August 26th, 2009

Relit Awards Long List

I am a bit behind, as usual, but someone nice just pointed out to me that the Relit Awards Long List were announced last week, and *Once* was included (in the short fiction category, natch). It’s a big list, full of amazing books, and I’m delighted to be included. This news makes up for the rain for sure, and maybe even the ongoing lowlevel rage that left-handed mousing is producing. That one may not have been the best idea I ever had. But on we struggle!

Talking to all my little pets / smoking the same old cigarettes
RR

August 25th, 2009

Further reading

So we’ve all heard the debate about eBooks, the Amazon Kindle, the Sony reader, the future of print, etc. (at least, I hope we all have, since I am too lazy to provide links). I am largely playing from the sidelines, since the price of entry into the fray is $300, and then you still have to pay almost full price for the books and, unlike the print market, there are no used book stores, libraries, or generous lending friends for eBooks (that I know of??) Any emotions or opinions about this dawning technology that are expressed herein are entirely theoretical.

However, I have been reading on-screen for years–computer screens, of course, but still. I am desperately behind the times in many ways (I have no interest in phones that don’t plug into the wall) but reading on-screen is fine to me. I don’t feel like I miss things, that I have a harder time following the text, or that it’s hard on the eyes. I have read hundreds of books on computer screens, in various formats–some were in DOS.

Most of this reading, of course, has been done for work-related purposes–my various publishing jobs have required a lot of reading. On my own time, I read books in book format, for the reasons stated above and also because I like them. I like pages, I like jacket copy, I like bookmarks and perfect-binding and matte finish covers (oooh, with spot gloss!) My alleged leisure reading often has a semi-professional puropose, though: I probably read more like a student (looking to see how it works) or critic (looking to see if it works) than most. But mainly I read for pleasure. I don’t watch tv, knit, golf, or own a cellphone–reading is what I do for fun. A flawless weekend, to my mind, the one I spent two weeks ago, park-hopping–going to a park, lying in the grass and reading until you get hungry/get thirsty/have to pee, going to cafe to rectify that, and then going to a different park to repeat. On a sunny summer day in good company–bliss.

I think I could do that with an electronic book, if I had to. I won’t know *until* I have to, because of the price threshhold and the fact that I like paper books so much, but I don’t know if it’s going to be a huge big deal for me. As I started writing this post, I was going to say I mainly do my pleasure reading offline, but then I realized I sure do read a lot of blogs. And then I was going to say, oh, but not like literature online. But the truth is, in the past week alone I have had the random impulses to read The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, The Young Lutheran’s Guide to the Orchestra and The Dead at times when the paper copies of those pieces that I own were inaccessible to me. And yet the interweb made reading happen for me, for which I am grateful. I had read all those items multiple times before on paper, and then last week on the web, and I feel safe hazarding I enjoyed them just as much this time round.

So this is a good sign (and also a sign that writing this blog allows me to think through my positions on things much more fully than simply thinking about them does). I’m scared of the electronic book, of course, as only a person who has never had a cellphone, cable television or a dishwasher can be. But I do think in the end, books being my favourite thing will triumph over my fear of the new. It’ll be like a loved person in an unfamiliar hat.

Of course, my vision of the future seems to involve somebody showing up one day and taking all the paper books away and that’s probably not going happen, at least not in my lifetime. Maybe, in time, my affection for paper books will come to seem as amusing as my love of landlines, and I’ll sit in my corner turning pages, while the rest of the world moves on.

That wouldn’t be bad at all.

Serenity now
RR

August 24th, 2009

Reads

I would never tell you what to do, but if you were looking for something to read and you happened to *ask* me, I might suggest:

—Sherman Alexie’s wonderful new story, War Dances is worth reading just for the crisp dialogue, just for the laconic generosity Alexie extends to his characters, just for the long prose-poem/text experient/amazing section “Exit Interview for My Father.” Taken in total, this story blew me away.

–Dave Fiore’s new fiction blog, Montreal Fiores‘s slogan is “putting the character in local character.” For those of us who haven’t been local in a while, or even at all, these stories and scenes put you there in a detailed, pigeons and cigarette butts way that’s so true it’s occasionally alarming.

–As ever, the whole of the current issue of The New Quarterly is worth your concentrated attention. Particularly “Impetus for a Sketch” and “All We Will Ever Be,” two particularly striking stories out of an issue full of strong strong fiction. The latter is by the 2008/9 Metcalf-Rooke Award-winner, Amy Jones, by the way; so the torch has been passed and it looks like the flame is burning bright.

–But *Once* is still around, and the first story from the collection, “ContEd,” has received a thoughtful review at That Shakespearian Rag. In the course of this year, I’ve learned that almost every single story in the book is someone’s favourite, but “ContEd” sure does come up a lot.

There, I’m glad I got all that off my chest. Happy reading!

Summer to winter
RR

August 21st, 2009

First-world problems

I have recently been introduced to the term “first-world problems”, used to describe those problems that sure enough do feel lousy when we have to experience them, but taken in the context of people who struggle for food, safety and clean drinking water, are a little less than earth-tilting. Ie.,

–ice cream melts too fast
–waiter forgets your wine, is rude when reminded
–ugly hotel room
–wallet in other pants
–trying to switch the hand you use your mouse with in order to stave off carpal tunnel syndrom and Altzheimer’s disease makes you grouchy and confused

I’m trying to do that last one and it’s making me very unhappy in a distinctly first-world way. On Wednesday, I did *one hour* of left-handed mousing, and when I got into bed that night and let my body go slack, the mouse-fingers on my left hand immediately started to twitch. Today, I’ve been at it about 3 hours, and I think I might go insane.

Now, I’m a prime target for carpal tunnel, since I’m in front of a computer an incredible number of hours, don’t have an ergonomic setup, plus often use a laptop. There’s nothing I don’t think to be done about the laptop; I’ve been trying to use the touchpad with my left hand, but since it’s right there in the middle, I immediately forget add allow my pushy pushy right hand to take over.

It’s easier on the desktop, since I have an actual mouse that I have moved over to the left side of the keyboard. However, it is a very strange mouse since it the one associated with the drawing pallette I use in my work. Mine’s not that nice, I just wanted a clear picture, but it is a pricey item and clearly it’s not going to be replaced just so I can have a left-handed mouse to go with it, even if there was such a thing (wow, another first-world problem: my expensive technology not quiiiitte as nice as some).

So now I am left-clicking with my *ring-finger*, probably the weakest part of my body besides, like, my hair. Hence the twitching, I guess. I’m trying to feel the new, Alzheimer’s-preventing neural pathways being formed as I do this, but mainly I just feel like I’m working really slowly as it often takes a couple tries to click on what I want. Also my ring-finger is tired. Also, several times when I got really involved with something, I discovered myself 45 degrees pivoted in my chair, gripping the mouse with my right hand through now will of my own. Also, for some reason, my right hand hurts; sympathy pains?

A friend of mine actually successfully made this switch, which is what inspired me to try, but that friend is superhuman in any number of regards, and I’m starting to think this is one of them. Maybe I’ll just learn Suduko??

Why not smile?
RR

Spellchecked

I am doing the spellcheck on a story, and these are the words I’ve clicked “ignore” on. I wonder what clues they give as to the nature of the story:

uncatered
minifridge
Lavalife
colours
Coke
FedEx’d
admins
midconversation
dj
nothinger
orthodics
Prius
maritalness
bellish
clearish
one-night-standish
lingerie’d
unmuscled
fleshshaping
unerotic
clinkless

In some ways, that’s pretty much the whole story in miniature, in slang and neologisms. Weird.

She wears her overcoat for the coming of the nuclear winter
RR

August 20th, 2009

Variousky

1) In case you were in suspense following yesterday’s panic post, the reading last night went fine, the other readers were fab, as were the friends and food (all-day breakfast very soothing when in a state of freak-out, I discovered). My big fear in reading an unpublished and thus unfixed story is that I would try to fiddle with it, ie., edit, while onstage, and render myself incoherent. But I managed to contain myself, stick to the script and read a half of a brand-new story–yay!! And I think it went well, as confirmed by several persons who are, ok, my friends and brother, but are also honest enough to be trusted.

2) How can we be 20 days into the month and me just reporting to you on That Shakespearian Rag‘s 31 Days of Short Stories program. It’s a good, occasionally critical, introduction to a wide range of stories, and also just great to see stories get this much attention.

3) More on stories: last fall, Nigel Beale did an audio interview with me about what makes a good short story. The interview touched on a lot of points from Flannery O’Connor’s views on stories, good company to be in, and riff off. Nigel then did a couple more interviews in similar formats, with Nam Le and Anne Enright, also extremely good company, Highlights from all three are now available in text form in Cha, an Asian literary journal.

4) While I was writing this post, the sky turned black, the wind began to rip leaves from the tree outside my window, thunder rattled and the sky downpoured. An outstanding show–I hope you weren’t outside.

There’s man holding a megaphone / it must have been the voice of gad
RR

August 19th, 2009

Now Hear This!

Well, I was calm for a while there, but round about the 7-hours-and-counting mark, I became terrified. Following that seven hours I will be, for the first time ever, reading new, unpublished (ie., still possible to revise) work in public. Aieee!

I’ve heard a lot about, and believe in, the power of audience reaction–both overt (laughter, applause, boos, heckling) and subtle (more attentive silence, more sleepy ignoring silence) to help a writer know what’s working in the story and what isn’t. And I think I’m finally at the point where I can try it. But, oh, it’s going to be so raw to be reading smudgy-ink printouts rather than a nice printed-n-bound object.

Anyway, if you want to be one of the ones who offers that powerful audience reaction, see here. And see you there?

So you don’t confuse them / with mountains
RR

August 18th, 2009

Pivot Power

I am a big fan of the Pivot at the Press Club reading series. Not just because I got to read at the launch, and not just because Pivot is the Phoenix from the ashes of the wonderous IV Lounge reading series.

I love Pivot because it’s awesome! It’s a great space at The Press Club: art on the bathroom walls, a grape arbour out back (also a patio), red velvet curtains and mismatched chairs. The bartender/owners seem genuinely happy to be hosting a reading series, and if you want something they don’t serve (ie., coffee) they’ll tell you where to go get some and then let you drink it in the bar!

Another joyful thing about Pivot is the folks who come to listen. There aren’t a lot of events where it’s as easy to show up alone and find yourself in a conversation–and I have some great ones with then-strangers who shared my appreciation of public readings, friendliness and sitting down (everyone shares table space, happily).

Of course, the meat of any reading series is the reading and, it could be just me, but the readers at Pivot seem to pretty consistently bring it, fully. It’s a curated series, three readers every other Wednesday, booked well in advance, no open mike. The curator (and host, mc, and driving force) is the charming Carey Toane. She’s the one who puts together the evenings, too, so it’s to her credit we’re always seeing new and different stuff at these readings, prose and poetry, fractured and linear, established and new. You don’t need to have published a book, or anything, to read at Pivot; you just need to be, you know, a good writer. Go here if you are interested.

If you’ve been with Rose-coloured a while, you know I’m a lousy photographer with a terrible camera, and yet I can’t stop taking pictures. Here’s a few highlights, badly rendered, from recent Pivots.

Phillip Quinn Reads!
Gillian Sze reads!
Angela Szczepaniak reads!
Jaqueline Larson reads!
Mark Sampson reads!
Sarah Selecky reads!

It’s a crazy cornucopia, no? I’m really sorry Blogger ate the picture of Carey; it was a good one!!

My point? Ah, is that Pivot is one of my favourite ongoing events in the city, there’s another one next week, and hopefully many more–and I hope to see you there!

She’s wears her overcoat for the coming of the nuclear winter
RR

August 15th, 2009

Book Birthday

My book, *Once*, launched on September 15, 2008, which was certainly one of my favourite days in history. I’m celebrating my book’s birthday a month early for a couple reasons. One is an actual human birthday to celebrate this September 15, and another is that another book is launching on that day. Back and Forth by Marta Chudolinska, a name and a project that might be familiar because my own book cover (see top right of this page) is an image taken from Marta’s book. I am very glad she and I will be sharing a launch date.

Also, I had planned to move forward from doing all my readings from *Once* after a year, but I find myself a little eager on that front. With this early birthday, my next reading, on August 19 can be included in my new year of new readings. Not that I’ll refuse to read from *Once* if asked–or indeed, if inspired–but in general, I’m excited to do other readings after (most of) a year of *Once*.

Oh, but what a year.

Six or so months before *Once*’s debut, I was talking on the phone about some publication matter with the book’s editor, John Metcalf. It was early on a Sunday morning and I somehow wandered from the topic at handonto the various insoluble problems with my life. My tone may have veered towards self-pitying. John assured me that publishing a book would improve my outlook on my life as well as my life itself, and that I should somehow arrange to not entirely lose hope until the thing was in the world. I had accomplished something, and once I was able to hold it in my hand, I would feel it.

When I remained forlorn and unconvinced, John wound up making and mailing me an inspriational poster featuring an Impressionist art postcard of a child being held firmly by the hand, captioned “pre-book Rebecca” and one of a beautiful Impressionist lady lounging contentedly, “post-book Rebecca,” which is taped to my coat-closet door to this day.

I don’t know if I’ve fully grown up this year, but I truly have some amazing moments, and been more thrillingly rewarded than I ever thought possible for something I would really have done anyway. And the freedom that came with the book was the freedom, and encouragement, to do so much.

I read in a rainstorm. And on the radio. And to teenagers, UofT alumni, people in 7 cities, my high-school creative writing teacher, people stained with walnut juice, people with kids to get home to, people who weren’t listening, packed houses, almost empty rooms, writers I adore, my family, and people who didn’t care at all. I followed a slam poet, rave art, writers I adore, and lunch.

I was given lunch, dinner, breakfast, drinks I didn’t want, masses of cheese (why cheese, always, at the readings?), the spare bedroom, this really delicious kosher cookie, souvenir coffee mugs, mints, notepads, a fountain pen, flowers, poetry journals, a map of Winnipeg, hugs, and a pizza made out of Playdough. Also, occasionally, payment for readings.

Once, my status as a writer got me invited to an extremely fancy party. The invitation specified that I was not to bring an escort. “Ah, they want people to get to know each other,” I thought, and, at the appointed time, I got as dressed up as I am capable of, went across town, had my named checked at the door and entered the fanciest, most enormous party I’d ever seen. There were likely 1000 people there, and not one of them talked to me except the bartenders. I saw some stunning fashion, eavesdropped and some fascinating conversations, had one drink, several impressive canapes (cream soup in a shot glass!), and started the trek back across town after 20 minutes.

I signed books like a star! I got to meet artists and writers and musicians and booksellers and publishers. Once a friend went on a (ultimately unsuccessful) blind date and the last book the guy had read was mine. Once a friend of a friend’s wife (unknown to me) got my book for Christmas. Once, someone struck up an (interesting) conversation with me because he recognized me from a past reading. Once, I got interviewed on CBC’s Sunday Edition, and strangers Facebook’d me to say they’d liked it.

When people were snide in that oh-really-a-writer? way, or even some other non-writing way, I took great great pleasure in not telling them one thing about *Once* or its reception. Good news is deserved only by good people.

*Once* got reviewed across the country–not everywhere, but enough that I was dazzled and that occasionally, when someone saw my book they would say, “Oh, I’ve heard of this.” And better, reviewers often seemed to understand whatever it was I was trying to do: I couldn’t always believe the praise or even the criticism, but I was so thrilled when they described the work in words I would have used. Also, the idea of someone caring enough to read my work thoughtfully and then try to offer an estimation of what was going on was deeply deeply rewarding. And, ok, let’s be honest here: the other best thing about positive reviews was, for me, reading them aloud over the phone to my parents. Good people deserve good news.

I got hit on, gently mocked, toasted, ignored, lost, hugged by strangers, soaked in the rain, locked out of the reading space, and tangled up in my own feet. People told me that certain stories in my book *must* be about my own life, that certain stories were in fact about them (the reader). that several stories were far better than the rest, that every story was brilliant, that they didn’t really like it that much, that they didn’t get time to finish it, that the book is very different from me personally, that the book is exactly like me personally, that they don’t really like any short stories so I shouldn’t take it personally, that it should have won the GG, that I would have a hard time topping it, that they’d lost their copies, and that they always knew I could do it.

I had my portrait painted, was the subject of a slideshow, was on the radio (twice), was interviewed about writing and childhood and beer and Jewishness and inspiration, got to teach teenagers to write stories, got to speak on panels, introduce another author, judge writing contests, attend fancy parties, was filmed and tape-recorded and photographed, and had reason enough to wear all my nicest clothes at least a few times each.

I wrote a book. A year later I sort of believe it, and modesty is all well and good but I am so proud of *Once* I can’t even tell you. After a year of readings and three (ish) of writings, I still enjoy reading my own work and think that maybe I really did manage to do something good and interesting with the short story form that I love so much.

I’m writing another book, and it’s hard and messy and confusing and full of backwards turns and really some days nearly impossible. But I do get to sit down at my desk with the knowledge of the above, which is an inestimable gift to my confidence, patience and ambition. Yet another thing I’m grateful for.

I am also grateful to everyone who read the book or a story from it in a journal or in workshop, who came out to see me read, who offered a kind or (constructively) critical word, or said I looked just fine and no one could see my misbuttoned sweater behind the podium. When and if I get this second book published, I’ll get to do another acknowledgements page, thank goodness–I’ll owe even more thanks by then.

Happy birthday, *Once*. May you have many more on library and book-buyers’ shelves.

Not only real but beautiful
RR

August 13th, 2009

I in *Eye*

If you look carefully at page 43 of the current (August 13) issue of Eye Weekly, you can see my little face above a blurb about next Wednesday’s Hear/Hear reading (the online version has Jon Paul Fiorentino’s picture standing in for us all), in which I am participating. I am of course always thrilled to be in the newspaper for any reason, but the real star here is the event itself, which showcases teachers from the program where I taught, and is going to be fabulous (and is also all ages, if you or your escort is non-drinking age). I do hope you can make it.

All you did was save my life
RR

PS–I also hope that subject line isn’t unforgiveable–I’m such a sucker for homonyms!