but dreams of more praise, a bigger readership, more than somewhat success.
The story concerns Jenna’s time on a literary prize jury–topical now as ever–and reads like autobiography. I say that not because the description of Jenna above almost exactly matches the bio on Sharon Butala’s webpage–that’s too simple. I think it’s autobiography because of how boring it is. There are no other developed characters besides Jenna, no meaningful relationships, no real sense of an adult life at all–just a single interior monologue and a single focus of interest. Despite the fact that the story takes place months after the adjudication (there are many retrospective stories in this book), it is Jenna’s only real focus other than her thwarted ambition. Her husband, her friends, her day-to-day life, whatever it is she actually writes about–all is elided from the story.
Which is exactly like how I feel reading memoir in which the memoirist wants to talk about one specific bit of her life while keeping the rest perfectly private–she constructs a false wall around the experience being focussed on. It ends up being an empty experience, at least for me. I didn’t care about cranky Jenna and her interior monologue, and if the story was some kind of story a clef I couldn’t guess what real event it was based on. Anyone know? The book came out in 2002, so prior to that. I certainly couldn’t understand or imagine the experience of the locked jury–we get no dialogue or sense of the characters of the other jurors, nor of the scorned author. The end of the story seemed to be trying to unlock some of the mystery, but I couldn’t parse it. Maybe it’s me?
What I’m saying is that Butala is extremely good, but her blindspots are substantial, and so are mine, and they are exactly at odds. A lot of the stories in this book were in the “not my thing” category, but the pieces that cracked through were utterly sublime.
Miscellaney
Sorry, I know list posts are lazy, but some days… Anyway, at least there is much on the list to be excited about!
Jouvon M. Evans profiled me and the other women of the short story in her Lance article “Short Fiction, Big Stories”.
Kerry Clare warmly reviewed The Big Dream on Pickle Me This. Yes, Kerry is a good friend of mine, but she also far too serious a reviewer for me not to take this review seriously–and joyfully–too. Really, strangers can hate the book all they want (though I hope they don’t) and I can just write them off as mortal enemies for life; it’s a much bigger problem if my friends hate it. What an awkward dinner party conversation…
Americans can now buy *The Big Dream,* on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and probably also lots of other places.
*TBD* is also available now as an ebook, from B&N in Nook, from Amazon on Kindle, on Kobo, and again, probably others. I’ve actually never read an ebook, much less downloaded one, so if there is a “best” format out there that most people use, or just one that you like, let me know and I’ll look into it.
That’s all for now–more soon!
October 10th, 2011
Tour and Thanksgiving
So the WOSS tour ended on Friday night with a lovely reading at Cafe Bettina in Montreal, hosted by Kathleen Winter and attended by many lovely folks, including a few that maybe weren’t aware that a reading was going to take place until it actually did.
I got the train home at sunrise yesterday (a rather rosy dawn over the “Farine Five Roses” sign) to celebrate several days of Thanksgiving with lots and lots of people, and lots of food. I have to get back to that in a moment, but since I am thankful for the opportunity to go on this tour, this post fits today, so below is a picture by our loyal fan/tour photographer Ray Boudreau, of the team at the Hamilton reading:
And here is a link to a little video that was shown on Windsor Today, taken on the first night of the tour. It really amazes me that the power of video-editing has made us all look so sane and calm. Thanks, Jeff!!
It was a wonderful experience, the WOSS tour. But now for some family, some kitten playing, and (yet more) pie.
October 5th, 2011
WOSS on!
After readings in Windsor, London, and Hamilton, the WOSS crew is back in Toronto tonight, reading at Type Books on Queen at 6pm (yes, well before the Coachhouse event!) Should be a fun night–hope you can stop by!
Tomorrow night is the Ottawa reading and then Friday in Montreal–if you’re interested in those events, look right for details.
Here’s us pub-dining in Windsor with our Biblio-escort, Tara. Note candy necklaces for all!
October 1st, 2011
Women of the Short Story Tour Starts Tomorrow
As you may or may not be aware, the Women of the Short Story Tour kicks off tomorrow night, and right on cue, I’m starting to get very very anxious about it. Also anxious about getting laundry done so that I don’t have to wear a bathing suit to Thanksgiving dinner.
But mainly I’m excited to be getting to do so many readings and in the company of Laura Boudreau and Cathy Stonehouse. I’ve read both their books now, so this is not general excitement but very specifically to be in the company of such story-writing talent, and to hear what I know will be 6 nights of amazing readings.
Want to hear some of them, too? It would be lovely if you could join us, so here’s the deets below–or at the Facebook invitation at the link above. Hope to see you somewhere this week!
September 29th, 2011
My theory
Monday afternoon, I went with the lovely Laura Boudreau to visit our shared alma mater, the University of Toronto’s Masters in English in the Field of Creative Writing program. Hosted by the always amazing Rosemary Sullivan, we got to read to the class, and then answer questions and chat about “the writing life.”
I love doing this sort of thing, but I should probably not over-indulge. When people ask me what I think and then I tell them while they silently write it down, it gives me inappropriate delusions that I am correct, and possibly a genius, when I’m just…talking.
Anyway, the class yesterday gave me a chance to expostulate on one of my theories about writing, and since no one contradicted me I am more convinced than ever that I am correct. But…perhaps not. What do you think? Here’s my theory…
Someone had asked if Laura and I wrote outlines before we began work on actually writing stories, and if we thought it would be a problem to just start writing and see where the story took you. I said that I never outline and probably can’t outline–I just go with some characters in my head, and a vague idea of what they might do. Usually they don’t do that thing at all, but 12 other small things, 7 of which I cut in later drafts.
But I think it’s ok. I think that there are two gifts that a writer could potentially have in her brain, and most people get mainly one, with perhaps a splash of the other thrown in. The first potential gift would be the ability to outline, to sketch and map and plan until all that remains is to write it! You hear people say that sort of thing, “It’s all in my head, I just have to write it down,” and largely they are crazy, but some people who have it “all” not in their heads but on notecards taped in an ascending line on the wall, might actually mean it.
But if you don’t get the outlining gift, then you are me and you get a different one–the revising gift! I am excellent at looking at the lumpy, twisty, incoherent mess that is almost all my first drafts and pulling something ressembling a story out of it. And I am excellent at reworking that second draft again (and again) until it even ressembles–sorta–a good short story. And then I ask other people what they think, and use their feedback to write yet another draft. And then maybe I stop…and maybe not.
No matter how long the process takes, I rarely lose patience with revisions–I figure they’re the price I have to pay for not outlining. And I hate outlining, because it’s more interesting to me to write the story not knowing how it turns out, and also because I am bad at it (I hate soccor for that reason, too). I figure outliners hate revising–they like writing the story complete and having it come out pretty close to done. I don’t think anyone writes a perfect first draft, but I do know folks who can get pretty close, and then just go back and “tidy up” in revisions. Whereas I wholesale deconstruct and rebuild.
If you can’t write an outline and you hate revising, you’re probably either a genius who just bang out a good story with no fore- or afterthoughts, or–more likely–someone who is not cut out for the writing life. I really think you have to be one or the other to write anything: an essay, journalism, academic writing, whatever.
But I could be wrong. Especially since I’ve never written a novel, or anything super-long. Maybe when something is 200+ pages, you *have* to outline. What do you think??
CBC1 in Windsor
If you’re in Windsor this afternoon, you can listen to me chatting with Bob Steele about the Women of the Short Story tour, the Year of the Short Story, and the nature of truth. If you happen to unfortunately not be in Windsor to listen on Thursday afternoon around 4:40 today, you can stream it live at the CBC Windsor site. On the homepage, scroll down until you find the “audio” section in the right-hand column, click on “97.5 FM CBC Radio One Live” and that’s it–you’re listening.
And yes, I realize this is again a link-not-content posting; it’s coming, it’s coming!
Buy the book: