On stage after tonight's mainstage.
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Monday, September 22, 2008
Flickr-ing: audience reaction
Morley Walker, Winnipeg Free Press Books Section editor, and Carol Dahlstrom, publishing woman-about-town, chat, post-mainstage.
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Flickr-ing: ready for company
Karen makes the hosp suite pretty...
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AFTERNOON BOOK CHAT: Davidson & Friedman
Andrew Davidson and Elyse Friedman both have a flare for eccentric characters. Whether it's a burn victim who is convinced there is a snake crawling up his spine or a grown man who gets sexual gratification from being treated like a baby, complete with soother and diaper and smoochie-gootchie speaking, these writers have an amazing ability to stick themselves into some twisted, twisted shoes.
This afternoon, at McNally Polo Park, they spoke about their writing, how they accomplish such leaps of imagination, how they edit and how they become inspired.
What was interesting was how different their approach to writing was. When asked about where their stories and their characters originate, Andrew said that "I don't find my characters, my characters find me." Elyse, on the other hand, finds that by taking common pop-culture characters and flipping them on their heads (her example was, instead of a celebrity stalker, a celebrity that stalks his fans), she can create some interesting people to write about.
When it comes to the editing process, they also had completely different methods.
Elyse prefers to edit as she goes, writing small amounts daily and then going over it before she moves on. Andrew, on the other hand, says that he throws out 85% of what he writes, preferring to get his ideas onto the page and giving himself complete freedom to throw away anything and everything.
He also had a piece of editing advice that I thought was really good, saying that, while he needs to write in absolute silence, he prefers to do his editing in coffee shops. His reasoning was that he needs the little distractions public places provide, because without them he would over-think every word.
There was plenty of good advice aside from the stuff I've posted here today, and I understand that there will be a video posted of the conversation later on the WIWF website. I encourage everyone to check it out.
* * *
Brad Hartle likes books. One day he may try to write one, though nothing is certain. For now, he spends his days in the basement of a big stone building in Downtown Winnipeg and his evenings in a big brick apartment in Crescentwood, where he lives with his wife, two cats, and a scattering of toothpicks, needed because he refuses to see a dentist. He is almost always happy.
This afternoon, at McNally Polo Park, they spoke about their writing, how they accomplish such leaps of imagination, how they edit and how they become inspired.
What was interesting was how different their approach to writing was. When asked about where their stories and their characters originate, Andrew said that "I don't find my characters, my characters find me." Elyse, on the other hand, finds that by taking common pop-culture characters and flipping them on their heads (her example was, instead of a celebrity stalker, a celebrity that stalks his fans), she can create some interesting people to write about.
When it comes to the editing process, they also had completely different methods.
Elyse prefers to edit as she goes, writing small amounts daily and then going over it before she moves on. Andrew, on the other hand, says that he throws out 85% of what he writes, preferring to get his ideas onto the page and giving himself complete freedom to throw away anything and everything.
He also had a piece of editing advice that I thought was really good, saying that, while he needs to write in absolute silence, he prefers to do his editing in coffee shops. His reasoning was that he needs the little distractions public places provide, because without them he would over-think every word.
There was plenty of good advice aside from the stuff I've posted here today, and I understand that there will be a video posted of the conversation later on the WIWF website. I encourage everyone to check it out.
* * *
Brad Hartle likes books. One day he may try to write one, though nothing is certain. For now, he spends his days in the basement of a big stone building in Downtown Winnipeg and his evenings in a big brick apartment in Crescentwood, where he lives with his wife, two cats, and a scattering of toothpicks, needed because he refuses to see a dentist. He is almost always happy.
Thoughts from Oodena
"How long will $100 last in a crack pipe?"
"Not long."
"If you smoke the memories of your son, will they last longer?"
"Yeah."
The words above are from a poem Jordan Wheeler read at the opening night of the Writers Festival (and forgive me if they are not Jordan's exact words, I'm quoting from memory). Before last night, I had never heard of Jordan Wheeler. When he took the stage, the small cobblestone circle at the bottom of an amphitheatre near the point where the Assiniboine River flows into the Red, a place called Oodena, he told us how he was asked to write something about Winnipeg, something that speaks to his relationship with the city.
Before beginning, he apologized to the City Councilor standing behind him for what he was about to say. He laughed a little, and so did the 100 or so people seated and standing around him. He then went on to read three of the most honest and unflinching pieces about the lives of aboriginal people in Winnipeg that I have ever heard. He spoke about disease, about addiction, about tasers, about poverty, about "Sweet Honey Brown" women found in the river downstream from where we sat, and about fathers who have lost their sons. He spoke of the cycles that keep people living these lives, and he did so in a way that could shock the complacency from anyone.
I had intended for my contributions to this blog to be about the craft of writing, and I went to last nights readings hoping to glean some insight into this topic. But Jordan's poems really grabbed me, as they probably did to so many of the people there, and they haven't let go.
I spent the next while trying to figure out why. Was it the fact that there was a City Councilor seated behind him, that he was speaking truth to power? Was it the immediacy of the images he conveyed? Was it the tone he spoke in? The experience he spoke of? I couldn't pinpoint it. I still can't.
As he finished, as people began clapping, I noticed a few gulls swooping through the sky above. As they flew, some turned their stark white stomachs towards the last glint of sun still showing, warming themselves in that warm dusk-light. I thought of how they have always flown over this spot and how I hope they always will. I thought of how, for thousands of years, people have sat where I was sitting and have listened to others tell stories, and how I hope people always will.
I then thought of the stories Jordan told. I hope he will continue to tell them, but I do not hope that he will always have to. I thought of how, with writers like Jordan telling their stories, there are good reasons to hope.
Thank you Jordan.
* * *
Brad Hartle likes books. One day he may try to write one, though nothing is certain. For now, he spends his days in the basement of a big stone building in Downtown Winnipeg and his evenings in a big brick apartment in Crescentwood, where he lives with his wife, two cats, and a scattering of toothpicks, needed because he refuses to see a dentist. He is almost always happy.
Line of Inquiry: Genni Gunn
Genni Gunn is a writer, musician and translator who has published two novels, two short story collections, two poetry collections, and two translations from the Italian of Dacia Maraini’s poetry. Her work has been recognized with nominations for a host of prizes, including the Commonwealth Prize, the Gerald Lampert Poetry Award, the Journey Prize, the John Glassco Translation Award, and the Premio Internazionale Diego Valeri. Her most recent projects are the 2007 poetry collection, Faceless (Signature Editions), and an opera libretto, Alternate Visions, produced in Montreal in 2007.
Genni Gunn has a B.F.A. and an M.F.A. from the University of British Columbia. She lives in Vancouver.
* * *
1) As a writer (i.e. someone whose artistic practice is predicated on time spent alone) how do you approach performance? What do you get out of it?
Performance, for me, is a natural extension of creation. I say this, because I spent many years as a musician, and in that genre, although the practice and creation of new work took place in solitary confinement so-to-speak, it would have been useless without performance. Does music exist if there’s no one to hear it? When it comes to writing, sometimes in fiction, the performance takes place between the reader and the page. But poetry – a language of rhythms and sounds – begs be read aloud, so that its music can be heard.
2) What do you want people to know about Faceless?
In Faceless, I’m exploring the impulse for the edge, that intriguing attractive place between safety and disaster, and the faces and masks we don while journeying through our lives. I began the title poem when I heard that odd, interesting, ironic story about the woman whose dog clawed her face off, and her subsequent facial transplant. It naturally set me thinking about faces and identity, and the multiple facades and personas we adopt in our dealings with others.3) Will this your first time in Winnipeg? What have you heard?
I’ve been to Winnipeg several times – once earlier this year for a day – and during my musician days on various occasions. I hear it’s a hotbed of art. Many of our finest writers come from Winnipeg, so there must be something in the water or the air. Oh yes, I hear it’s windy too.
4) What are you reading right now? What are you writing right now?
I read constantly, so this answer will be out of date within days. However, two books I’ve really loved recently are Damon Galgut’s The Impostor and Daphne Marlatt’s The Given. In terms of my own writing, I’ve just completed a new novel, and I’m working on a collection of stories.
5) You've written both fiction and poetry. Do ideas come pre-packaged as fiction or poetry or do you have to live with them for a while before a form suggests itself?
I keep a journal of ideas, and don’t think about form until those ideas insinuate themselves into my consciousness. Sometimes two disparate ideas come together to suggest a story or a poem. Sometimes an image surfaces. Or a scrap of conversation. There’s no set rule. Whatever sets me off in whatever direction.
* * *
Genni Gunn will be appearing at THIN AIR, Winnipeg International Writers Festival:
September 22 - Campus Program, University of Winnipeg.
September 22 - Mainstage, with Duncan Thornton, Andrew Davidson and Elyse Friedman.
The big confrontation
I’ll have to be honest with you; I thought it’d take me longer to figure out who ruined my life. I thought I could stretch it out all week long and have a really cool detective-type thing going on, but unfortunately the festival screwed me again.
Turns out the person in charge of booking the festival is also in charge of introducing everyone on opening night. So that’s it. I’ve already solved the mystery. All the festival has left me with is “the big confrontation”.
And let me tell you, if this Charlene woman keeps wearing pant suits like she did tonight, that’s definitely not going to happen. It was a very powerful pant suit. She topped it with a shiny blazer. It had a nice line.
But enough about her smart outfit. What it all boils down to is that because of this festival, my big shot at being a real writer is in the toilet. I don’t have an angle. Without an angle I’m a reporter and who wants to be that?
Anyway, what am I going to write about now? I guess I could write about the authors, but why would anyone want to hear about them. In my experience, they’re kind of boring. Mostly they just sit around and write. Sometimes they throw things, but that’s about it. I figure most of them live their lives in the twenty foot radius around their desks and that’s not exactly the stuff that’s going to keep people glued to their computer screens. As of opening night, this gig sucks.
Ah whatever, I have to write something so here is a rundown on opening night.
The thing starts up with this Charlene women saying hi. It was pleasant enough. She thanked some people and tried to hock some raffle tickets. I was not thanked, nor did I buy a raffle ticket. If I had an expense account I probably would have bought one, but I don’t. Once she was done, we move onto the politicians.
Normally politicians annoy me, but I’ll have to say, today they didn’t. I think it had to do with two things. First, without the government the arts don’t happen. They give us creative types the money necessary to do what we do. But more importantly, they didn’t “eat the microphone,” so you couldn’t really hear them.
Next, one of the festival’s board of directors spoke. I can’t really tell you what she said either cause I wasn’t really listening, but she seemed like a cool lady. I caught her bobbing her head, slapping her lap and grooving to the rhythm of the spoken word guy. That lady’s got beat.
When she finished, the formalities came to an end and the writers finally started reading.
They were all commissioned to write something about Winnipeg. All of them did except one guy, but he was from St. Boniface. You know about them.
The first guy, Wheeler I think his name was, he was great. He took a risk and led off with the tough side of this city. He painted the picture we don’t like to share. I liked it. You have to be tough to live here. Al Purdy tough.
I think Carol Matas was next. She talked about how no matter how hard you try, this city always pulls you back. To that I say, sing it sister. The place is a black hole, not even light can escape.
After Carol came a guy with a jaunty hat. Him I liked a lot. Not only was he dressed to kill, but he almost sold a painting and had the best gimmick ever. He wrote his piece about Winnipeg on what was presumably a map of Winnipeg. I need to start thinking like him. I need a better gimmick. Cranky just doesn’t sell anymore. Oh yeah, his poem was good too.
Chandra Mayor was up next. She looked fabulous. She got caught on her chair, but she looked great doing it. She read about places in this city that no longer exist. It was kind of sad.
Actually, come to think of it, everybody was making me feel sad. Is there anything about this place that doesn’t involve loss, heartache and the desire to run?
Oh yeah, there was the guy with the hat.
The last person to read was the guy from St. Boniface. Like I said, he didn’t really write about Winnipeg, but what he did write was a lot like here. He talked about the kiss to end all kisses. How it is the best and the worst, the up and the down, the everything and the nothing. To me that’s a pretty good description of here. It’s everything I wanted, but not.
Well, I guess that’s all I really saw tonight. I’m sure it wasn’t as exciting or riveting as a detective story, but what can you do when you’re being persecuted by an entire festival. Bye for now.
* * *
Jason Diaz is a Winnipeg-based writer and bookstore employee. His poems and prose have been previously published in dark leisure magazine. He was interviewed for the Uniter once and is probably the only blogger here licensed to drive forklift. He doesn’t have any books coming out, but would most likely write one if asked.
Turns out the person in charge of booking the festival is also in charge of introducing everyone on opening night. So that’s it. I’ve already solved the mystery. All the festival has left me with is “the big confrontation”.
And let me tell you, if this Charlene woman keeps wearing pant suits like she did tonight, that’s definitely not going to happen. It was a very powerful pant suit. She topped it with a shiny blazer. It had a nice line.
But enough about her smart outfit. What it all boils down to is that because of this festival, my big shot at being a real writer is in the toilet. I don’t have an angle. Without an angle I’m a reporter and who wants to be that?
Anyway, what am I going to write about now? I guess I could write about the authors, but why would anyone want to hear about them. In my experience, they’re kind of boring. Mostly they just sit around and write. Sometimes they throw things, but that’s about it. I figure most of them live their lives in the twenty foot radius around their desks and that’s not exactly the stuff that’s going to keep people glued to their computer screens. As of opening night, this gig sucks.
Ah whatever, I have to write something so here is a rundown on opening night.
The thing starts up with this Charlene women saying hi. It was pleasant enough. She thanked some people and tried to hock some raffle tickets. I was not thanked, nor did I buy a raffle ticket. If I had an expense account I probably would have bought one, but I don’t. Once she was done, we move onto the politicians.
Normally politicians annoy me, but I’ll have to say, today they didn’t. I think it had to do with two things. First, without the government the arts don’t happen. They give us creative types the money necessary to do what we do. But more importantly, they didn’t “eat the microphone,” so you couldn’t really hear them.
Next, one of the festival’s board of directors spoke. I can’t really tell you what she said either cause I wasn’t really listening, but she seemed like a cool lady. I caught her bobbing her head, slapping her lap and grooving to the rhythm of the spoken word guy. That lady’s got beat.
When she finished, the formalities came to an end and the writers finally started reading.
They were all commissioned to write something about Winnipeg. All of them did except one guy, but he was from St. Boniface. You know about them.
The first guy, Wheeler I think his name was, he was great. He took a risk and led off with the tough side of this city. He painted the picture we don’t like to share. I liked it. You have to be tough to live here. Al Purdy tough.
I think Carol Matas was next. She talked about how no matter how hard you try, this city always pulls you back. To that I say, sing it sister. The place is a black hole, not even light can escape.
After Carol came a guy with a jaunty hat. Him I liked a lot. Not only was he dressed to kill, but he almost sold a painting and had the best gimmick ever. He wrote his piece about Winnipeg on what was presumably a map of Winnipeg. I need to start thinking like him. I need a better gimmick. Cranky just doesn’t sell anymore. Oh yeah, his poem was good too.
Chandra Mayor was up next. She looked fabulous. She got caught on her chair, but she looked great doing it. She read about places in this city that no longer exist. It was kind of sad.
Actually, come to think of it, everybody was making me feel sad. Is there anything about this place that doesn’t involve loss, heartache and the desire to run?
Oh yeah, there was the guy with the hat.
The last person to read was the guy from St. Boniface. Like I said, he didn’t really write about Winnipeg, but what he did write was a lot like here. He talked about the kiss to end all kisses. How it is the best and the worst, the up and the down, the everything and the nothing. To me that’s a pretty good description of here. It’s everything I wanted, but not.
Well, I guess that’s all I really saw tonight. I’m sure it wasn’t as exciting or riveting as a detective story, but what can you do when you’re being persecuted by an entire festival. Bye for now.
* * *
Jason Diaz is a Winnipeg-based writer and bookstore employee. His poems and prose have been previously published in dark leisure magazine. He was interviewed for the Uniter once and is probably the only blogger here licensed to drive forklift. He doesn’t have any books coming out, but would most likely write one if asked.
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