I've been having trouble sleeping lately. I'll lay awake in bed until as late as 4 in the morning, and the other night the reason struck me: I have to get back to writing my novel. It's been stewing in my brain for the better part of two years now. Last night I sat down as my kitchen table, my new workspace, and started writing out the narrative outline and descriptions of the woman I want to try and bring to life through the senses of others. before I make her a series of assertions I want to make sure that she is, in fact, real. That she is a person who makes decisions and has a set of ethics and lives a full life despite the tragedy with which she is afflicted. After sketching out in general terms the first half or so of her life, I was able to fall asleep at 2. It's working.
The new television arrived yesterday and it's pretty fantastic. It makes me want to revisit my entire movie collection. Yesterday Andrea came over and we watched Punch-Drunk Love. Unfortunately, she wasn't a fan, but damn if it didn't look great on the new TV.
I've started reading Alligator by Lisa Moore. Moore is a good writer, but I'm having trouble getting into it despite the phenomenal first chapter. Her descriptions of small things are poetic but too numerous. Maybe it's just not something I'm in the mood for right now.
Showing posts with label lisa moore. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lisa moore. Show all posts
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Saturday, July 19, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
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.
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.
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