The after words rules, according to Aqua books owner Kelly Hughes.
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Thursday, September 25, 2008
Flickr-ing: the rules
Flickr-ing: ancestor worship
The after words authors in aqua's inherited ancestor shine.
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Flickr-ing: after words
The 'rec room' at aqua books' where the food, drink, and books live.
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CAMPUS PROGRAM: Austin Clarke
As I found a seat near the back of the classroom where Austin Clarke's reading was to take place, a women standing next to me asked, "Would you like me to take your assignment up to the front for you?" I hesitated, looked around at all the unfamiliar faces in the cramped, sunlit room, the empty desk in front of me, and thought, I've had this dream before.
She then said, "Never mind, you're not one of us." And I thought, I've had this dream, too.
As it happens, the classroom where the reading took place was near full with students studying Austin Clarke. I hadn't read much of Austin's work, only a short story from the Oxford Book of Canadian Short Stories, so I am not that familiar with his work.
But after he began speaking, introducing his new book, More, I quickly began to realize what a fascinating man he is, and how much is embedded in the pages of his fiction.
He began by giving a bit of background on his main character, Idora, who is a female from Barbados living in Toronto. He spoke about the experience of Barbadian women moving to Toronto, and how Idora is modeled after these women.
He then read a section, his voice assuming Idora's slight accent. When finished, he went on to introduce the next bit he was to read, and he spoke about some of the images used in the section and what they conveyed.
Idora lives in a basement apartment and the only window is above her head. As she looks out the window, everything she sees is skewed, disjoined. The basement apartment, Austin noted, is meant to suggest she is down on her luck, and the skewed view she has of the street outside her apartment is just as skewed as her view of the world she lives in.
After his second reading, after he looked up at a room spellbound by his voice, he had to remind everyone to breathe. We laughed, and so did he.
After fielding a few questions, a woman near the front asked him about race and poverty and violence in Toronto and whether or not he sees any improvements. He said no. She asked if him if he has an solutions. He said not really, but then he offered a wonderful story of his trip to Winnipeg.
He flew, and seated behind him on the plane was a baby that cried the whole time. People were noticeably frustrated. After a while, he began to wonder if the pin holding the baby's diaper had slipped and was poking the child in the side (he joked that, of course, diapers don't have pins anymore, but that's not the point). He added that, when he was a young father, he was home one day with his child and the child cried and cried all day. He couldn't figure out why and was feeling very frustrated. He then realized, some time later, that the bottle his child was holding had a piece of plastic blocking the liquid from getting out and the child couldn't drink it. It was the child who was frustrated, because of a mistake he had made.
Whether you are looking to read some well-crafted fiction or you are looking to learn something, to experience something, Austin Clarke's More seems to have a great deal to offer. I can't wait to read it.
* * *
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.
She then said, "Never mind, you're not one of us." And I thought, I've had this dream, too.
As it happens, the classroom where the reading took place was near full with students studying Austin Clarke. I hadn't read much of Austin's work, only a short story from the Oxford Book of Canadian Short Stories, so I am not that familiar with his work.
But after he began speaking, introducing his new book, More, I quickly began to realize what a fascinating man he is, and how much is embedded in the pages of his fiction.
He began by giving a bit of background on his main character, Idora, who is a female from Barbados living in Toronto. He spoke about the experience of Barbadian women moving to Toronto, and how Idora is modeled after these women.
He then read a section, his voice assuming Idora's slight accent. When finished, he went on to introduce the next bit he was to read, and he spoke about some of the images used in the section and what they conveyed.
Idora lives in a basement apartment and the only window is above her head. As she looks out the window, everything she sees is skewed, disjoined. The basement apartment, Austin noted, is meant to suggest she is down on her luck, and the skewed view she has of the street outside her apartment is just as skewed as her view of the world she lives in.
After his second reading, after he looked up at a room spellbound by his voice, he had to remind everyone to breathe. We laughed, and so did he.
After fielding a few questions, a woman near the front asked him about race and poverty and violence in Toronto and whether or not he sees any improvements. He said no. She asked if him if he has an solutions. He said not really, but then he offered a wonderful story of his trip to Winnipeg.
He flew, and seated behind him on the plane was a baby that cried the whole time. People were noticeably frustrated. After a while, he began to wonder if the pin holding the baby's diaper had slipped and was poking the child in the side (he joked that, of course, diapers don't have pins anymore, but that's not the point). He added that, when he was a young father, he was home one day with his child and the child cried and cried all day. He couldn't figure out why and was feeling very frustrated. He then realized, some time later, that the bottle his child was holding had a piece of plastic blocking the liquid from getting out and the child couldn't drink it. It was the child who was frustrated, because of a mistake he had made.
Whether you are looking to read some well-crafted fiction or you are looking to learn something, to experience something, Austin Clarke's More seems to have a great deal to offer. I can't wait to read it.
* * *
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.
Twittering
My email, earlier today, to the handy-dandy handful of bloggers under my command:
To wit, here's Emma's 'whimsical' response, which arrived a few minutes after my email went out:
For instance, he sent me this business-like email as I was leaving the house:
* * *
Ariel Gordon is a Winnipeg-based writer and editor. Her poetry has recently appeared in PRISM International, The Fieldstone Review, and Prairie Fire. In addition to being Events Coordinator at Aqua Books, Ariel also contributes to the Winnipeg Free Press' Books Section and Prairie books NOW.
A hand-made, limited-edition chapbook of Ariel's poetry, entitled The navel gaze (with Kingsville, ON's Palimpsest Press), will be launched Oct. 1 at Aqua Books.
How's this? I'll give you a shiny nickel if you'll twitter. I'll give you a whole quarter if you'll flickr.Now, I have smart-asses on my crew, so I got back smart-assery...
(That is, if you have the tech. If you don't, that's fine. If you do, and you're just...scared, well, shame on you!) Do it!
Yours, Ariel
To wit, here's Emma's 'whimsical' response, which arrived a few minutes after my email went out:
OK, I'll try and Twitter. I don't know if my phone is capable, but what's the worst thing that can happen right?Jay by-passed the back-channel smart remarks and twittered this:
Is there, like, some sort of dead letter depot for undeliverable twitters? That would be so sad.
Those poor lost updates, forever on a journey for which there is no destination. Hopefully they can make friends, and be of comfort to one another.
jay doesn't know if he's making twitters right.And this:
Jay is making twitter's right, excepted for the lack of capital letters.And Brad? Well, he looks like the straight man, like the reliable one, but then...he's not. That is not to say that he can't be counted upon for bloggy goodness (RIGHT, Brad?) but that he is actually human like the rest of us...
For instance, he sent me this business-like email as I was leaving the house:
Hi Ariel,But did he twitter, I ask you? No. He just sat there and drank in the Austin Clarke, which was especially galling, as I came late and had to sit in the hall. Like a child.
I'm going to sneak out of work early and go to the Austin Clarke reading. I'm not sure if anyone else is covering it, but I'll be there. Can you forward me the twitter link so that I can upload while I'm there?
Thanks,
Brad
* * *
Ariel Gordon is a Winnipeg-based writer and editor. Her poetry has recently appeared in PRISM International, The Fieldstone Review, and Prairie Fire. In addition to being Events Coordinator at Aqua Books, Ariel also contributes to the Winnipeg Free Press' Books Section and Prairie books NOW. A hand-made, limited-edition chapbook of Ariel's poetry, entitled The navel gaze (with Kingsville, ON's Palimpsest Press), will be launched Oct. 1 at Aqua Books.
Writers + fashion
I don't consider myself stylish. I make rather boring fashion choices, and over the past couple years have taken to trying to look like a boring grown-up. My most recent favourite purchase is a secretary top: a blouse with a high collar secured with a big bow, originally conceived to keep cleavage out of the workplace. I think modesty is making a comeback, and who but the reclusive writer most embodies modest style?
Matches & Misses was the fashion event of Thin Air. Charlene Diehl set it off when she explained her outfit choice for the night; the theme was love, so she went with her "date clothes." Also taking into consideration the pink-patterned Loud Chair from EQ3 that none of the readers ever sit on, Charlene wore a tangerine cowl-neck sweater and a pleather skirt—with slits up both sides. I'd say it was a date outfit: cute, and a little saucy.
Each of the night's readers was sporting a signature look. David Bergen looked the most writerly of the bunch: black blazer over black t-shirt and dark jeans. All it took was the jacket to take him from writing in his den to headlining The Mainstage. The adorable Rebecca Rosenblum donned a cotton dress and cardigan. She became the sweetheart of Thin Air when in the middle of introducing her new book Once, she stopped, shrugged her shoulders and smiled. Cute!
Then there's the woman who breathes fresh air into writer fashion, Daria Salamon. I met Daria back in 2003 when I was interning at her husband Rob's record label , so I know that she's always had style. In fact, I remember thinking that her wedding dress was very similar to Carolyn Bessette Kennedy's Vera Wang gown. In a nutshell: Daria has great taste.
Last night she wore a fitted grey/pink/white cocktail dress from Swank. She said it was a toss up between heels and boots, and she ended up going with black motorcycle boots. I was into the combination, it reminded me of Rihanna: though with girly. Daria expressed concern about a potential wardrobe malfunction; she told me at Bloodlines that the dress showed more cleavage than when she tried it on at the store. The solution: a camisole.
So how does Daria pick out her outfits?
"I wear whatever Oskar (her almost-two-year-old son) rips down from the closet."
Rob has his say too. Don't be fooled by the band t-shirts, Daria says her husband has "great fashion sense." Your consultants do good work, Daria! Pasha Malla called you "a dynamite."
Pasha Malla held his own, too. He looked like a New Yorker, in impeccable jeans and a heavy ivy cap. He confessed to having style by default:
"I own one button-up shirt. And my girlfriend told me that I should wear a button-up shirt at a reading."
What about the hat?
"My hair's thinning, and it's hot under the lights."
* * *
Ashley Sy is a Winnipeg born and bred freelance writer specializing in arts, music, and culture. She has written for Stylus, The Manitoban, and MyWinnipeg.com, and has begun copywriting for the Regina-based firm Benchmark PR. Currently, Ashley is working on getting her short fiction published—she fully embraces the classification of emerging writer. You can hear Ashley every Saturday night on 101.5 UMFM, on her pop-punk nostalgia show, Parking Lot Rock.
Matches & Misses was the fashion event of Thin Air. Charlene Diehl set it off when she explained her outfit choice for the night; the theme was love, so she went with her "date clothes." Also taking into consideration the pink-patterned Loud Chair from EQ3 that none of the readers ever sit on, Charlene wore a tangerine cowl-neck sweater and a pleather skirt—with slits up both sides. I'd say it was a date outfit: cute, and a little saucy.Each of the night's readers was sporting a signature look. David Bergen looked the most writerly of the bunch: black blazer over black t-shirt and dark jeans. All it took was the jacket to take him from writing in his den to headlining The Mainstage. The adorable Rebecca Rosenblum donned a cotton dress and cardigan. She became the sweetheart of Thin Air when in the middle of introducing her new book Once, she stopped, shrugged her shoulders and smiled. Cute!
Then there's the woman who breathes fresh air into writer fashion, Daria Salamon. I met Daria back in 2003 when I was interning at her husband Rob's record label , so I know that she's always had style. In fact, I remember thinking that her wedding dress was very similar to Carolyn Bessette Kennedy's Vera Wang gown. In a nutshell: Daria has great taste.
Last night she wore a fitted grey/pink/white cocktail dress from Swank. She said it was a toss up between heels and boots, and she ended up going with black motorcycle boots. I was into the combination, it reminded me of Rihanna: though with girly. Daria expressed concern about a potential wardrobe malfunction; she told me at Bloodlines that the dress showed more cleavage than when she tried it on at the store. The solution: a camisole.
So how does Daria pick out her outfits? "I wear whatever Oskar (her almost-two-year-old son) rips down from the closet."
Rob has his say too. Don't be fooled by the band t-shirts, Daria says her husband has "great fashion sense." Your consultants do good work, Daria! Pasha Malla called you "a dynamite."
Pasha Malla held his own, too. He looked like a New Yorker, in impeccable jeans and a heavy ivy cap. He confessed to having style by default:
"I own one button-up shirt. And my girlfriend told me that I should wear a button-up shirt at a reading."
What about the hat?
"My hair's thinning, and it's hot under the lights."
* * *
Ashley Sy is a Winnipeg born and bred freelance writer specializing in arts, music, and culture. She has written for Stylus, The Manitoban, and MyWinnipeg.com, and has begun copywriting for the Regina-based firm Benchmark PR. Currently, Ashley is working on getting her short fiction published—she fully embraces the classification of emerging writer. You can hear Ashley every Saturday night on 101.5 UMFM, on her pop-punk nostalgia show, Parking Lot Rock.
Flickr-ing: exiles
Tavia, festival employee, also works the hallway at the U of W during the Clarke reading.
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Flickr-ing: the stairwell
Thin air in the cavernous U of W stairwell.
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I’ve been hacked!!!!!!!!
I know the internet is a dangerous place, but it seems to me that the timing of this attack is awfully suspicious. I just let the festival’s dirty little secret out of the bag and the next thing you know, I can’t publish to the web. Hmmm, I wonder who could be responsible? Could it be.....the writer’s festival? You bet it is.
You see, yesterday afternoon I took in the 2:30 book chat at McNally Robinson. Well, “took in” makes it sound like I had a choice. I assure you I didn’t. The drugs made me do it. The need to be at the festival has gotten worse. I actually risked getting fired just to hear Pasha Malla and Rebecca Rosenblum read. This festival has turned a hard working, dedicated family man into just another junkie looking for a fix.
Instead of doing my job, shelving books, answering questions, avoiding management, I found myself doing everything I could to get to that events alcove. First I begged them to let me set up chairs for the reading, hoping they might let me stay and watch.
They said I could setup the chairs.
Then I pleaded with poor little Rebecca to relieve me at cash a little early so I could sneak over and watch. And like the enabler I knew she could be, she did. Even though that meant a 4 hour cash shift for her, God bless her.
But I digress; the point is I was there.
As I entered the alcove, I was struck by the most startling image. There, between Pasha Malla and Rebecca Rosenbloom was the perpetrator of my drug-induced madness, Charlene Diehl.
While seeing Charlene at a festival event is by no means shocking, what was, was the way she seemed to tower over the other two writers. It was as if she was lording over her minions. It was as if her stool was just a little bit taller. But I knew that was impossible. I set them up. The only explanation was that she switched stools before the event. It was narcissism at its worst.
I shook my head and quickly moved to the position of security I had scouted out earlier. There between mythology and maps, I could see and hear everything, without limiting my ability to escape unnoticed. You see, I have come to believe that this festival would not be above using thuggery to silence a whistleblower such as myself. I have to take precautions now. So, with my three exits in place, I listened.
Now I’ll have to say the reading was a delightful affair. Each writer read a story from their respective books and then answered questions from the audience. This led to a very interesting discussion about the writing process. I found it informative both as a writer and as a fan. I also enjoyed...wait a minute...I...sorry, that was the drugs talking. Overall, the chat was fine. The real moment of interest came after the event was over.
As the place cleared out, I saw Ariel over by a table near the front. Being a suck up, I made a bee line straight for her. We chatted for a bit and everything seemed fine, until Ariel looked at me with this wicked look and said “Have you met Charlene yet?
And then out of nowhere, as if by some dark magic, She was there. I couldn’t speak. Charlene could see my fear and smiled, “oh hello. Yes, we met on Sunday.” I might have nodded.
This was not good. I was face to face with the mastermind of this whole operation and I was trapped. They were on both sides of me and home field advantage meant nothing. Suddenly, things got worse.
“Jay thinks the festival is like an infection.” If I hadn’t known better I would have thought it was my sister ratting me out.
“Oh really.”
I don’t really know where my resolve came from, but just like all righteous men before me, I made a decision to speak the truth, no matter what the cost.
“Actually, I said you guys were using addictive psychotropic drugs to make people keep coming back.”
“Yeah, so. Is there something wrong with that?”
“No...I...umm...I guess not.”
And they both laughed. They thought they had won. They thought they had shut me up. But they didn’t.
You see, I’m really just a fantastic actor who possesses the ability to stammer on command. Just like crying on command, it can get you out of many sticky situations. By stammering uncontrollably, I made them think I was not a threat. I made them believe their strong arm tactics were working. Never! It was clearly a strategic withdrawal.
I swear to you dear readers, I will never bend to their will. I will never stop seeking the truth. And no matter what obstacles this festival throws in my way, be it limited connectivity or other, I will get that truth to you. I am a writer, I will write.
* * *
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.
You see, yesterday afternoon I took in the 2:30 book chat at McNally Robinson. Well, “took in” makes it sound like I had a choice. I assure you I didn’t. The drugs made me do it. The need to be at the festival has gotten worse. I actually risked getting fired just to hear Pasha Malla and Rebecca Rosenblum read. This festival has turned a hard working, dedicated family man into just another junkie looking for a fix.
Instead of doing my job, shelving books, answering questions, avoiding management, I found myself doing everything I could to get to that events alcove. First I begged them to let me set up chairs for the reading, hoping they might let me stay and watch.
They said I could setup the chairs.
Then I pleaded with poor little Rebecca to relieve me at cash a little early so I could sneak over and watch. And like the enabler I knew she could be, she did. Even though that meant a 4 hour cash shift for her, God bless her.
But I digress; the point is I was there.
As I entered the alcove, I was struck by the most startling image. There, between Pasha Malla and Rebecca Rosenbloom was the perpetrator of my drug-induced madness, Charlene Diehl.
While seeing Charlene at a festival event is by no means shocking, what was, was the way she seemed to tower over the other two writers. It was as if she was lording over her minions. It was as if her stool was just a little bit taller. But I knew that was impossible. I set them up. The only explanation was that she switched stools before the event. It was narcissism at its worst.
I shook my head and quickly moved to the position of security I had scouted out earlier. There between mythology and maps, I could see and hear everything, without limiting my ability to escape unnoticed. You see, I have come to believe that this festival would not be above using thuggery to silence a whistleblower such as myself. I have to take precautions now. So, with my three exits in place, I listened.
Now I’ll have to say the reading was a delightful affair. Each writer read a story from their respective books and then answered questions from the audience. This led to a very interesting discussion about the writing process. I found it informative both as a writer and as a fan. I also enjoyed...wait a minute...I...sorry, that was the drugs talking. Overall, the chat was fine. The real moment of interest came after the event was over.
As the place cleared out, I saw Ariel over by a table near the front. Being a suck up, I made a bee line straight for her. We chatted for a bit and everything seemed fine, until Ariel looked at me with this wicked look and said “Have you met Charlene yet?
And then out of nowhere, as if by some dark magic, She was there. I couldn’t speak. Charlene could see my fear and smiled, “oh hello. Yes, we met on Sunday.” I might have nodded.
This was not good. I was face to face with the mastermind of this whole operation and I was trapped. They were on both sides of me and home field advantage meant nothing. Suddenly, things got worse.
“Jay thinks the festival is like an infection.” If I hadn’t known better I would have thought it was my sister ratting me out.
“Oh really.”
I don’t really know where my resolve came from, but just like all righteous men before me, I made a decision to speak the truth, no matter what the cost.
“Actually, I said you guys were using addictive psychotropic drugs to make people keep coming back.”
“Yeah, so. Is there something wrong with that?”
“No...I...umm...I guess not.”
And they both laughed. They thought they had won. They thought they had shut me up. But they didn’t.
You see, I’m really just a fantastic actor who possesses the ability to stammer on command. Just like crying on command, it can get you out of many sticky situations. By stammering uncontrollably, I made them think I was not a threat. I made them believe their strong arm tactics were working. Never! It was clearly a strategic withdrawal.
I swear to you dear readers, I will never bend to their will. I will never stop seeking the truth. And no matter what obstacles this festival throws in my way, be it limited connectivity or other, I will get that truth to you. I am a writer, I will write.
* * *
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.
Lucky, Lucky Students. They’ve Never Had it So Good.
I hope the members of the English class that was in attendance at this afternoon’s reading at the U of M appreciate how unusual and exciting it is to have actual Real Life Writers read their stuff to them in class. Why is that so rare? It’s just not right that so many of us got through our English degrees without hearing a single author’s voice. (Obviously some voices are kind of out of the question. If you ever hear Yeats’ voice at this point in time, you might want to check yourself in some place where they give you green Jell-O with every meal.) Given that Winnipeg, and the U of M, has so much readily available talent, it’s a shame that more students (so gloriously impressionable!) don’t get to hear and talk to practicing writers. Anyway, I digress…
Is it really a digression if I haven’t actually started in on what I came here to say yet? Anyway, again...
I must confess that I haven’t yet obtained The Cellist of Sarajevo, despite my fascination at the story of the siege of that city. What I’ve always found so compelling and frightening about the record of those events is just how terrifyingly quickly Sarajevo went from being a cultural and economic success story to being a city where nearly every single building was damaged, tens of thousands of people were dead or injured, where mortar shells were dropping out of the sky multiple times a day and where going outside to do something as basic as getting water became life threatening.
Even the fact that it so quickly turned into the sort of place where you had to go out to get water is kind of horrifying. It also gives me pause to think about how, once everything is stripped away, we so rapidly turn on people who didn’t bother us much one way or another before.
OK, now I’m getting dour. Thank the gods for Gerald Hill’s poetry. Not that his work doesn’t cover some serious subjects also, but he chose to lighten us up a bit with some Roughrider/Blue Bomber rivalry (yeah, I don’t know what he was referring to either) and poems about increasingly hostile and militant English students; progressing from reading the poet’s material on his office door to outright military style abduction, complete with individuals rappelling from helicopters, multiple ropes and vigorous, loud demands for explanations.
Oh wait, maybe that’s why writers don’t read their stuff directly to students...
* * *
Emma Hill Kepron is a librarian at the University of Manitoba.
She is also an aspiring poet.
Her writing takes place in a small blue house near the river, which she shares with her husband and her dog.
Is it really a digression if I haven’t actually started in on what I came here to say yet? Anyway, again...
I must confess that I haven’t yet obtained The Cellist of Sarajevo, despite my fascination at the story of the siege of that city. What I’ve always found so compelling and frightening about the record of those events is just how terrifyingly quickly Sarajevo went from being a cultural and economic success story to being a city where nearly every single building was damaged, tens of thousands of people were dead or injured, where mortar shells were dropping out of the sky multiple times a day and where going outside to do something as basic as getting water became life threatening.
Even the fact that it so quickly turned into the sort of place where you had to go out to get water is kind of horrifying. It also gives me pause to think about how, once everything is stripped away, we so rapidly turn on people who didn’t bother us much one way or another before.
OK, now I’m getting dour. Thank the gods for Gerald Hill’s poetry. Not that his work doesn’t cover some serious subjects also, but he chose to lighten us up a bit with some Roughrider/Blue Bomber rivalry (yeah, I don’t know what he was referring to either) and poems about increasingly hostile and militant English students; progressing from reading the poet’s material on his office door to outright military style abduction, complete with individuals rappelling from helicopters, multiple ropes and vigorous, loud demands for explanations.
Oh wait, maybe that’s why writers don’t read their stuff directly to students...
* * *
Emma Hill Kepron is a librarian at the University of Manitoba.She is also an aspiring poet.
Her writing takes place in a small blue house near the river, which she shares with her husband and her dog.
Flickr-ing: lunch
Butternut squash soup and Marilyn Dumont at McNally Polo Park.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device
Flickr-ing: those books
The book bags of Marj Poor, editor. Marj specializes in book bags.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device
Reading: Rebecca Rosenblum
Rebecca Rosenblum is one of those tricky women. Shy-looking, self-deprecating-ish, but clever and confident underneath.
Her book is only a week old. She's only ever done five or six readings in her live-long life.
But with the exception of a couple of errant throat clearings - or, perhaps, the microphone up her nose - you couldn't tell.
That's what's wonderful and terrible about writing/writers.
Thankfully, given my bugaboo about writers doing the SAME reading at afternoon and evening events, she read something different that night, appearing before Pasha Malla and David Bergen in the second half of the evening.
She wore a pink dress, I think...
I don't hold that against her.
* * *
Ariel Gordon is a Winnipeg-based writer and editor. Her poetry has recently appeared in PRISM International, The Fieldstone Review, and Prairie Fire. In addition to being Events Coordinator at Aqua Books, Ariel also contributes to the Winnipeg Free Press' Books Section and Prairie books NOW.
A hand-made, limited-edition chapbook of Ariel's poetry, entitled The navel gaze (with Kingsville, ON's Palimpsest Press), will be launched Oct. 1 at Aqua Books.
Her book is only a week old. She's only ever done five or six readings in her live-long life.
But with the exception of a couple of errant throat clearings - or, perhaps, the microphone up her nose - you couldn't tell.
That's what's wonderful and terrible about writing/writers.
Thankfully, given my bugaboo about writers doing the SAME reading at afternoon and evening events, she read something different that night, appearing before Pasha Malla and David Bergen in the second half of the evening.
She wore a pink dress, I think...
I don't hold that against her.
* * *
Ariel Gordon is a Winnipeg-based writer and editor. Her poetry has recently appeared in PRISM International, The Fieldstone Review, and Prairie Fire. In addition to being Events Coordinator at Aqua Books, Ariel also contributes to the Winnipeg Free Press' Books Section and Prairie books NOW. A hand-made, limited-edition chapbook of Ariel's poetry, entitled The navel gaze (with Kingsville, ON's Palimpsest Press), will be launched Oct. 1 at Aqua Books.
20 minute survival plan
You can survive anything for 20 minutes (except holding your breath underwater).
This is one of the many things Miriam Toews’ characters shared with the audience yesterday afternoon, over lunch. Reading from her new book The Flying Troutmans we learned that the best way to cope with life is to pretend everyone is stoned; there is a difference between graffiti by bored kinds wandering around vs. hate crime; there is nothing quite like a high quality pen museum; and when in doubt, follow the 20 minutes survival plan.
(My list of) things you can survive for 20 minutes:
Ms. Toews seems to be able to capture unsettlingly honest experiences, in words that are light and humorous enough to speak truth, without preaching it. It makes it so that these truths - like the unbearable moments that feel endless but can and are survived - for at least 20 minutes at a time-reach a space in you that connects without resistance.
And to hear her read her own work brought a whole new level of life to her characters. I could have listened to her read forever.
There is a pelican on the cover of her latest book. When asked why she chose the pelican, she explained (after mentioning that once the publisher rejected her working title “Who Do You Have?” she suggested the title be “Pelican”, which was also rejected), that when a pelican’s young are starving, the pelican will actually peck its own chest until it bleeds, and then feed the young its own blood.
You can survive anything for 20 minutes.
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Courtney Slobogian likes to sit quietly memorizing all of the reasons she is in love with this city. She graduated from University of Winnipeg in 2007 with her BA in Women’s and Gender studies. Her honours thesis was entitled “mother[loss]: An exploration of our silences in grief and longing.”
She is putting that degree to use mostly by insisting that there is a need for theory in everything. Along with writing academic papers for fun, she finds herself constantly playing with poetry (where it is desire, and not theory, that she finds most useful).
By day she busies herself with women’s reproductive health issues, by night she rides her bike.
This is one of the many things Miriam Toews’ characters shared with the audience yesterday afternoon, over lunch. Reading from her new book The Flying Troutmans we learned that the best way to cope with life is to pretend everyone is stoned; there is a difference between graffiti by bored kinds wandering around vs. hate crime; there is nothing quite like a high quality pen museum; and when in doubt, follow the 20 minutes survival plan.
(My list of) things you can survive for 20 minutes:
uncomfortable conversations20 minutes, and then you need to switch. You can come back to it in a while. Because you know you can do it for another 20 minutes if you have to. And usually you do.
anxiously awaiting a phone call from your partner when you know you have to have a ‘talk’ (you know the kind I mean)
standing at the bus stop in the middle of a Winnipeg winter day
your best friend being mad at you
listening to your mom cry at your dad’s funeral
your dad’s funeral
dental work
Ms. Toews seems to be able to capture unsettlingly honest experiences, in words that are light and humorous enough to speak truth, without preaching it. It makes it so that these truths - like the unbearable moments that feel endless but can and are survived - for at least 20 minutes at a time-reach a space in you that connects without resistance.
And to hear her read her own work brought a whole new level of life to her characters. I could have listened to her read forever.
There is a pelican on the cover of her latest book. When asked why she chose the pelican, she explained (after mentioning that once the publisher rejected her working title “Who Do You Have?” she suggested the title be “Pelican”, which was also rejected), that when a pelican’s young are starving, the pelican will actually peck its own chest until it bleeds, and then feed the young its own blood.
You can survive anything for 20 minutes.
* * *
Courtney Slobogian likes to sit quietly memorizing all of the reasons she is in love with this city. She graduated from University of Winnipeg in 2007 with her BA in Women’s and Gender studies. Her honours thesis was entitled “mother[loss]: An exploration of our silences in grief and longing.” She is putting that degree to use mostly by insisting that there is a need for theory in everything. Along with writing academic papers for fun, she finds herself constantly playing with poetry (where it is desire, and not theory, that she finds most useful).
By day she busies herself with women’s reproductive health issues, by night she rides her bike.
Line of Inquiry: Steven Galloway
Steven Galloway is the author of three novels. His first, Finnie Walsh, was nominated for the 2000 Amazon.com/Books in Canada First Novel Award. His second, Ascension, confirmed Galloway’s promise as a writer. His most recent book, The Cellist of Sarajevo (Knopf, 2008) is an international best-seller, praised widely for its clarity and courage. His work has been translated into over twenty languages and optioned for film. He is currently the Cliff Writer-in-Residence at the UBC Creative Writing Program, and the fiction mentor at the Writer’s Studio at SFU.
Galloway lives with his wife and two young daughters in New Westminster, British Columbia.
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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?
There’s two ways to approach it. One is to be grumpy about having to find a way to take what is essentially a solitary act and turn it into a public act, and the other is to view it as an opportunity to bring a text alive for a group of people who may not be familiar with it. My natural inclinations are typically grumpy, but in this case I’m very pleased that people are willing to sit and listen to a bit of the story. If you can do a reading properly you can create an experience that is similar to that of reading the story. It’s a skill, and I’m still working on it.
2) What do you want people to know about The Cellist of Sarajevo?
That it’s not really about a cellist, or even Sarajevo. The book follows the lives of three ordinary people who are trying to survive a war, and looks at how they’re tested and inspired by a cellist who plays in the street after a massacre. Though the book is set in Sarajevo, I think that what happens applies to any number of places, from Iraq to Palestine to Georgia.3) Will this your first time in Winnipeg? What have you heard?
This will indeed be my first time to Winnipeg. I’ve heard there are mosquitoes the size of houses, that the winter is colder than Jupiter, and real estate is reasonably priced. Much of this book was written while listening to The Weakerthans, who are quite possibly my favourite band, and I’m a huge fan of Miriam Toews and Daria Salamon. I was sad when the Jets left, but I follow the Manitoba Moose closely as they’re the Canucks’ farm team. I’m looking forward to the trip.
4) What are you reading right now? What are you writing right now?
I’m currently reading Tim Winton’s Breath and Lee Henderson’s The Man Game. Both are excellent. I’m not writing much right now, but I’m trying to sit quietly and think about what I might write someday. Thinking is underrated, I believe.
5) In three novels, you covered small town hockey, circus life, and the war in the Balkans. What's your process when it comes to researching a topic for fictional use?
I do a lot of quiet thinking and planning. I’ll read and watch whatever material I can find on the subject, think and plan some more, talk to people who know the subject better than I do, think and plan some more, and then write a draft, throw it out because it’s bad, start again. It’s probably not the best way to do things, but it seems to work for me, more or less.
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Steven Galloway will be appearing at THIN AIR, Winnipeg International Writers Festival:
September 25 - Campus Program, University of Manitoba, with Gerald Hill.
September 26 - Mainstage, with Andre Alexis, Austin Clarke, and Maggie Helwig.
Reading Copy: Duncan Thornton
Duncan Thornton established his reputation as a compelling young adult fantasy writer with Kalifax, which was short-listed for many awards, including the 2000 Governor General’s Award, the Mr. Christie’s award, the Manitoba Best First Novel and Best Children’s Book awards, and the Manitoba Young Readers’ Choice Award. That first book has been followed by two highly successful sequels, Captain Jenny and the Sea of Wonders, and The Star-Glass. His new novel, Shadow-Town (Annick), is the first of a four-book series which introduces readers to cousins Jack and Rose — and the ghostly Whisperers. Duncan Thornton also writes non-fiction and drama, and he lives in Winnipeg.
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* * *
So this one nearly killed me. Various tech nightmares, from dead batteries to weeping babies. And, dolt that I am, I called Duncan 'Kenneth,' as in Kenneth Oppel, while all the tech nightmares reared their girl-horse-that-has-had-babies heads.
(Duncan, if you're reading this, I know who you are and I picked you, not Kenneth! Did I mention that I'm a dolt?)
All that aside, I'm glad to present my first 2008 Reading Copy. It should go without saying that I hope to do several MORE of these Reading Copies before fest-end...
Out-take: separated at birth?
There were murmurs around the book signing table Tuesday night about how Andrew Hood didn't look anything like his author photos. Also, that they MUCH preferred the in-person Andrew.
So I thought I'd compare and contrast here on HOT AIR...and Andrew obliged me.
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Ariel Gordon is a Winnipeg-based writer and editor. Her poetry has recently appeared in PRISM International, The Fieldstone Review, and Prairie Fire. In addition to being Events Coordinator at Aqua Books, Ariel also contributes to the Winnipeg Free Press' Books Section and Prairie books NOW. A hand-made, limited-edition chapbook of Ariel's poetry, entitled The navel gaze (with Kingsville, ON's Palimpsest Press), will be launched Oct. 1 at Aqua Books.
Flickr-ing: the elevator
Joseph boyden in the elevator, on the way out to find wireless internet.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device
Flickr-ing: the hosp suite
Daria salamon and her friend (and former sage hill instructor) Steven galloway.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device
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