Looks like I'll be bartending for three evenings at the Writers Festival. Do they even charge for drinks? Tip well, I'm unemployed. Should be fun getting lit folks tipsy.

I went out with some of the gang last night to the dirty Oak. Steve played a solo acoustic set and had a guy join him on a bongo for a few songs. Afterward a few of us straggled over to Matt's and I got quite high. In a rare occurrence I turned down a trip to the diner, it being after 3 in the morning, and my sleep schedule being what it is, and my cashflow being what it is. Plus I missed my lady.

It's starting to get chilly in the Flatcave. Eventually I'll have to figure out how to use the rads. This is my favorite time of year weather-wise. Pleasant during the day and chilly at night. I can roam freely in a hoodie and feel comfortable. Soon enough I'll be strapping the iPod on and kicking up leaves.

I'm back in Peterborough until Tuesday. I keep getting messages for invites out from folks who don't realize I left Ottawa. Sometimes I forget that only 13 people or so have access to this blog, and it probably isn't read by all on a daily basis. I should just go back to Ottawa and stay put for awhile. Sounds good.

Yesterday Matt and I went to see Tropic Thunder. It was funny, I'll give it that. Not the funniest film I've seen, but it's funny. Fun to watch. Tom Cruise has been getting a lot of attention for his role in it, and people were applauding him in the theatre. But Robert Downey Jr. steals the picture. As strange as he looks in blackface, he looks even stranger as a blonde, starry-eyed Australian. The film is offensive and downright disgusting at times, but it's also often sharp and merciless, and it serves up a healthy amount of funny cameos.

In the evening we played poker with Dana and Adam and I lost big time. I took the 2:30 bus back and here I sit. Tomorrow I'm getting my back checked out. Then it's Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday.

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 I had lunch with Wayson Choy. He introduced himself and I shook his hand. It was a very high school cafeteria-esque setting for the lunch break on the first day of the week. I've never read any of Choy's books, so I didn't have much to say to him, but he seemed nice and thought the chicken was too salty.

Other writers popping up this week: Paul Quarrington, Lisa Moore, Alistair MacLeod. Yesterday I saw M.G. Vassanji give a talk on being a writer as well as some other folks that have come out of the program and had their works published. There was also a joint talk between the writer I'm assisting, Joseph Kertes, and his agent. I'm going to be grateful for these insights. I've missed hearing people talk about the craft. Shari Lapena divulged that she writes on a schedule of 1000 words a day, while Anthony De Sa bluffed his way into getting a manuscript written and accepted in three weeks. Ian Colford said that he was only successful in getting a novel published once he wrote the one he wanted to write, rather than the one he thought editors might want to see. The message I'm constantly receiving is that the quality of any writing is entirely subjective. As a result, writers fail pretty consistently at getting their work out. And successes can take one by complete surprise.

I had a conversation with a teacher of philosophy at Humber about reading and writing. She asked me what I did. I told her I was in between figuring things out.

Kim and I are going to be on pretty similar schedules, and I think I'll probably end up seeing more of her than Matt. Last night I went grocery shopping for junk. Adam came over and we played Gears of War for the XBox while Kim and Matt attended a dinner for the authors and staff at Humber.

I just woke up after spending my first night in Toronto. Matt and Kim have me put up in their "den" on an inflatable mattress, enforcing the reality that I will never again sleep in an actual bed in Toronto. This morning is my first at Humber and I should be leaving fairly soon. I really don't know what to expect. As far as I could gather from Kim, I'll be spending the mornings this week helping out with a writer's workshop (aka being the writer's lackey) and then I'll have the option to attend afternoon seminars. We'll see how it goes.

The trip yesterday was okay, though the air conditioning on the bus wasn't operating, and we had to switch buses once we reached Peterborough. My back hasn't enjoyed lugging a suitcase around. Once I got a bit settled the three of us went for dinner at Mackenzie's and rented Be Kind Rewind, which is quite honestly one of the most bizarre films I've ever seen. I don't know that I can recommend it, but it certainly works on the level of exhibiting a genuine love for movies and filmmaking.

On the way back from the restaurant we found a box full of board games on the side of the road. I grabbed Cranium and Matt grabbed Balderdash.

The writer's workshop I'm helping out with is being led by a man named Richard Bausch, whom I've never read. I went to Chapters yesterday and picked up his latest book, Peace, and I'm planning to read it on the trip down. It's set against the Second World War, and I typically really enjoy books and films that comment on that time period.

I stopped by Shoppers and bought a heating bag for my back. I used it a couple of times yesterday, along with a freezing bag. If it doesn't get fully better I'm going to see a chiropractor. It's not too bad right now, but even sitting here typing is uncomfortable, and I walk with a slight limp on my left side.

I slept a lot at Andrea's yesterday. Her room feels like the most comfortable place on earth, especially with her in it. I'm going to miss her for the next week or so. I am looking forward to seeing Matt, though. He's a guy I need to talk to every now and again. Now more than ever, probably.

I'm feeling more decentered now than I thought I would after moving back to Ottawa. I thought I'd have a clearer picture of where I wanted to go and what I wanted to do, but it's more jumbled than ever. I think I'm just in the process of finally convincing myself that I'm the kind of person that doesn't need to be in any one place to be happy. That's the kind of person I've always wanted to be. I want to experience everything life has to offer. Right now it's a week-long job in a different city. Next it will be having my very own apartment for the first time. After that, who knows? I'm going to admit this to myself right here and now: I'm probably not going to stay in Ottawa. I'm not looking for a place I can call home and be done with it. I'm looking to expand my definition of the word and apply it to something bigger.

I went over to Matt and Carly's last night for some pizza and beer. It was nice to sit around and talk and listen to some vinyls and watch a budgie make love to Matt's face.

I realize that yesterday's post was pretty intense, and I'm still angry. More than anything I hate to see the way drugs can fuck up a person. I want to leave that stuff behind, and if that means leaving the person behind, so be it. I feel bad about it.

Tomorrow morning I'm viewing a place on Elgin Street. The price and location are both really decent; hopefully the apartment is up to snuff.

I woke up on Steve's couch yesterday morning. The couch was made of that material that appears lighter or darker depending on which way the fabric is pushed, so I played with it for awhile until Steve got up. The three of us had lunch at Local Heroes and talked (mostly about music) before Steve drove me back into town.

Matt gave me a quick overview of the Reason program and his MIDI keyboard while we were hanging around in Steve's basement. I'm downloading a copy of the software right now. He was able to toss together something halfway cool in minutes that Steve played over on guitar and it's exactly the type of thing I want to mess around with. I'm really excited about it. He also showed me some video of different hardware that bands use to create sounds. I know so little about electronic music but it's interested me for a few years now and I'd really like to turn it into a hobby.

I went out to the Rideau Centre and picked up the new Green Day record (under the name Foxtrot Hot Tubs) as well as a few DVD's. When I got back I spent the evening in watching Wayne's World and Terminator 2: Judgment Day. I was able to get a little writing in before bed.

Last night's jam with Matt and Steve went to show how out of shape I am as a musician. My callouses are coming back and my right forearm is chafed from playing. We played for about 4 and a half hours before I crashed on Steve's couch. We recorded a bit, just some jam material and takes of a couple of songs including an old one called "Helen" from the Black Hill archives. I took lead vocals on it and shot my throat to pieces. The stuff doesn't sound that great off the floor but there might be some stuff in there worth fooling around with. All in all it was just nice to play again.

I watched too much TV yesterday. I'm not used to watching hours of it at a time and I get headaches around the 8th straight episode of Seinfeld. Hopefully I'll be able to keep myself busy with other things in the weeks to come, if for no other cause then for the benefit of my brain.

I got my security clearance yesterday and stopped by the office this morning to get some pointers on how I should go about proofreading the debates. It sounds as though I'll only be doing the job for a month or so until the Senate adjourns for the summer, but at least it's something.

Last night I met up with Sebastien at the diner and we chatted for a bit until we headed over to the Bytowne Tavern for Rock n' Roll Pizza Party which, as always, seriously lacked pizza. It was an okay night. I spent most of it talking with Matt and Steve, who I'm jamming with tomorrow night out at Steve's place in Bells Corners. It will be nice to play music again.

There is a fly in the apartment and I can't bring myself to kill it. I need a new shoo technique.