October 6th, 2009

Cheer!

I promise this is the last time I mention it (for a while) but the new Journey Prize anthology is out today, and maybe you’ll like it (close to) as much as I do!!

And, if you don’t care about that, penguins in sweaters!

I’m not going away
RR

October 4th, 2009

At Draft

Yesterday, I was a happy attendee and terrified participant at The Draft Reading Series. As usual at these readings, the organizers were super on-the-ball, supportive and fun. Here is Maria from the Draft group, below, introducing the event and being charming:

Then amazing Amy Jones read, also new work, which was shocking and very funny and made me even more excited to read her forthcoming book as well as for the other events we’ll be doing together soon (oooh, suspense: stay tuned, Metcalf-Rooke fans!!)

Then Sachiko Murakami read some striking poems about Vancouver, and wore some really nice boots (not pictured):

Then Lina Medaglia read from her novel about immigration, superstition and how hard it is to be a kid because no one will tell you anything:

Since it was the Draft reading series, I read a story in draft form, ie., something I wrote the week before and edited over breakfast. This is something I had never done before, and it was really only Hallowe’en kisses (can you believe I could not find a picture to link to here? Can you also believe that it didn’t occur to me before now that bringing candy to readings is awesome?) Here I am, terrified, and full of sugar (thanks for taking the pic, B):

Then, of course, the camera died (B, I don’t blame you) before I could get a shot of final reader Roz Spafford, but I assure you she was interesting too! And then there was the first open mic I’d ever seen, which was quite quite good, considering the reputation of such ventures, and included such cool readers as August Bourre and Terri Favro!

It was an entertaining and illuminating (I can read draft work to strangers without bursting into flame–who knew??) afternoon, though I was shocked that there was candy leftover. Don’t worry, that will be rectified shortly!

Teenland, whoa-oh
RR

October 3rd, 2009

Event City

I usually have perhaps one or two standing-at-the-front-of-the-room experiences per month, but I have three this week, and I suppose it won’t be long before I start snapping my fingers for drinks and talking about the difficulties of “my art.” Or maybe not…

After the very fun Writers’ Trust presentation on Wednesday, on Thursday I got to go do a little reading and workshop with the teen writers’ group at North York Public Library, who are so very amazing (as is their leader, Susan Kernohan) that I didn’t have to do all that much of the talking, actually, just sit back and listen to the discussion about why art theory doesn’t help, while Dickens is a must, how inspiration starts, and what to major in in university. Pretty amazing.

And then tomorrow, I’ll be doing a reading for the Draft reading series. Here be the deets:

Sunday October 4th, 2009, 4 – 6 p.m.

The Blue Moon Pub, 725 Queen St. E. (That’s just East of Broadview on the South side.)

Including new work by:

Amy Jones
Lina Medaglia
Sachiko Murakami
Rebecca Rosenblum
Roz Spafford

There will be an open mike. Seven readers, three minutes each. Please arrive at the beginning of the reading to sign up. With the $5 admission fee you get a copy of Draft, a limited-edition publication available only at these readings. For info: draftreadings@gmail.com or 416 433-4170

I am stoked to hear all the other artists on the bill, including the fabulous story-writer Amy Jones (who I have never seen in person!) But I am a little terrified to myself be reading in draft form, something I’ve done only once before. Even that other time, it was a reasonably polished draft, as opposed to this story, which I only started work on a week ago Thursday. Oh dear. This’ll be something different, anyway.

Next week, I think I’ll stop standing at the front of the room and go to other people’s events for a while. Perhaps you would like to, too??

Tuesday October 6–Marta Chudolinska does a signing of her graphic novel, Back + Forth at Ben McNally Books.

Wednesday October 7–It’s the first anniversary (approximately) party for Pivot at the Press Club, and Emily Schultz, Spencer Gordon, Ken Babstock, and Meaghan Strimas take to the stage to celebrate. I am of the opinion that a night at Pivot is *always* a good bet, but this one might even be extra good.

Friday October 9–A non-lit event–the acapella groupCadence live at the Annex. Should be a whole new experience for me, and I hear nothing but good things.

And then we’re into the weekend, and can safely abandon cultural consumption for turkey consumption. I don’t know about you, but I intend to spend the entire weekend hugging people and eating sweet potatoes… But that’s *next* weekend, so I guess this means I should get back to work now.

Hope to see you at one (or more) of the above!

There’s nothing I can do for you you can’t do for yourself
RR

October 2nd, 2009

Another week

And another week’s end round-up:

Michael Turner answers 12 or 20. Mr. Turner is an important author for me (although really also for Canada) for various reasons, not least his was one of the first literary readings I ever saw, and at said reading, the very first pornographic film I ever saw.

The Literary Type has a hilarious post about The New Quarterly’s adventures at Word on the Street. My favourite part is when Melissa worries she’ll have to live in the parking garage. Oh, I love those guys!!

My matching quote game was met with near-resounding silence (thanks for trying, AMT) but here are the answers anyway: 4 a), 3 b), 2 c), 1 d), 5 e).

The Writers’ Trust announced their shortlists on Wednesday, including the Journey Prize shortlist, announced by Camilla Gibb and me.

It got really cold in Toronto and I hate it. I am also encountering some sort of wardrobe malfunction wherein all my clothes disintegrate (within the privacy of own home, mind) so I have to cobble together outfits that don’t make sense just for frostbite prevention. I will shop tonight, I swear it,

Behaved very badly in the arms of a boy
RR

September 29th, 2009

Master Classes

If you read much of Rose-coloured last spring, you likely came across notes on my time teaching creative writing to grade 10s and 11s. From this, I learned so much–nothing makes you critical of your own assumptions, limits, and biases like trying to impart them to cranky teens. Every time they questioned me, I questioned myself, and discovered either renewed confidence in my ideas about writing, or renewed eagerness to come up with some better ones.

This spring and summer, I found another way to shake myself out of my habitual thinking and look at things in new ways: judging. When I was asked sit on the jury for Journey Prize 21 I was honoured and terrified–the nominated stories were selected by journal editors as the best they’d published that year! So they were all going to be *pretty* good, and how finely could I discriminate? How could I choose between one very good story and another without simply falling back on my own ingrained prejudices about what I *prefer* in a story, but is not always perfectly coincident with what’s *good*.

By reading really carefully and slower than is my wont, by taking notes, by rereading, rereading and rereading. Also, it turns out, by talking. The Journey committee deliberations had some email components, but also a long day in a room with nothing but a pretty view, a lot of delicious food, and stories to discuss. When I sat down with Camilla Gibb and Lee Henderson, I thought that it would be too indimidating to speak up, and yet too irresponsible to the stories not to. So I talked a little, and they were warm and collegial. So I talked some more, and though we didn’t always agree, we did always take others’ points seriously and honestly, and everyone was willing to return to a story and try to see someone else’s reading of it.

And I did too–it was shocking, the way school is shocking. You walk into class having done the readings and formed your opinions, and you aren’t even wrong–there’s just another layer, another dimension, that the prof (or fellow students) introduce and make you go back and reread and say, “Oh!” I think we were all able to provide these new layers on different stories for each other, and that was what was so amazing and educational–this 360 view on published stories (we do this all the time in workshop, but that’s with an eye to the story being rewritten).

The next time I was asked to be a story contest juror, I was much more eager and less trepidacious, and it was another wonderful experience even though, as it turned out, I didn’t actually get to do it. I was merrily reading and note-taking for the University of Toronto alumni short story contest when a story I recognized popped up in the second round. As said story progressed to the shortlist, I realized I had to recuse myself from the jury.

By then, though, I had some pretty strong attachments to the stories and was depressed that I’d miss out on what was sure to be a fascinating discussion about who should be a finalist and who should win. I’d also heard through the grapevine that the discussion was to be held at a really good restaurant. So I offered to be a silent audience, mouth opened only to put food in (it really was excellent). Everyone agreed, thank goodness, because this was a whole other education: to listen to the intelligent dialogue and short-story dissections of Andrew Pyper, Lee Gowan and Allyson Latta without the burden of self-consciousness. I had a very solid grasp on the stories, but since I didn’t have to be articulating that grasp every minute, I was able to listen ever more deeply to what the other judges thought and felt about the stories. Once again, we were not always in accord, but everyone presented their thoughts with respect for even stories that didn’t work for them, and with a willingness to see things from another perspective, should one be offered.

By the time it came around to adjudicating This Magazine’s Great Canadian Literary Hunt, short-story side, I felt like I was gaining some expertise (of course, not everyone would think it brilliant time management to agree to sit on three story juries in six months, but honestly, how do people say no to these cool opportunities???) This time it was an e-discussion amongst Dennis Bolen, Kate Sutherland and myself. Again, a vibrant mix of reading styles and expressive styles, and a great openness to very different readings of the same story (although this time, sadly, nothing to eat). Again, a feeling that the other judges had opened up the stories for me, making me read even those I loved in new ways, and giving me ways into stories that hadn’t previously spoken to me.

You can see the results of the UofT and This contests in those magazines’ last issues of the year, and you can see read the Journey Prize longlist starting next week, when the book is for sale. You can also come see me and Camilla Gibb announce the shortlist for the Journey, tomorrow at 10am at Ben McNally Books, along with a few others of the Writers’ Trust Awards shortlists.

Or you can do none of these things and simply trust me on this: people are writing really amazing short stories out there, and they don’t seem likely to run out of ways of surprising us with the form anytime soon. And people are thinking about short stories out here, too, and we don’t seem likely to be run out of ways of being surprised, either.

All the lies in the book
RR

Minutia

1) Very few people are reading this blog so closely as to care, but if you *were* wondering, it go postponed but I did eventually go to this appointment. I just got back, in fact. And yes, I have one booked for 2010, too, but let us not discuss that for now.

2) Today my iPod shuffled My Chemical Romance’s cover of “Desolation Row” right before The Indigo Girls’ cover of “Tangled Up in Blue. It was *so awesome.*

That is all.

Papa’s bankbook wasn’t big enough
RR

September 28th, 2009

Matching Quote Game

Everyone’s been just so quotable lately that I was going to just provide you with a list of highlights, but then I thought it would be even more fun to let readers match the quotations with their attributions–that’s the level of interactivity the internet is famous for, no? So here’s what they said:

a) I’m starting to feel just a little abused–like a coffee machine in an office.

b) She liked me as well as the next person, anyway, and the next person hadn’t come along yet.

c) This is like the confused leading the blind, leading a bunch of shrews. Don’t look so calm: you’re blind and you’ve got shrews on your tail!

d) The status is not quo.

e) Montreal metalheads are hardcore. At shows, they throw the skeletons of the people they’ve eaten onto the stage.

So who said what?

1) Doctor Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog

2) My friend J.

3) Leon Rooke

4) Shakira

5) Teenagers on subway

No links, to discourage you from looking this stuff up. Answers can go in the comments section, and I think the prize is only eternal glory, though I’ll try to think of something better than that. I’ll post right answers at the end of the week, to give time for the two or three people who actually ever play my reindeer games to play.

That’s amore
RR

September 26th, 2009

Grant-tastic

I wanted to write a post about grant application writing because we’re in that season and I imagine that lots are thus obsessed. So many of us obsessed, and yet I am also writing this because no one seems to talk that much about this all-consuming process. There seems to be lots of good web resources on how to ready a manuscript for submission, but very few on grant apps. Possibly that’s because grant-app requirements vary by country and region, or because not everyone politically endorses grants to artists, or because they are such closed-door processes that people feel little is known and there’s no advice to be offered–better just to ignore them and get on with the work itself, which is what really matters, after all.

True that it’s the work that matters. But while it probably is also true that no one can tell you how to write a successful grant application, I think help helps a writer to create a decent one, and helps also to keep him/her from going insane while doing so…and money, if you win a grant, certainly helps.

Jim Munro has written both on how not to get depressed about applying for grants, and why they are important to artists and the world at large. (That last essay, four years old, is still extremely relevant and powerful in these times of arts budget cuts–grant-backed work as the R&D of literature is a concept the government is still struggling with, apparently.)

But I wondered if there were people out there who were hoping for something a little more specific, and step-by-step. And, as usual, what I have to draw on is my own incredible luck: when I first started writing these applications, I had what most young writers would love: people to hold my hand and help me every step of the way. So while I’m not wildly familiar with every aspect of the process, I have been doing this a while, and have received some good advice. At the very least, I’d like to pay it forward.

Step 1: Whenever you have time, read over the national, provincial/territorial, and regional/municipal arts council websites (I don’t think every region/municipality has one, but I think all provinces/territories do, although I’m not even sure about that–anyone want to report?) Figure out which ones you and your project are eligible for, and note when the deadlines are. Also note which ones you aren’t eligible for but would like to work towards (ie., you don’t have enough professional publications to be considered a “professional artist” but are close; you don’t have the page count for the project to be eligible but are close; etc.)

There are so many grants out there, and it is confusing to find out which ones are for what and whom, but obviously, it could be kind of lucrative if you do. If you have no idea what is meant by something or other on an arts council website, it’s definitely worth your time to enquire. I have called the 800 numbers for every granting level, and have been unfailingly met with quick, polite and helpful responses. Once, after answering my question, the administrator said that that bit was actually so confusing he would change it for next year–I helped!! I’m a grant-applicating hero!! Ok, ok….

Not Step 2: Create a project you think jives with the grant guidelines. Not only is this impossible to guess at, but it will be both stressful and boring, and really depressing if you don’t get the grant and you’ve spent all this time creating a project you don’t believe in. Just keep right on thinking about whatever project you were hoping to do next, only maybe try to think about it in the form of 1 or 2 clear and concise proposal pages…

Step 2: 3-4 weeks before the deadline, read the guidelines for the grant you want to try for and make sure you are still eligible. Read over all the requirements and figure out what you need to do. For one of my first apps, I skipped step 1, and was far closer to the deadline than 3-4 weeks when I started to process, and became quickly overwhelmed by the various requirements. So I went and took a bath.

Luckily, I had a good and organized friend staying with me, who printed out the guidelines and, when I returned, read them aloud to me and helped me find all the constituent pieces (I’m sure this is exactly what she wanted to do with her weekend.)

Do whatever the guidelines say. Format the pages the way they want, take things off your resume that they claim are extraneous, use the right colour of ink, etc. A lot of these things don’t matter, but it’s really hard to say which so it’s necessary to DO THEM ALL. If you format the headers wrong and your name appears on something that’s supposed to be blind ajudicated, it will be thrown out. If you double-side the pages when they ask you not to, so that the app can’t be photocopied easily, it’ll be thrown out. These are dumb reasons not to get a grant. Don’t think outside the box when filling out forms; keep the creativity strictly in the work, which is where it matters. Again, if confused, call!!

Step 3: 3ish weeks ahead of deadline: Write your proposal. This is the hardest part (though some grants don’t even call for this), but it’s also actually a useful exercise, as it forces you to articulate what exactly you are trying to do (anyone who has ever been interviewed knows this is difficult even after the thing is print!)

The esteemed writer who helped me with another app (eventually I started doing them on my own, I swear) said he never spent more than 2 hours on one of these, and while we can’t all be that chilled out, I really think we should try. Mr. Munro says he takes about 2 days for the whole process, which seems about accurate, though I doubt you’ll want to take a whole weekend away from whatever writing/real life stuff you’ve got on to do it all at once.

Write the proposal over a week or so. Say what you are doing and want to do, as clearly and smoothly as possible. If it’s a highly theoretical project, sure, make references that are important to you, but if it isn’t, don’t invent them. Tell yourself it’s about the quality of the work, over and over and over. Even if you end up with a highly politicized jury, you have no way of knowing that in advance; you can’t make them like your work, you can only make your work good.

Step 4: as soon as you finish the proposal Get a kind friend to proof everything–the forms you’ve filled out, the resumes, publication lists, anything that has words on it (except the actual work sample; see below). You don’t need a fellow writer necessarily, just someone with a keen eye, good grammar, and an investment in you getting the metaphorical spinach out of your teeth. When they read the proposal, encourage them to mention any sentences that don’t makes sense/aren’t clear–you never know what your fervered brain might have done at this stressful point in the process.

Step 5: whenever you need to Take a little break and think of other things. Really really try not to let the grant app take over your life, or go in the slot where actual writing is supposed to go.

Pep talk: Think about how lucky we are to be writers writing grant applications. Dance, visual art, and musical profressionals have to write them just like we do, only their chosen profession is *not* putting their ideas down on paper in the best possible way. It could be so much worse–imagine having to sing your application, or paint it.

Step 6: a few days before you send the whole thing out Take the best [however many pages you need] from the project as started, or of a past project that is similar in style, and format them according to the specifications of the application. This should be stuff that’s been previously edited and proofread–I would strongly suggest that you not add that to the sundry grant-app pressures–it should be ready-to-go materials taht have been previously submitted it for publication or were actually published or just stuff you have already gotten to a point where you are happy with it. Of course, there’s no reason you *can’t* be editing now, or even writing new materials if you feel you need to, but if that’s your plan backdate the whole process a whole lot weeks, and brace yourself for the extra stress.

Step 7: at least a week before the deadline if you are mailing it Package everything up in an appropriate new envelope (just this once: spring for exactly the right size instead of trying to cut down/tape together/recycle an envelope), address it carefully, and take it to the post office to be weighed and stamped. If you are a tense type (ie., me) you’ll probably need to pay a lot of money to have a mailing option with a tracking number–suck it up and save the receipt for tax season, since it is a professional expense.

Pep talk #2 Try to think of grant applying as part of the job description of being a writer (unless you don’t believe in grants, in which case, why have you read so far in this post?) When I fretted about it not being worth all that time and energy for a grant that I probably wouldn’t get since I was just starting and I should just get on with the project anyway, my mom pointed out that since I was *going* to do the project anyway, and work very hard on it, it would be silly not to even suggest to anyone that I get paid a bit for all that work. No one, I don’t think, is entitled to a grant just for working hard, but we are certainly all entitled to ask.

Exception to pep talk Don’t apply for grants if it will eat up all the time you have for writing. If you are that pressed for time that regular adherence to the grant application schedule would make you more a grant-applier than a writer, it’s obvious which one has got to go. It’s the work that matters.

Step 8: after mailing app, for about 4-6 months Forget it. Go write something. Apply for a different grant. Talk to your loved ones. Look at kittens!

Step 9: 4-6 months later An envelope comes in the mail. We’ve all been trained by *The Facts of Life* to think that thick envelopes mean acceptance and thin mean rejection, but there’s often a lot of extraneous forms in there, so you’ll have to open it to know, probably standing in the foyer of your building, with a pizza guy glaring at the back of your head.

If you get rejected, feel surprised and a bit sad…say to yourself (and others if they ask) “Huh, I thought that was a pretty good application. Well, can’t win’em all.” Then go file the letter, or log it in your spreadsheet, or make it into a paper airplane, or whatever it is you do. Get someone who likes you to buy you a drink.

Pep talk #3 Canada Council funds about 20% of grant applications, and Toronto Arts Council perhaps 22-24% (I don’t have other stats, but feel free to extrapolate or share). That’s because that’s what they have the money for, not because all the other apps they get are unworthy, or even that the committees think they are. I’ve never sat a committee myself, nor even known anyone who has well enough to ask more than general questions, but I firmly believe they weed out all the bad ideas, bad writing, and crazy writers, and then put the good sane materials in a hat, out of which they draw names until they run out of money. Believe that you were in the hat, ok? Rejection doesn’t mean it was a bad project; it means this wasn’t your year. Feel surprised and a bit sad, and put it behind you. It’s the work that matters.

Note: if you have information that contradicts my theory, sure, let me know; if you have a *theory* that contradicts my theory, please keep it to yourself and allow me to remain relatively Rose-coloured.

If you get accepted, feel surprised and extremely thrilled. Hop about for a bit (you should probably leave the foyer now, and let the poor pizza guy in.) Tell someone who likes you (and buy him/her a drink); toast yourself and your good work and good luck. Examine all the paperwork they’ve sent you so that you know how to a) get your money, b) file your taxes, and c) fill the Final Reports that are months away from being due, at which point you will have lost every piece of paper telling you how or where to send them or what to say. Or, erm, not, because you are not as dopey as some of us.

Ok, now get back to work. And for heaven’s sake, don’t put that you’ve received a grant in your author bio, unless it’s in print with the work that the grant actually funded, and the granters are being credited–otherwise, that’s like putting your salary on your resume. Getting paid is nice but it’s–wait for it–the work that matters.

Good luck, everybody! And if you find something erroneous, confusing, or missing in this post, please get in touch!

Keep the faith
RR

September 25th, 2009

Week’s End Round-Up

As usual, there’s way too much going on and I’m falling behind, but let me try: Toronto’s very exciting, super-book streetfest, the ever-popular Word on the Street is back on Sunday–great for deal hunters and outdoor reading hunters, but now so populous as to be extremely unfortunate for agoraphobes. Fred explains how unwieldy and expensive hardcovers are an anglophone problem. Glee is apparently the best show ever made, but I of course don’t have a working tv so have only seen this bit (wow, and a website pinker than mine). Oh, and my story “Christmas with My Mother” is forthcoming in *Best Canadian Stories 09* from Oberon Press.

I’m sure there’s more; more reports as they surface.

Now put your hands up
RR

September 24th, 2009

Writer Chic

Now wearing: very much too-big cotton stretch pants, usually worn as pajamas but today promoted to daywear due to laundry apathy, rolled at the waist to flood levels so that they will stay up, revealing bleach-white men’s gym socks, originally my father’s, given to me in a time of sock-shopping apathy; gangsta girlfriend white-and-baby-blue Puma sneakers; extremely snug/sexy (depending on self-esteem moment) navy TNQ t-shirt worn long over hips and bulge of rolled-up pants waistband; heavy burgundy-framed glasses; ponytail (ponytail = jail for hair that cannot adhere to the social compact); black cardigan with multiple armpit holes.

Sometimes (not often) I want to take the “eccentric” option that being a writer affords me.

Just broke up
RR