Friday, February 15, 2008

12 or 20 questions: with Mary Borsky

Mary Borsky, author of short story collections, Influence of the Moon and Cobalt Blue, is equally in love with the Prairies and the Canadian Shield. Borsky is lives in Ottawa where she writes, teaches writing, rides her bike and skates. She is the author of the Benny Bensky children's books.

How did your first book change your life? I don’t think it did, though writing has. I accumulated those stories one by one, never knowing whether I’d be able to pull off another one, but eventually I had enough for a book.

How has writing changed my life? Hard to answer. I think writing helps me enter aspects of my experience more deeply, and think about things I might never have thought about otherwise. (William Stafford says that a writer is a person who would not have written what they wrote if they hadn’t started out to write it. I’ve always liked that quotation.)

How long have you lived in Ottawa, and how does geography impact on your writing? I’ve been in Ottawa for a long time now, thirty years, I think. It took me a long time to relate emotionally to the eastern landscape. I used to see colour more vividly in the west, for example. But at some point I began to see eastern landscapes in colour too. The colours in the east are more subtle, the lines finer and more small scale. If I were a painter, I would paint eastern landscapes in water colour, western landscapes in oil.

Does race or gender make any impact on you? Race strikes me as a red herring. Class, however, is extremely interesting. Saying that, I’m not sure I’ve ever written about social class. I would like to though.

Most of my stories are about women, but only because I am used to seeing the world from that angle. I have occasionally written from a male point of view, and some of the books I most admire have male protagonists - Disgrace by Coetzee, for example, or Blue Angel by Francine Prose.

Where does a piece of fiction usually begin for you? Are you a writer of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a “book” from the very beginning? A story can begin almost anywhere for me, from an image, (“Myna” began from my memory of the water dripping from the water wagon), or from the pragmatic desire to write a story (I think “The Ukrainian Shirt” began this way, by me casting my memory back over my life until I snagged on something I thought might be interesting. I remembered the eavestrough project, then tried to write about it. I hadn’t realized at the outset that I would be writing about marriage, etc.)

It strikes me now that one other way I might come up with a story is to think of trips or visits. A friend of mine (who was likely quoting someone else) said there are only two stories in the world. A person goes on a trip. Or a stranger comes to the village.

I’m always working on a story, not on a book. I was at a writing retreat in Saskatchewan and when there was a falling star, all the writers would call out “book!”, “book!”. I would be calling out, “story! story!” This is not to say, of course, that I don’t care about writing a book, because I do, but for some reason I keep my eye on the story.

Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? To write, I have to enter my own dream world, and public readings don’t intersect a whole lot with that. I do remember, however, looking up in a public reading to see a woman look completely engaged with the story (“Viewfinder”) I was reading. I found that very encouraging. It helped me think of the story as a story worth telling. I had some doubt about that at the time.

Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What questions are you trying to answer with your work? I don’t have theoretical concerns. My concerns are about how to get a particular experience on the page, or how to stand back and let a particular situation deepen, how to get out of the way and let the characters interact.

Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult, essential, or both? I welcome working with a good editor. I’ve found that a good outside eye can help me a great deal. Often I experience resistance to a suggestion, but I’ve learned to try suggestions, for sometimes what initially sounds like a bad suggestion is really a good suggestion!

After having published a couple of titles over the past few years, do you find the process of book-making harder or easier? I wish I could say I found it easier, but I don’t.

When was the last time you ate a pear? I haven’t had a pear for months! Maybe tomorrow!

What is the best piece of advice you’ve heard? Mavis Gallant once said that the most important thing about a story is whether it is alive or whether it is dead. This has often helped me hang in with a difficult story, for if I feel the life in it, I want to hang in and make it work.

Another piece of advice I often return to is from Alice Munro. She said she had only two suggestions for stalled stories. One was to start again. The other was to pull yourself closer to the story. I find pulling myself closer can help a lot.

How easy has it been for you to move between genres (children’s lit to adult fiction)? What is the appeal? If I’d started writing sooner, I may have written more children’s books, but I didn’t begin until my youngest child was eight. I wrote Benny Bensky and the Perogy Palace for her, then have done two others with the same cast of characters.

I enjoyed writing for my daughter (who was a perfect audience at the time), but I also had a secret agenda. I thought I might discover how a novel worked. I’m not sure it helped me with that!

What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep? I work in the mornings, the earlier the better. Which depends, unfortunately, on getting to bed the night before.

When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration? Reading what I really love is good. Moving even microscopically closer to the story I’m working on is good too.

How does your most recent book compare to your previous work. How does it feel different? Influence of the Moon and Cobalt Blue are both collections of stories, but the stories are set in the 50’s and linked in the first book I was writing from a child’s consciousness in the first book as well. I think I’ve felt freer to write as I like in the second book.

David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but is there any other form that influences your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art? I love reading pop-science articles about black holes and quantum physics and that kind of thing, usually newspaper articles. Needless to say, the articles have to be extremely low level to be comprehensible to me! In a subliminal way these likely influence my way of seeing the world.

What other writers or writings are important for your work? My list of favourites changes month to month, but some have been on the list for a long time: Alice Munro, Lorrie Moore, Norman Levine, J.M. Coetzee. I’m the kind of reader who could, in a pinch, whittle down my collection to 50 books and keep reading the same books over and over for the rest of my life. I’d rather keep an open-ended collection though!

What would you like to do that you haven’t yet done? In terms of writing? Another story?

If you could pick any other occupation, what would it be? What do you think you would have ended up doing had you not become a writer? I would choose to have an occupation where my thoughts were my own, as they are when you are a writer. Where would that leave me? As a gardener, a farmer, a micro-film filer? I used to think I would make a good bee farmer. I still hope to do that.

What made you write, as opposed to doing something else? Reading made me want to write. Reading about some other person’s journey emboldens me to tell my own story.

What was the last great book you read? I’m reading Falling Man and like it very much.

What are you currently working on? A story.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

12 or 20 questions: with Zoe Whittall

Zoe Whittall is the author of novel called Bottle Rocket Hearts (Cormorant) named one of the Best Books of 2007 by the Globe and Mail and Quill & Quire magazine. Now Magazine awarded her the title of Best Emerging Author of 2007. She published a book of poems in 2001 called The Best Ten Minutes of Your Life (McGilligan Books) and a second volume The Emily Valentine Poems (Snare Books) in 2006. Her poetry was recently made into short illustrated films showcased in Toronto Subway stations for Nuit Blanche. In 2003, she edited the book Geeks, Misfits and Outlaws. She writes book and music reviews for a variety of Canadian mags, teaches writing workshops, and has worked several small press publishing related day jobs. Recently the Globe and Mail called her " THE COCKIEST, BRASHEST, FUNNIEST, TOUGHEST, MOST LIFE-AFFIRMING, ELEGANT, SCRUFFY, NO-HOLDS-BARRED WRITER TO EMERGE FROM MONTREAL SINCE MORDECAI RICHLER." S he was born in South Durham, Quebec and has lived in Toronto since 1997.

1 - How did your first book change your life?

It initially gave me tremendous confidence, though it's not my favourite book to re-read now. I met a lot of interesting people, and learned a lot about what to do differently the next time around in terms of both writing and publishing. At the time I thought I was so old and wordly at twenty-five. Now I look back and think, wow, I was a kid. It's a kid's poetry book. But it provided me with a lot of future opportunities.

2 - How long have you lived in Toronto, and how does geography, if at all, impact on your writing? Does race or gender make any impact on your work?

I've lived here since 1997. Geography does impact my writing, particularly because I'm a home-body and don't tend to travel all that much. I'm interested in neighbourhoods, various forms of community and how we inhabit the spaces within those communities. I lived on a farm as a kid, the suburbs as a teenager and the city for my adulthood, and I'm really interested in rural / urban differences. Race and gender – well, I think it's impossible to not be impacted by race, gender, class, sexual orientation – all those things - unless you live in a treehouse in the middle of nowhere, but it would likely come up whenever you ventured into town for Cheerios.

3 - Where does a poem or piece of fiction usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?

Poems usually originate from single moments and then I try to group them together when I realize I have enough to create a manuscript. Or, I get hooked on experimenting with a certain kind of style, game or form and write a whole bunch of similar pieces. Right now I'm trying to write long poems on a similar theme, and I'm thinking about a book while I'm writing them, but this is unusual for me.

The new novel I'm trying to write started from one imagined event, and then I came up with a timeline and characters around that event, and it's pretty much been a book in my head since those initial drafts. The first novel was all about character for years until I finally had to make things happen to these people I'd grown to love.
4 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process?

Both. I love performing. A lot of my poetry comes across much better on stage, or at least, the humour does. It's great to get feedback on works in progress and definitely fun to meet people who respond well. Then there are those moments where you bomb, or the audience really wanted to hear goth poetry or political rants and you left your gothic political rants at home and want to read your nature poems and your friends don't come out to your readings anymore because you read too much and you sit there with a bunch of strangers until you get paid eight bucks. Those readings suck. But generally, I like being on stage and it often rejuvenates the solo writing process.

5 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?

6 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

Both. But mostly, it's essential. There are things I just can't possibly see and understand when I'm so close to the work, and quite honestly, there are things I'm still learning as a writer, and I need a focused and experienced guide to tell me when things are working well and when they aren't. Mostly I leave editorial meetings feeling grateful and enthused.

7 - After having published a couple of titles over the past few years, do you find the process of book-making harder or easier?

It's easier because I'm learning what my boundaries are and understanding how to be practical about my expectations, each time around. What makes it difficult is working in publishing. It's so easy to become cynical and burnt out on the business when you are inside it, as opposed to being just an author. I'd love to be blissfully unaware of the shop-talk, gossip, insider crap that can really make book-making seem like a bizarre little network of the overworked and constantly panicked. It's hard to be around an industry where everyone is always yelling The Ship Is Going Down! I blame the boomers for this.

8 - When was the last time you ate a pear?

At the Beaver Café where I tend to write a lot. They have a great fruit and cheese plate that comes with fig jam. Fig jam!

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?

It's a toss-up between Wayson Choy addressing a group of us with "Editors are not your janitors! Learn to use a comma!". This speaks to me because I'm just terrible with the typos. I take on too many things at once and forget the details. I'm trying to remedy this.

The other best piece of advice was to remember that grant and awards juries are lotteries and a total crap-shoot. My friend Mariko Tamaki told me that after she was on a jury, and I've successfully stopped crying when I receive rejection letters. Now that I've also been on juries, I realize just how much luck is involved in publishing. My first pick could be someone else's last pick. It's like shaking the eight-ball every time and there is no grand arbiter of Perfect Writing, or when you are a kid and you see a teacher at the laundrymat and you realize they are just ordinary shmucks with dirty socks. Those are the people in charge, and some days you get lucky and one of them likes your work.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to fiction)? What do you see as the appeal?

I think one fuels the other for me. I like to write poetic prose. Too bad only 18 people want to read it, generally.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

It depends on whether I'm working that day. On a non day-job or school day, I like to wake up around 8:30, drink coffee and chat with the cat, go to the gym and then start writing around 10 or 11. I usually write in a café without wifi so I'm not distracted by email, facebook, domestic things or the phone. Unless I'm broke. Then I tend to watch soap operas, surf facebook, write to-do lists, send panicked pitches to people who might pay me to write something and feel bad about myself until it's permissible to go have a beer with another writer in a similar situation.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

Mostly when I can't write, I read. There are a few books I re-read that usually do the trick, or I read non-fiction books about science and political or historical non-fiction. For some reason this tends to inspire poetry. I also go to plays when I can, and interview people I find interesting about their lives. I'm currently obsessed with paramedics because I'm dating one, and I'm constantly bugging her and her coworkers for stories. They are just such a fascinating group of weirdos. Like, today I baked muffins and wrote some press releases. Oh yeah? Today I held a severed arm on the side of the 401. Endlessly interesting to me, what they go through, always faced with the things most people spend their lives trying to avoid.

13 - How does your most recent book compare to your previous work? How does it feel different?

It's a novel. I've never written one before. It's about young queer people, and my other poetry books cover some similar thematic terrain, pop culturally speaking. My poetry is more autobio, or fictionalized confessional. Bottle Rockets Hearts is completely imagined.

People – friends, family, readers, critics, the media - treat you differently when you've written a novel compared to poetry books. It's like instant recognition for being a real writer, like poets are just these strange little hobbyists who write for other poets or for academic audiences. People who don't tend to read poetry often look at you like "Oh, you play Dungeons and Dragons?" when you say you write poetry. It seemed to legitimize something for people when I published Bottle Rocket Hearts.

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?

I love photography and lay science books. I love science mags like Seed and illustrated novels.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?

Lisa Foad. Eileen Myles. Gail Scott. Lynn Crosbie. Heather O'Neill. Jonathan Safran Foer. Jeanette Winterson. Marnie Woodrow. Kathy Acker. Douglas Coupland. Mariko Tamaki. Sarah Schulman. Trish Salah. Chandra Mayor.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

Have a baby, make a full-time living as a writer, become a stand-up comic, write a play, start an alternative school and have a house in the country and be a housewife/at-home-writer. I'm almost 32. I'm hoping I can cross some of the above off my list soon.

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?

I would attempt being a stand-up comic. I would probably have ended up being a social worker, you know, just live the stereotype.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

It's the only thing I've ever done with any kind of sustained passion or commitment. I've been wonderfully mediocre at everything else, or simply got bored too quickly. I'm an Aquarius, so I tend to have many, many ideas and zero follow-through. Every year I think, well, it's time to learn a trade and get some RRSPs. I never do it. I'm starting to panic a bit.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

Well, like everyone, I saw JUNO and loved it. Brilliantly funny. I also quite enjoyed Once and The Motel. I've read a lot of really good books this year – I just finished Late Nights on Air [see Elizabeth Hay's 12 or 20 questions here] and loved it, I enjoyed Karen Solie's Modern and Normal, Brian Joseph Davis' I, Tania, Joey Comeau's It's Too Late to Say I'm Sorry and Eileen Myles Sorry, Tree. I have to say the last book that really blew my mind was Heather O'Neill's Lullabies for Little Criminals. I'm a die-hard fan of anything she writes and am really happy about all the praise it has been getting.

20 - What are you currently working on?

A new novel called Doing Nothing For As Long As Possible. It's about three characters in their mid-twenties living in Parkdale, dealing with various anxieties around death and purpose. One of them is unconscious for most of the book, one is going crazy and the other works in emergency medicine, see above re: medic fascination. It's basically a book about emergencies verses the sometimes banality of everyday life and these disparate characters' relationships to various monumental near-death experiences and how it impacts their ability to grow up or not grow up. Plus, they are all kids (25) who grew up with cell phones and email address and don't know what it's like to be unreachable. They were 20 on Sept. 11th. I want to explore their relationship to technology, security, emergency and purpose. And there's a storyline about Canadian music and the CBC. I'm also obsessed with the CBC and minor Canadian celebrities, like Don McKellar and Tracey Wright. They have a bit part in the book, as does George Strombolopoulous and a fictionalized version of Randy Bachman.

Monday, February 11, 2008

12 or 20 questions: with Amy King

Amy King is the author of I'm the Man Who Loves You and Antidotes for an Alibi, both from BlazeVOX Books, and The People Instruments (Pavement Saw Press). She is the editor-in-chief for the literary arts journal, MiPOesias, an interview correspondent for miPOradio, and the editor of the Poetics List, sponsored by The Electronic Poetry Center (SUNY-Buffalo/University of Pennsylvania). Amy teaches English and Creative Writing at SUNY Nassau Community College. Her poems have been nominated for several Pushcart Prizes, and she has been the recipient of a MacArthur Scholarship for Poetry. She is currently editing an anthology, The Urban Poetic, forthcoming from Factory School. Please visit http://www.amyking.org/ for more.

1 - How did your first book change your life?

Antidotes gave me a release and space to explode poetry more. I no longer felt compelled to write in a mode or for a specific audience, which can be a bit unnecessarily restrictive. Of course, being young and naïve, I put those restrictions on myself. Self-imposed restrictions need a release; a first book is a good start.

I also got invited to do readings, which are usually fun. I love the social aspect of readings, so getting those invites was a great boon brought to me by Antidotes.

2 - How long have you lived in New York, and how does geography, if at all, impact on your writing? Does race or gender make any impact on your work?

I moved to NYC about eleven years ago and just this month moved to Long Island, which city-dwellers would declare is certainly not NYC, though I take a train down the street and am in Manhattan in about half an hour.

Living in a city such as NYC can only impact one’s writing. It’s unavoidable. I suppose all geography factors in, since we are not “we” by body alone; environment is the mother-of-us-all. I’m going to take the lazy route though and just say that Walter Benjamin’s essays on Charles Baudelaire and the “flâneur” and Baudelaire’s writing far better explore how a city affects a writer’s words. I can give you an abbreviated version though, if you press me: the multitudes can be exciting, unknown, stifling, and thrilling. They move and they move you, me, us, we. A city’s architecture can do the same: it changes daily, it confuses and supports, it undoes one’s thinking, breaks the line of vision, unsettles all sorts of notions of safety, and forces one to find strengths, within and elsewhere, one might not have explored before. If you’re lucky, the city collapses “within and elsewhere” and becomes an organic body, pleasured and riddled and full of strangers you inhabit.

Coincidentally, I’m in the process of editing an anthology, The Urban Poetic, forthcoming from Factory School. It’s an exciting project as I’m reaching out to people in lots of different cities as each city provides its own different invitations and articulations.

Gender exploration lines my work. Race also, though not as obviously. Any kind of box sounds a warning gong for me that I revel in handling. I don’t believe a simple anarchistic or destructive tact of those boxes is terribly productive. People subsist on and inside those boxes, and to simply shirk or destroy them alienates. Rather, subversions, of which there are many, go further and range in temperament and styles. I need to broaden my scope in such efforts, for sure.

3 - Where does a poem usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?

I don’t have a book in mind. It seems many poets do. I work backwards, and that mostly makes me feel uncertain as I can’t rattle off a synopsis of a “project” like other writers. Rather, I primarily work through philosophical and societal lenses. I work in uncertainty, and while that makes it difficult for me and others to say what it is I’m doing – and perhaps dismiss my work out of hand – I long for this unknown, and my sincere openness to it, hell, even my lust for it, is the best modus operandi for me. Perhaps that’s the difficult part of what I do – I read to locate a place where I am happily confused on familiar footing, and trembling, try to locate the corner or shadow of some unfamiliar view/understanding/idea—and then I name it.

4 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process?

I’ve cut back on readings. They were productive for awhile because you really do stumble and hit in front of an audience when something doesn’t work. I subjected audiences to new poems regularly. But now that I’m focused on writing and teaching at the moment, I simply don’t have the time I did, though I really miss, as earlier mentioned, the social aspect of readings. I love seeing people and chatting after the “serious stuff.”

5 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?

My theoretical concerns vary, though they generally deal with ontology and culture. I like to see ideology manifest practically. I don’t know the questions, aside what the schools of philosophy and politics continue to proclaim they are. These are tools or pointing fingers that help locate the real questions that enable us to subsist and exist on a moment-by-moment plane. Wittgenstein wrote, “To imagine a language is to imagine a form of life.” That is the question I’m always answering.

6 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

Editors don’t necessarily edit anymore. They mostly reject or accept. My jury is still out on whether that’s a good or annoying thing. I’m an editor. I have asked people to make changes. I have asked people to re-send because I felt their submission was truly close but not quite. But I have cut back on editing as it is a taxing, and sometimes, thankless work.

On the flip side, the editor of my books at Blazevox, Geoffrey Gatza, has been nothing but encouraging and enthusiastic, a faith which courses through my veins and lymph nodes and makes me confident about publishing.

7 - After having published more than a couple of titles over the years, do you find the process of book-making harder or easier?

I’m only working on my third full-length now, and ever-so-slowly, but I find it an essential process. I don’t see the writing solely in terms of publishing a book because writing really has become a behavior, much the way people ritually return to churches or yoga or their studies to explore questions and answers, to locate some temporary place that is okay with uncertainty and query and naming what delights, corrupts, and makes us feel … closest to feelings.

8 - When was the last time you ate a pear?

I just drank peach juice today, which far surpasses the vanity of the pear. I am a Georgia Peach, having eaten many as a child straight outta my grandmother’s backyard.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?

Be quick to forgive.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to non-fiction)? What do you see as the appeal?

I don’t easily move between the two. I kick and buck. I’m lazy and don’t like explaining myself. I’m resisting this interview right now. I prefer poetry every minute. I rail and bang against the rules of prose, which I also happen to teach. I write in prose because we, as a society, agree this is the easiest, most transparent form of communication, but I’m no good at it and I’m no anarchist. That’s why I like my blog – I can fuck up there and tell anyone who corrects me thanks, but I really don’t care by midnight.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

I write when I can. I usually want to write more than I can. Sickness and a busy schedule factor in. I don’t go for long though without putting pen to paper. I lament the seconds in between tasks that my journal isn’t handy. I often write phrases on my hand.

When I do sit down to read, I usually end up setting the book aside after fifteen minutes to scratch words in the sand for another fifteen. I’m good at keeping class schedules, but no good at a rigid writing schedule. I’ve simply turned it into a second nature or habit. Sometimes it’s a life-threatening allergy I can’t ignore. It’s my tic. I love my tic.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

Tomaz Salamun. Derrida. Contemporary political theory. A range of pinot noirs. Bonnie “Prince” Billy. Various journals – recently, Forklift, Ohio and Hotel Amerika. Old notebooks from grad school. Poetry readings. Audio of Gertrude Stein.

13 - How does your most recent book compare to your previous work? How does it feel different?

Less restricted. More licensed. More sincere. Less concerned with pleasing myself and others. Diaphanous. Leading and misleading. A net. A parachute. Something that is no longer mine. It belongs to the letters “a- m- y k – i – n – g”.

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?


15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?


16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

Well, I’ve traveled, but I want to travel more. I must explore the streets of Bangkok, Tokyo, Zagreb, Planet Earth. I’m headed to Italy and Croatia this summer, which is why I’m tackling a double workload this semester.

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?

I like the idea of being a detective, though you mostly hear seedy things about the real ones. For the moment, a detective.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

I wanted to be a musician, but I truly lacked the necessary discipline early on. I’m pretty sure I mature at a slower rate than most. Quantifiably, I’m probably about eight to ten years behind most folks. I’m not kidding.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

Damn. I don’t read like that. I read lots of books simultaneously. My attention is not short – it’s fragmented. Narrowed down, I’m currently reading The Political Brain by Drew Westen, This is Not Sufficient by Leonard Lawlor, and re-visiting Oliver Sacks’ The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat.

I don’t recall the last time I finished a book. Mind you, those listed might be what you’ll see me holding in a café. I also have loads of poetry books that ride with me and get dipped into for even just five minutes at a time. For example, I’ve just been looking at Sommer Browning’s new chapbook, Vale Tudo, which Jen Tynes generously shipped my way. It’s a timely book for me especially because it “takes place” on Long Island, where I have just transplanted myself. I dig it.

Oh god, films. Forget it. I’ve got The Bicycle Thief and Pandora’s Box sitting by the t.v. They’ll be there until spring break, at least.

20 - What are you currently working on?


I also recently finished an EP for H_NGM_N called, I Want To Make You Safe, which is forthcoming. Otherwise, titles are tucked away until they feel ready. I’m working at it. That’s all any of us can do. It.

Sunday, February 10, 2008

12 or 20 questions: with Gregory Betts

Gregory Betts is the author of If Language and Haikube, and has edited books of poetry by Lawren Harris, W.W.E. Ross, and Raymond Knister. He has been publishing since '99, when his first poems appeared in a small housepress anthology of translations of translations of bpNichol's translations of Apollinaire's translations. He has published a half-dozen chapbooks, a string of broadsides, and various one-off projects, including sound poetry, visual art, web/digital art, and more. His stories, critical writing, and reviews have appeared in journals across Canada and beyond. Born in Vancouver, he currently lives in St. Catharines, Ontario, where he teaches Canadian and Avant-Garde literature at Brock University. His work appears in the anthologies Shift & Switch, Outside Voices, Exact Fare Only, Read York, Collected Sex, and TTbpN2: a Tribute to bpNichol.

1 - How did your first book change your life?

Like a lot of people, I've been making hand-made books, chapbooks, and 'ephemera' for most of my life, so the question of which book counts as first is somewhat arbitrary. The real first would probably be the staple-bound book of sonnets I wrote to a daisy I was compelled to mow by my family when I was about 9. The book helped me to assuage my guilty, tormented soul. The relief, however, only lasted until my first girlfriend dumped me in grade six.

The first book with an ISBN, however, has made it easier to connect with writers and fellow travellers across broader geographical distances. It's not a secret club, but the book becomes a kind of shorthand for a broader aesthetic that people either dig or duck.

2 - How long have you lived in St. Catharines, and how does geography, if atall, impact on your writing? Does race or gender make any impact on your work?

St. Catharines and I have lived together for a year and a half, but we're still coming to terms. It hasn't appeared in my work, but it hasn't interfered all that much either. I call it a truce with a potential for a general eventual thaw. Some things I doubt/hope I will never come to terms with. This is a city that mocks pedestrians, recoils from cyclists, pities those who would try to use the public transit system. The downtown core is perfectly ringed by big box stores that I call the Grey Belt. The belt pulls tighter constantly, popping urban essentials out into the grey zone -- the downtown general hospital, for instance, just relocated to the other side of a Walmart parking lot. St. Cats lost many rounds with the globo-capital machine but there are underground streams and pockets of resistance that I've been enjoying discovering -- still, everything here comes out slightly skewed, and the city gets giddy at the chance for new and bigger roadways. Recently, a band of hipster urban activists argued theatrically for more downtown parking as a way to revitalize the city. They weren't being ironic. As in many places, people seek to tweak what they have rather than rethink from scratch.Here there be drive-thrus.

I suppose for me geography isn't disconnected from race and gender, politics or economics or technology. Language and writing parenthesize them all, all we know, and there is certainly lots to talk about. As Martin Heidegger wrote, language is the house of being, in which all of it resides,-- constantly impacting, impacted, and impactful.

3 - Where does a poem usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a 'book' from the very beginning?

I let each project try and assume its most natural form. Sometimes that means a book-length project, sometimes (and more often) a chapbook sized nugget or smaller. Sometimes writing is best served as ephemera, and I have lots of little one-off projects. Sparklers and fireworks. A lot of what I write isn't meant for publication at all -- just trying to see what would happen if.

4 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process?

For me, the best thing about public readings is the chance to find something new -- in my own work, sure, occasionally, but mostly in what other writers are doing. I go to readings to find new books or to learn new entrance points into books and authors that I've already read. Really eye-bulging moments happen, but they are admittedly rare. There are special disappointments that come from readings, too: more often then not, good performances make for terrible pages, and vice-versa. The economics of Canadian publishing insists that authors deliver and perform their works, even if their writing or aesthetics are ill suited to the task. Recently, Bob Snider read at the reading series I run here in town and, barely a page into his new book, wasn't happy with how he was connecting with the crowd. He stopped reading and pulled out his guitar and instantly had the audience wrapped around his finger. Most authors can't do that; and indeed, most authors make little to no effort to entertain or connect to their audience -- which is perhaps the reason most literary readings are free or nominal; certainly the reason they are a marginal cultural activity. Consistently, beyond the rare chance of discovery in a performance, the most effective and interesting parts of a reading happen when the PA system is off and the crowd has dwindled to a handful of cultic practitioners; but those moments would happen less frequently between strangers from the tribe without the focalizing event -- let alone the funding to move people between the cities and towns.

In a smaller urban centre, though, readings are even more important. It's kind of like the news -- a window into things for those who find themselves a little adjacent to the world.

5 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kindsof questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?

The word 'theory' comes from 'a view' and 'to see.' I like to look and see. I hope for a nice view.

Current questions: I'm constantly looking for new ways not to mean, I mean, to stumble upon, to find through error, to creatively misread; I'm interested especially in the moments when, in reading, walking, or talking, something outre, uncanny pops up; I'm interested in how that, a fleeting, unintended gem can appear without being invited. I suppose this sounds like the Automatic writing methods of last century, or even found texts of the mid-century, but I'm more interested in sculpting and staging those moments of creative misreadings than in letting go throughout the production of the art. You have to look hard to see well.

6 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

I have very little experience working with editors on my own writing, certainly little enough to comment. Jay MillAr [see his 12 or 20 here] made a good call to remove unnecessary visual texts placed between the anagrams of If Language. He was right -- so, thanks Jay.

7 - After having published more than a couple of titles over the years, do you find the process of book-making harder or easier?

Right now, my biggest problem is book finishing. I have no less than 8 works in progress in every direction I can manage.

8 - When was the last time you ate a pear?

Right before the core.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?


Morley Callaghan said the writer is one who watches and sees. Margaret Atwood said the writer is the one who writes. John Lennox once told me to write something every day, even -- especially -- if it's not intended to be the final, finished product.

As a grandiose motto, slogan, or bumper sticker, I probably aspire to Blake's axiom more than anything else: 'Every word and every letter is studied, and put into its place. All are necessary to each other.'

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to critical/editorial work)? What do you see as the appeal?

While I like the separation of genres, I view them more as opportunities to push my writing and thoughts in new directions. I've published poems (lyrics, constraint, formal/traditional, visual, shaped, sound, LANGUAGE, flarf, haiku, occasional, devotional, and so on), stories (fiction and non-fiction), essays, journalism, manifestos, walking tours, letters to the editor, introductions, afterwords, reviews, biography, conscious plagiarisms (see plunderverse for details) and much more. My writing attempts to respond to the inner necessity of a particular piece. As I see it, my job is to transport each bauble I discover to somewhere, anywhere else; just far enough that it becomes self-animated. Every project is different, whereas genre looks for samenesses.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

I don't have a routine, and I have no evidence that routine is helpful for my writing. I write on napkins just as easily as laptops. I have voice recorders, and I have used a pay phone to call in a poem composed while walking and left it on an answering machine knowing I wouldn't have a chance to write it down before it disappeared. I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night with an idea, and I've even woken up to discover a (disappointing, admittedly,) poem written while asleep. I wrote a short story on the top of a BC mountain, just above the mosquito line. I wrote another story in a vacant squash court below Winnipeg -- just beneath the mosquito line. Perhaps if my schedule were more regular I would solve the problem identified in question 7.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

Judging by the boxes of works in progress, this has never been a problem that affects me. If I don't feel like writing, I don't write, or just jot down notes, thoughts, random passages. I play guitar, go to the pub whatever, reread John Barlow emails. I'm not hung up on production, but I do get swept away by it.

13 - How does your most recent book compare to your previous work? How does it feel different?

My most recent book project on the shelves is an edition of Lawren Harris' urban poetry and prose. It builds from work I've done before on Canadian modernists and avant-gardists, and international writing and art at the time. Of the book projects on the go, the one I am closest to finishing builds from my work on plunderverse which was started back in 99. These project both build from long trajectories of ideas that have been brewing and stewing for over a decade. As a point of similarity, though one is critical and the other creative, they both exhibit and explore my relationship as reader to other writers and writings.

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art? & 15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?

I once went to an energy therapist who located my energy centre about six feet above my body. She told me that I probably wasn't a very good gardener. I'm not.

I like to pursue ideas, and revel in the realization of tightly composed, highly original conceptual projects. This happens in all of the worlds of art, though not all of the time. I work in literature, but I find most things that I read boring or indulgent or decadent. I love a good book -- recent highlights include Freud's The Future of an Illusion, Voaden's Four Plays of Our Time, The Rubaiyat of Amar Khavyyam, and Israel Zingwall's Italian Fantasies -- but no more or less than a good film, meal, song, canvas, urban design, or pretty much anything that requires creativity and thus invites the possibility of an avant-garde transformation. People say that avant-gardism is a non-concept, a bland synonym for innovation. To me, the term is worth pursuing from its original sense (although I'm no militarist) in that avant-garde art is seeking to transform and change the world in which it is made -- is seeking to bring a general populace into a realigned consciousness or space. I'm always interested in artists whose work attempts (most often to fail) this kind of ambition: from Breton to Bok, Borduas to Brand.

Poets are a poem's way of making other poems. I'm interested in the gap moments, when books, poems, language, letters reveal in flashes a capricious structure and the dim glimmer of where outside might be. If I was more paranoid, and I'm close to it, I'd see poets engaged in a battle with Dewdney's language-virus.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

Spend a year way over yonder in the Yukon and learn the minor key.

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?

If I could no longer make things, I'd be happy running a cafe, a bookstore, a restaurant, a bar. My great-great Grandfather used to operate the train from Dundas, Ontario to Hamilton, Ontario, loading the bags, selling the tickets, driving the train and refueling all by himself. I could do that.

I used to spend days upon days researching various inventions (floating cars, solar-powered tanning beds, magnetic trains) that I would draw up in blue-prints and pass to my father, who was an engineer, so I suppose I have a little bit of inventive-engineering in me. In truth, though, I don't think I could last and be happy in any job with strict hours. Regular even ridiculous hours are fine, but they need to be randomly distributed. But if my cynicism ever reaches the point of no return, I'll probably go into politics.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

I never realized there was an off switch.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

The last great book, really great book, I read was Boccaccio's The Decameron. The last great film was The Saddest Music in the World.

20 - What are you currently working on?

Overarching direction: I continue to pursue the possibilities of creative misreading (as potential antidote to uncreative writing). Specific manifestations: as mentioned above, I'm just finishing up a plunderverse project that I've been working on for years; I'm editing an edition of Canada's first avant-gardist, Bertram Brooker's manifestos, stories, and essays; I've got a novel in its fourth rewrite; I'm collaborating with Toronto DJ Kent Foran, doing plunderphonic cut-ups and mixes of some of my poems; I'm co-editing PRECIPICe with Adam Dickinson [see his 12 or 20 questions here]; I've just finished a first draft of a collaborative book of poetry with Gary Barwin [see his 12 or 20 questions here]; I'm co-organizing with Catherine Heard a night to celebrate the 60th anniversary of the publication of Refus Global and the ongoing influence of Surrealism in Canada; various essays on the go in various states of array and disarray; and to talk about ongoing lesser projects would require mining the notes and scribbles and messages I've left for myself buried, half-buried, coherent and not.

Saturday, February 9, 2008

12 or 20 questions: with Rita Donovan

Rita Donovan: Born in Montreal, lives in Ottawa. Has also lived in Edmonton, Germany and Kitchener. Graduate of Concordia University and the University of Alberta. For many years co-editor of Arc: Canada’s National Poetry Magazine, with John Barton [see his 12 or 20 questions here]. Has taught or given seminars in Edmonton, Yellowknife, Rankin Inlet, Iqaluit, Montreal and Ottawa. Has taught in literacy projects in shopping malls, in community centers and on the street. Other interests include cooking, hiking and, inevitably, reading.

Author of seven books, six of them novels. Novel Dark Jewels was first-runner up for the W.S. Smith/Books in Canada First Novel Award, and won the Ottawa-Carleton Book Award. Novel Daisy Circus won the Ottawa-Carleton Book Award. Landed won the CAA/Chapters Award for Fiction and was shortlisted for the Ottawa Book Award. The Plague Saint was nominated for the James Tiptree Award. River Sky Summer is a young adult novel, and As for the Canadians is a book of historical non-fiction. Latest novel, just published, is Short Candles (Napoleon & Company, 2007.)

1. How much did your first book change your life?

I don't think it changed my entire life, but the publication of Dark Jewels, my first novel, was the kind of validating experience that made sense of the choices I'd made, that all writers make. It was also a relief, as it had been slated for publication a few years earlier, by a press that ran into financial difficulties and pulled out, so I was very pleased when Ragweed published it. The book was up for a national award and won the city writing award so I hope I justified Ragweed's faith in the book.

2. How long have you lived in Ottawa, and how does geography, if at all, impact on your writing? Do race and gender make any impact on your work?

I've lived in Ottawa since about 1985, with one year away in between. I'm from Montreal originally, and I've also lived in Edmonton, in Germany and in Kitchener. Ottawa, though, has been my home for a long time now, and my daughter was born here fifteen years ago. That is what really made a difference. This is her hometown, as Montreal is mine. So we are very attached to the place now.

Where we come from hugely influences how we see not only our immediate surroundings, but how we view the world. "Place" is a character in several of my books. Dark Jewels takes place in Sydney, Cape Breton, during the miners' and steelworkers' strikes of the 1920s. The place and circumstances are essentials of the story. Daisy Circus takes place in Ottawa and in the Cambridge, Massachusetts of the poet e.e. cummings. Landed takes place in Minnesota and in Ottawa, and the actual boundaries of the countries are crucial to the story. The Plague Saint, a speculative-fiction novel, is set in seventeenth-century Florence, and in later twenty-first-century Canada. My latest novel, Short Candles is set in a nameless city that is probably Ottawa. So "place" is very important to me.
Gender and race are significant because they are significant to my characters. I always write from character first, so the issues of gender and race play through my characters (and where I put them in time and place) in the same way that these things influence for all of us.

3. Where does a piece of fiction usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?

I've written short fiction but my preferred medium is the novel, so I guess there is always the potential of the scope of a novel from the moment a character comes to me. I see and hear the character(s). I probably have an idea of the overriding theme, or of an event that gets the thing going, but it is the character, primarily, that informs me. I often have a couple of clear images or scenes that take place later in the book, but I don't know how I will get to them until I begin writing. I've used the phrases "falling into a book" or "falling into a world" to describe the sensation. It is a big commitment, but surprisingly easily to trip headlong into….

4. Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process?

It's different for novelists than for poets or short story writers. Usually one is reading from a recently published novel. Given the length of the project, it is something that was probably written a couple of years before. Not the same as reading something that was written the previous week.

This also means most novelists are well into a new project (a new world) by the time they are doing readings of the so-called "current" one. All that said, reading along is a great experience. It is nice and less schizophrenic to hear the voices out loud ("oh, you hear that, too?") and it is also a way to connect with the characters away from the page. And, of course, it is a chance to connect with the audience. In this way it does feed the creative atmosphere one needs when writing.

5. Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?

I think all writers are dealing with the really big questions. The fact that we write at all means we have concerns, observations, remedies? Well, not remedies, maybe. But I think writers care about the world they live in, and about their spiritual and intellectual place in it. They devote a good deal of energy and years trying to show us how the world "is", and how it could be.
My latest novel, Short Candles, concerns itself with whether we can offer our true selves to the world, and about the cost of belonging to it. And the new book I'm writing right now is about the chinks in memory, both personal and collective, and the ways in which we will be remembered, if at all.

Oh, and I told someone once that all of my books are about life, which they are.

6. Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

Both. And it depends on the editor, of course. Their job is often unenviable on a daily basis, but whether I agree or disagree on a certain point, I am aware that we have the same goal, and that helps.

7. After having published more than a couple of titles over the years, do you find the process of book-making harder or easier?

Harder or easier? I don't know. Perhaps it is a bit easier in the sense that I know that there will be another book, another story, to come. The first book or two felt so final, as if I'd never write again. Over the years you come to trust that the well will refill.

8. When was the last time you ate a pear?

Hah! A couple of days ago, actually. And I walk by this pear tree near my house. It is sleeping beneath a dense snow blanket right now, and it reminds me of the trees in Oscar Wilde's "A Selfish Giant." I keep hoping it will burst into bloom.

9. What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly.)

My British grandmother used to say, "Pay attention, why don't you? You could burn water."

10. How easy has it been for you to move between genres (fiction to non-fiction)? What do you see as the appeal?

I like creative non-fiction and find that an easy shift from fiction. Regular non-fiction is more of a challenge. But any time you move into another area you stretch yourself and learn new things. I'd like to write a play.

11. What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

Ideal day: get up, get people out of the way, drink coffee, write.

Real day: get up, people won't get out of the way, drink coffee, try to write.

Before my daughter was born I had a home office and a rented writing studio. Once she came along I had to give up the studio ($$) and my home office was turned into her bedroom. Since then I have begged writing space from friends, I've used study rooms at the National Library (a luxury now discontinued by the library) and, currently, I am using the basement office of a nearby church. So. It is:

Get up, people out, get coffee, walk to church basement and write. (No phone there. No computer either, just me an my writing pad.)

12. When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

I read a lot of poetry. I also suggest to my writing students that they read poetry if they write fiction.

13. How does your most recent book compare to your previous work? How does it feel different?

This goes back to the 'questions writers ask.' I am continuing to explore the ideas of family (the definition of which shifts depending on the book), the idea of 'home' (as place and as character.) In this particular book, I am looking at 'memory.' The book is told in two different parallel timelines, one in 19th century Britain and Australia and one in present-day Canada.

14. David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?

Books do come from books, but hopefully from many other things as well. Art, music and technology inform a lot of what I currently experience. I'm very interested in technology and literature and I am pursuing that study. And I live in a city with wonderful galleries, museums, etc., as well as excellent drama and music series and venues. I make use of these resources and am grateful for them. But I think the question also reminds me of something a French writer noted once (I have tried to remember who it is, with no luck. Mallarmé? Damn.) He maintained that he was a citizen as well as a writer. And there is that comment by the Swedish poet Tomas Tranströmer, who made his living as a psychologist. When asked how his work as a psychologist informed his poetry, he responded (I'm doing this from memory, here) with the comment that he wondered why no one ever asked him how his poetry informed his work as a psychologist? All by way of saying that, hopefully, we are creatures that embrace and enfold experience and combine it with our own particular gifts to create something irreducible and unique. I like it best when we can't figure out how something came into being. It seems much more wonderful than to say, "Well, I was reading Lewis Carroll, and this idea for a book about rabbits just popped into mind." (Hopped?)

15. What other writers or writings are important to your work, or simply your life outside of your work?

So many. Too many. My reading is not as disciplined as it once was. That is, the focus is wider, probably a sign of expanding interests as well as the general disjointed quality of my daily life. I try to keep up on the books by friends, and I read from among the new international titles (sadly, not all of them.) I have old favourites like Faulkner, Wilde. I am planning on rereading Hawthorne and Dickens. And I will read Donne and cummings again. Oh, and since my daughter is studying them, Virgil and Shakespeare.

16. What would you like to do that you haven't done yet?

Funny. This could either be an enormous list, or a very short one, as I am a pretty content person. Some of the things I'd like to do I would like to do in a different time. Hike the Rockies again, but back when it was less developed. I'd like to walk through London about a hundred and fifty years ago. I'd like to take one of those commercial flights into outer space, but I'm a bit claustrophobic. I'd like to be on the boat that sailed from Ireland in 1847 with my five-year-old great-grandmother on it. Or the other boat, with my Polish relatives. Or the other one, with my British family. In the here and now? I have a couple of non-profit projects I'd like to work on.

17. If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?

Most writers have already done a lot of the "other things" in order to write. I have enjoyed some of those things. Currently I teach, and it can be rewarding. But, as I always knew I would be a writer I didn't really want anything else. I could envision any number of other careers for myself, but after five minutes or so, I'd start daydreaming about what my desk would look like, or my clothes, or what I would say when "she" answered the phone. Before I knew it "I" would be in 3rd person, with another name, a better haircut, and a character in my own story.
I have a lot of other interests. I was very interested in film and could have pursued that. I also loved languages and Classics and could have seen myself doing something with that (asking people if they want fries with that in Latin.)

18. What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

I always wrote. My dad was a writer. My uncle was a writer. A couple of my aunts wrote as well. My cousin is a writer. We're a dime a dozen.

19. What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

"Great" is always subjective. I have been doing research lately, so the books are mostly texts of various sorts (not that they aren't good!) But for pleasure I recently read Don Coles' A Dropped Glove in Regent Street, a lovely collection of autobiography, essays and criticism. Thoroughly enjoyable. Films? I love film. Don't get out as often as I might, but my friend Cheryl just gave me a pass for the Bytowne Cinema so I hope that will be the excuse I need to get to more films. I did see the low-budget, big-hearted Irish film, Once recently and loved it. I also saw an old favorite, The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner (which , for film buffs, is Tom Courtenay's film debut.)

20. What are you currently working on?

Ah, the aforementioned new novel. It's really in process at the moment so I can't say much about it. I'm still getting used to the fact that Short Candles is out, as well. I guess the key. Here, is that writers are always "working on" something. Far cry from the bon-bon-eating, stuffed-pillow reclining activity I'd been led to believe.

12 or 20 questions archive

Friday, February 8, 2008

12 or 20 questions: with Katherine Govier

Katherine Govier is an award winning novelist with a special interest in historical figures who are artists. Her novel, Creation, about John James Audubon in Labrador, was a New York Times Notable Book of the Year in 2003. Her fiction and non fiction has appeared in the United Kingdom, Canada, the United States, the Commonwealth and in translation in Holland, Italy, Turkey, and Slovenia. She is the winner of Canada's Marian Engel Award for a woman writer in mid-career (1997), and the Toronto Book Award (1992).

She is the author of 8 novels and 3 short story collections and the editor of two collections of travel essays.

Katherine has been a visiting lecturer in both Creative Writing and Magazine Journalism at York University (Toronto), Ryerson Polytechnical University, (Toronto), and The University of Leeds (Leeds, England).

Katherine has been instrumental in establishing two innovative writing programs. In 1989, with teacher Trevor Owen, she founded Writers in Electronic Residence, a national online writing program connecting Canadian writers in their homes to high school students in classrooms across Canada from Newfoundland to the Arctic to Vancouver Island. Since 2004 she has been on the Program Advisory Committee for the post-degree certificate program, Canadian Journalism for Internationally Trained Writers, at Sheridan College, Oakville, Ontario. a post-degree certificate for immigrant, refugee or exiled writers.

She is currently at work on her ninth novel, about Hokusai's daughter.

1 - How did your first book change your life?

It didn't.

2 - How long have you lived in Toronto, and how does geography, if at all, impact on your writing? Does race or gender make any impact on your work?

I lived in Toronto about 30 years with breaks for living in Washington DC (2 Years) and London England (2 Years) and now I live partly in Canmore Alberta.

Geography, race, gender--these are huge questions. Of course they impact the work.

3 - Where does a piece of fiction usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?

A novel is a book. Short stories come individually.

4 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process?

They can be a kind of reconnoitering with oneself. Meeting readers can be energizing.

5 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?

Again- a giant question. Really you need to sit down and talk with other writers to answer this. I do think about the contemporary novel as I am writing. I bring the past into the present; it is what I do. This is not the same as historical fiction, and it is "new" in a sense.

6 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

I don't know what you mean. To me an editor is a person at a publishing house is charged with getting the book ready for publication. I usually listen to her or him very carefully. It is not often a very long term project-- these are mainly superficial changes.

7 - After having published more than a couple of titles over the years, do you find the process of book-making harder or easier?

Harder, because I choose harder things to do.

8 - When was the last time you ate a pear?

Three days ago.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?

I really don't think I've had a lot of advice; I'm not sure people are able to hear it and I think it is mostly wasted. Robert Weaver once told me about the difference between a story of ideas (The Immaculate conception Photography Gallery) and a story of characters, and said people became polarized over the former, which I think is true.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (fiction to non-fiction)? What do you see as the appeal?

I do it and like to do it. Non-fiction is more true to observed experience and sometimes I have a strong urge to communicate that way--also it may be more accessible, expecially these days, as people are losing the ability to read fiction.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one?

I write most days, early more than later.

How does a typical day (for you) begin?

At my computer.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

yoga, tennis, martial arts, --- something physical practised with other people in a room full of daylight.

13 - How does your most recent book compare to your previous work? How does it feel different?

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?

Pictures.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

Spend a year living beside the ocean. Spend three months in India. Be irresponsible.

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be?

landscape gardening, or psychotherapy.

Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?

ditto

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

The fact that I was not good enough to be a dancer. The fact that I loved books.

The fact that I loved words and sentences.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?


great film? I can think of good ones, not great ones.

20 - What are you currently working on?

a big novel about Hokusai's daughter.