The chapter has been sent to Mr. Kertes. Part of a foundation set. Here's to seeing where it takes the story.

Kat and I had dinner at the diner last night and talked. We came back to my place and I showed her an episode of twitch City I'd wanted her to see for awhile about the earth being taken over by cats. Afterwards I went over to Andrea's and we watched Esma's Secret, a Bosnian film about a mother and daughter that she recommended, which was quite good. I picked up a few flicks at Future Shop today - Once Upon a Time in the West and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, since I'm on a western kick, along with Monty Python's The Meaning of Life.

I've started working on a new song, one with a bit of a faster pace.

I've been having connection problems lately, so I'll hope this posts. The other day I finished reading Gratitude. Yesterday I emailed Joe some thoughts I had on the book, and he emailed me back promptly thanking me and offering some encouragement. He also said that earlier in the day, Tim O'Brien had emailed him some praise. I had just finished reading O'Brien's "The Things They Carried" yesterday, so it was a neat coincidence. I also re-read Joyce Carol Oates' "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?", which is a phenomenal piece of unsettling work.

I've been keeping a low profile at home, hanging out mostly with the folks, which my mother seems to appreciate. We watched The Bucket List last night. I've been thinking for quite some time that I'd like to launch some sort of review website where I do quick and dirty reviews of films, records, books and such. Just a hundred words or so each, more for my own personal benefit than anything else.

Radiohead's show at the Molson Ampitheatre might be a great starting point. I've been looking forward to this for awhile. It'll be my second time seeing my favorite band.

The Dark Knight was the third film I've seen in an IMAX theatre (outside of documentaries), the first two being The Matrix Revolutions and then 300 last year. From the opening aerial shot of Gotham that pans down lower into the buildings and streets, I lost my breath and didn't get it back for the rest of the movie. "Action-packed" doesn't come close to describing it - the film relentlessly navigates from one harrowing section to the next in an effort to turn your brain inside out over questions of morality, ethics, social propriety and the stability of the forces in the world that people trust. As for Heath Ledger, he gives an unearthly performance as the Joker; a more sadistic, disturbed character has never surfaced in a comic book film. His real-life death casts an incredibly haunting gravity over the entire film as it juts back and forth between poetry and tragedy. And although Ledger's performance is getting the greater focus, Aaron Eckhart's character arc is the best in the film - he is the textbook definition of a tragic character starting out successful and losing everything. The way they set up the Two-Face character is GENIUS and makes the comparison between Tommy Lee Jones' portrayal a complete waste of time. The movie is two and a half hours long but you don't want the characters to go away. It ends on the perfect note to introduce the next film, which can't come too soon.

It's a movie I've been looking forward to seeing for a very long time. I've kept up with the viral campaigns and trailers, greedy to see that next shot of the Joker. To see him brought to life on the screen the way Ledger did is to experience one of the great performances in movie history. Everything came together beautifully and unfortunately.

Yesterday I picked up some books I'd ordered from Amazon, but I'm returning one because I ordered the Spanish version of it by mistake. Also in the package: a couple of books on writing and reading, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain, Fifth Business by Robertson Davies, and Disgrace by J.M. Coetzee. I started reading Joe's book, Gratitude, and got a bit of writing done. Right now I'm at Andrea's drinking coffee. We grabbed dinner at the Royal Oak last night and crashed at her place.

Last night a zombie menstruated on me, but I'll get to that in a bit.

Joe's group met for the final time yesterday. We went over the final revisions and exercises. There was a kid in the group named Dan who has cerebral palsy and who received some bad news during the class about his friend, who apparently had a serious accident on a construction site. It prompted some discussion about how great Dan is to be doing what he's doing in the condition that he's in. The guy is really decent, a big fan of music, and he writes columns for a local Toronto indie mag called Tambourine (including a rather scathing one about Econoline Crush reforming. Yikes.). My group was solid on the whole. Nice people. And it's been a pleasure to talk with some older people this past week. I don't have a lot of them in my life and their advice has been well taken. I told this woman Sharon yesterday that I worry sometimes about the way I keep starting things over, and she told me to look at it as a continuation instead of a series of brand new decisions. That sounds simple, but it's a pretty damn good point.

I was awarded a photo of Joe and I for my service as an assistant. It looks really nice and I'm going to hang it up in the new place as a reminder of what I've learned and felt this past week. I also found the bravery to make the rounds and had all of my books signed. The authors, of course, were all gracious and encouraging, especially Wayson, who asked me how long I'd been a writer and wrote me some words of encouragement in my copy of All That Matters: "To David, whose words will matter. Love has no rules. Write on!" Very nice. Back at the office I helped out with some agenda packaging and Antanas Sileika, author and artistic director of the Humber writers program, lent me a copy of an expensive book about writing that he swears by and told me I could hang on to it for a couple of months. It's been a solid week and I think I've formed some relationships that will be very beneficial to me as both a writer and a person.

Okay. Menstruating zombies. Kim and I met Matt after work and we went for burritos at Burrito Boyz, a tiny, cramped order-and-go place near Peter and Richmond. It felt nice standing in that restaurant, I Mother Earth and Our Lady Peace playing on the sound system, where all I had was time and the impression that a new memory was forming. We scarfed down our burritos and then changed clothes in a Tim Hortons. For over a week Matt had been hinting at some Friday night activity that I needed old pants for. It turned out that he had purchased tickets to Evil Dead: The Musical, right in the "splatter zone," aka the second of three rows towards the front of the stage that are bathed in fake blood over the course of the production. He picked up cheap, white undershirts for us to wear. The production was a RIOT, especially since we were both so familiar with the films. The second act started up without any real kind of mess, but sure enough things turned into an all-out gore fest once Ash started slaughtering Candarian demons. One of the demons started bleeding out of her vagina in a picture perfect arc onto the crowd, and it hit me for a good five seconds. Blood rained out of the ceiling, it was spit in people's faces and squeezed out of beating hearts and shot out of pulsating neck wounds. Kim took some pictures afterwards and I'll try and get one or two up. We took transit home and I looked like I had a pretty bad head wound with trickles of blood running down my face. It was messy and awesome and must be experienced.

After we got back to the apartment we sat on the balcony and had a couple of beers before bed. I finally have a day off. I'm going to get some writing and reading done and hopefully take a nostalgic stroll up Keele Street.

Yesterday Alistair MacLeod took the lectern and read a short story entitled "As Birds Bring Forth the Sun" that he published over twenty years ago. MacLeod is 72 two years old, yet he reads with the pressure and the awareness of a much younger man who has told a million stories and honed his approach over the years to keep people spellbound. Without taking a single sip of water during the 25 minute reading, he cleared his throat as if sea water bubbled perpetually inside it before moving straight into the rest of a sentence, sentences that he later revealed he wrote longhand and toiled over to get their proper rhythm and momentum and accuracy one after the other without completing a second draft. Later on Joe told me that MacLeod writes at about the rate of one short story every three years, and when he does he holes himself up in a cabin on Cape Breton and writes until it's finished. His stories, if you haven't read them, are about the magic, horror, humility and joy of living on the east coast of Canada where land disappears into oblivion and nature becomes stronger than man could ever comprehend. It was a pleasure to hear him read and to participate in the standing ovation that followed.

Joe sat with me for about a half an hour, offering me a couple of pieces of advice on my work, but in general our conversation focused more on writing - how it works, how it prevents us from working, what should be given greater attention because it's more important. I told him about every thought I've had about writing over the last year and he responded exactly as I'd hoped, trying to allay my fears and anxieties and convince me that I have to cut through all of the bullshit that doesn't matter and focus on the story, get the writing done, get the ideas down, realize that I still look at people with a great interest that is always changing and needs to be explored and captured on paper. Half of my problem has been not hearing that spoken out loud. You write some stories and live for a year with this voice shouting in your head that no one is reading what you write, no one cares about it, that it's all just a game that people play to get their material noticed, and the characters you think about wither and die in your mind because you aren't giving them enough air to grow and become stronger and speak to YOU before they speak to anyone else. How can you write about people if you can't spend any time really getting to know them? I've got this woman in my head that I'm returning to for the first time in months and months and I have no idea who she is, what she looks like, where's she going. I want to write about her, and if I'm going to do that I have to get to know her. That's what I'm going to devote more of my time to over the next little while, even if it's just two hours a day at first.

Joe said that if I ever had something that I thought was finished I could send it along to him for his thoughts. It means so much. The group had an assignment last night to write a four paragraph story that begins with the line, "'Where were you last night?' she asked." I ended up writing a page and a half of stuff about a woman whose glass eye falls into the garbage disposal after she sneezes. It's called "Gesundheit."

Last night Kim and I watched Talk Radio over beers. Matt came home and we stayed up until 1:30 or so chatting. Today is the last day of workshop and the last day of my tenure as an assistant.

David,

You are a very accomplished writer, and these linked stories, especially the first one, are dazzling. They are sensitive, often lyrical (but never overly), and together they begin to paint a portrait of a wonderful, magnetic woman. Sometimes I think you forget your place, especially in the third installment here (because the boy, albeit an old soul, speaks a language unsuited to him). But you have a great book going here. We'll talk. Bravo.

Joe Kertes

I had pieces of my novel given the once over yesterday and received some healthy feedback. Most importantly, perhaps, I received suggestions for a lot of reading material. In addition to picking up titles by various authors involved with the workshops, I placed an order at Amazon for a bunch of books that should arrive next week.

I made revisions last night to the entire thing and I think it sounds a lot better. I'm meeting with Joe today for a half hour. Yesterday I asked for advice about writing consistently, and he said to just do it, to carve out time during the day for writing, reading and living. I realized that I really have no excuse not to do this. Once I work into a routine, I'll get to the point where it feels natural, kind of like writing in this blog. Joe also mentioned that after awhile, your characters will begin to take on a life of their own, and it's as if they start talking to you and making demands on the kind of people they are and the decisions they'd make. It all sounds great.

I went on my own for lunch to do some editing because I knew I'd be working on revisions in the evening. Olive Senior, Bruce Jay Friedman and Paul Quarrington gave talks in the afternoon, the latter two about writing for television and film. I asked Paul about his thoughts on Bill C-10. I doubt there was a person sitting in the room who supported it, but it was nice to hear it reaffirmed that it's bullshit (removing tax credits for films that are deemed "inoffensive" by the Heritage Minister).

I'd really like to make the rounds for autographs, but I'm intimidated as all hell to do so, especially when I think about approaching guys like Bausch, who seems like a grizzly bear you don't want to provoke. It's actually just kind of nice to hang out with these people and view them in their natural social environment. Too many animal comparisons. Alistair MacLeod, the man, is giving a reading today. These next couple of days should be quick.

I feel a bit bad because Matt has been working an insane amount this week, and now it looks like he'll be working through the weekend. We won't get to spend much time together. More than anything I hate to see the guy wear himself out.

I showed up to class about 15 minutes early. Joe mentioned that he read my material and said that I was a terrific writer, though my stuff isn't flawless. Nice praise. My piece is being looked at today, and I'm ready to hear about it. Though I've always found writers workshops a bad idea, I'm beginning to see what really justifies their existence: people actually READ what you're writing. They ENGAGE with your ideas rather than simply telling you that what you're writing is "good" or being impressed that you can write a story when it really isn't something they'd be interested in.

Lisa Moore talked yesterday about writing groups and I was jealous of her words. I've known writers and never experienced what she was talking about - people taking each other to task, being relentless, helping each other, never being competitive, and always prepared to take the wind out of a colleague's sails. She told a fantastic story about how Michael Winter wrote her a fake acceptance letter that gave her backhanded praise when she was waiting in the wings to hear from a publishing house. I'm becoming aware once again that I have to TRAIN myself to read, to pick up a person's book or story, get through it, acknowledge how it makes me feel and tell them. I've believed in the importance of this since University but I needed to be told. I needed to hear it, not say it. I needed it to be reinforced. I needed a writer to tell me the truth.

I had lunch with a woman named Stacey who has travelled around and worked in different countries and makes it sound easy. We exchanged great words about how getting older means you care less and less about being introverted and socially awkward and are perfectly willing to sit and listen. I have had that nervous feeling in my belly a few times this week because I essentially know no one at the college except for Kim, but each day has been a fantastic experience because I've grabbed food and sat down at a table and talked to people. It's so refreshingly easy.

Reps from ECW and Anansi came in to speak about smaller presses. Karen Connelly gave a talk on poetry, the power of words and literature she was currently enjoying. Afterwards Kim and I picked up some groceries and watched a documentary on wild mustangs still roaming the mountain foothills of BC. Matt came home with a copy of Wonder Boys, which was a movie I HAD to see this week for the 900th time.

Three more days.

I'm tired this morning. As fulfilling as the days are, they're pretty long. I find myself having to edit a couple of stories each night while also working on stuff of my own. Last night I had to write a pitch for my novel and came up just shy of 300 words, which is probably too short, but I've never really had to write anything of the sort before.

Yesterday was the first workshop class, and it went pretty much as expected. One of the writers handed out maple syrup. Joe talked about writing and made some great points. We got into the pieces and kicked some ideas around. I thought I might have offended one of the writers by making a general point about the importance of grammar and punctuation. After I said it she went on the defensive a bit, saying she's been an editor for 15 years and that it's just a first draft. But really. Come on. If you're an editor, write like one. Put the periods and commas in the right place. It's important. I get that people make typos, and I know that a few will pop up in mine, but the mistakes were pretty damned rampant, and if you're bringing a piece to a writer's workshop it should probably look a hell of a lot better. Rant over.

I had lunch with this woman named Susan from our group, who is in her early 70's and is a child survivor of the Holocaust. Really interesting lady. She gave me some sage advice about life, stuff I don't usually get a lot of. After lunch I saw talks given by Canadian agent Anne McDermid, and writers Janice Kulyk Keefer and Wayson Choy. Wayson told a story about how a girl in his class one year wrote a story about a young girl who was a victim of sexual abuse from the victim's perspective. He suggested she try writing it from the perpetrator's viewpoint, and once she did, she was no longer that interested in writing because the act had cleansed the baggage she was carrying with her. Kim confirmed later that a lot of people who enter the workshop are people looking for therapy rather than to be published. I think that's one of the most important things I've heard about writing so far. To be published is one thing, but some people really have a strong NEED to do it, even if it means they won't be doing it forever. Another piece of advice: writer's block occurs when the same old tool isn't able to handle the job of moving forward - if you use only a hammer for the rest of your life, you'll treat every problem like a nail.

Matt came home with Thai food and we watched Hitchcock's To Catch a Thief. My leg has been bothering me a bit more than my back lately. No time to worry about that now.

Yesterday was pretty intense. Long story short, I'm actually IN the class I'm assisting now. Joe told me that a student dropped out and asked if I had any material I might want to workshop, and I said that I might, so I'm bringing in pages from the book I attempted to write for NaNoWriMo back in 2006. I haven't looked at that story in months. I read through it last night and didn't recall writing most of it, powering through coffee and tuna sandwiches at the Elgin Street Diner. In a lot of ways that worked tapped me of output. It's the longest piece of writing I've ever produced, it's unfinished, and now it's suddenly back in my life.

To top it off, I have to read through two 15-page manuscripts a night and make notes for the other students. Midway through the week I have to take the comments on my work and apply them to a rewrite to workshop at the end of the week. It's going to be a much busier time than I thought it would, but I'm suddenly in quite the place of privilege.

Yesterday I watched talks delivered by professional editors on the kind of work that gets published and marketed in Canada (read: next to nothing). The group also heard from a very engaging Richard Scrimger on finding your inner child when you're writing as well as Richard Bausch, who I'd ask to sign my book if he didn't intimidate the fuck out of me. He offered ten commandments for being a writer, the last of which demanded that the first nine be ignored if they interfere with the process.

I met Paul Quarrington, who seemed very funny, and told him that I loved Whale Music. I've been talking with some really interesting people about writing. Well, listening, mostly. I've picking up some helpful advice and I'm starting to believe that this dry spell I'm going through is far more common than I thought. It will be interesting to see what else comes from the classes this week.

Matt, Kim and I ordered pizza and watched 24 Hour Party People. I stayed up until 1 AM fretting.