On Writing #80 : Mike Spry

On Writing

Mike Spry

Whenever I hear a writer asked about their process I’m reminded of Dennis Miller, who once wrote something like, “The two things I care least about in this world are other people’s dreams and other people’s orgasms.” Sucks to be his wife, I guess. I don’t care about other people’s dreams either; I mean their involuntary occasions of the mind not their aspirations. I like aspirations. But I don’t care about other people’s writing processes. I don’t mean to be dismissive of other writers. I’m sure people who say they get up at 7am, write 2000 words, walk the dog, read some Dostoevsky, write another 2000 words, then don’t watch TV are comfortable in their lies. I’m sure they’re nice people on the inside. It’s just that writing is so personal, and contextual, that to share a process as if it was a universality is folly. To me, anyway.

I suppose I could tell you what I don’t think should be part of your writing process, though that would seem like a long list. Off the top of my head, and for brevity’s sake, I’d suggest to avoid:

·         Posting on social media that you received a grant

·         Sharing your daily word count

·         Using the #amwriting hashtag

·         Listening to other writers’ advice

But, of course, if any of those things work for you, aces. Except the grant thing. Gloating about getting a Canada Council grant is like bragging to the cashier about your scratch-and-win skills after a successful $3 lottery effort.

There are a few things that worked for me. Drinking did, until it didn’t. Smoking did, until it didn’t. Being unhappy did, until it didn’t. Love works, until it doesn’t. Living in Wakefield worked well for my last book, but I live in Amherst, Massachusetts now and that’s working fine too. I always wear shoes when I write. I drink tea as opposed to coffee. I like being in a crowded room where I don’t know anyone. Thesauri are helpful. Dictionaries are overrated. Never underestimate the literary acumen of a good bath.

But, as with the above, my writing process is about avoiding bad habits. But, so is my eating process. And my loving process. And my driving process. And my… you get it.

There are certain things that have greatly helped my process. Good editors are invaluable. Someone you can email a text to and get honest, quick feedback from. Deadlines are helpful. When something needs to be done, the motivation tends to manifest itself. Money. Money is good. I rarely write as well as I do when there’s money at stake. My wife recently bought some houseplants, and I like writing around them. Come to think of it, a wife is good too. Nothing accelerates and informs my process like 5’4” Turkish-Canadian woman yelling at me.

If writing processes could be easily explained, or transferred, or marketed, then there would be no need for university creative writing programs, and then where would all the writers find income? Which reminds me: Income is good. Get one of those.

My process comes and goes. It works and it doesn’t. I like it though. I like that it’s fluid, and that I don’t feel beholden to it. I don’t owe it anything. A writing process is an open marriage. And as anyone who has ever been in an open marriage will tell you: Don’t brag about your Canada Council grants.

Mike Spry has written for numerous publications including The Toronto Star, The National Post, MTV, and TSN. He is the author of JACK, Distillery Songs, and Bourbon & Eventide and has been shortlisted for the A.M. Klein Prize and ReLit Award, and nominated for the Journey Prize. He lives in Amherst, MA. www.mikespry.com

Recent Reads: Culls by Roland Prevost

Culls by Roland Prevost (above/ground press, 2015)

Although bookended by poems about a tropical escape, Culls is less preoccupied with contrasting locales than it is balancing an inner conflict: fear of some unknown malady and gratitude for the presence that fear has made possible. The threat posed at the outset of “Seeds, on Rock Again” has no concrete form but Ottawa poet Roland Prevost ensures the stakes feel real: 

"Stand. Stare at the dry ground where

nothing grows. Crossed fingers hide

inside pockets. Last glass bottle of cold

water soothes a final parched throat. Enough

to fuel a desperate play. One meant

to unhinge. Either us, or these locked doors."

This early stanza, which structurally resembles about half of Culls, marks a notable shift for Prevost, after Singular Plurals (Chaudiere Books, 2014) constantly stretched, tightened and fractured its lines on an impressionistic metric. Here the relative directness affirms a sense of urgency, of basking in each fleeting moment. Prevost engages the natural world for solace and interprets an experience with a dragonfly from two distinct vantage points. From "Grounded to Airborne":

"The sepia colour of memory, too long

from the darkroom bath. A dragonfly close-up, 

my solitary index offered as a perch. Its seeming

friendliness, ad hoc, filled-in. As with all fictions.

Willing fools, we cram every blank space with connection." 

And an excerpt from "Knack to Promise":

"Rust string spun transformer-like round

my bent index anchors your paper flight;

a dragon less tyrannical. Many wishes tax

the voltage of your Talisman powers,

from this place. Mine’s to know what you know.

Minus the pompous tones, I mean. I’m in a mood 

to hear simpler godly things. Hard decades spent

asking, as against your easy millennia. Fruits of this."

In both poems Prevost attempts to reconnect with his mystical state but the natural world is either supplanted (by a photograph) or mechanized (through the “transformer-like” reenactment of a long-gone moment). Progressing from resignation in the former poem to openness in the latter doesn’t necessarily yield new results, but it does see the frustration of unattainable knowledge convert into a calmer, personalized faith. Wisely, that faith — much like the threat that spawned it — is conveyed more through feeling than exposition. And as this excerpt from "Crabdance Lessons" suggests, a change in perspective can be metamorphic:

"When riding on these waves

it's the view not the world
bobbing up & down"


Through doubt, superstition and joy, Prevost's subtle pacing toward self-discovery forms the heart of Culls. By the time a suite called “Five Cuban Poems” completes the chapbook, each a recollection of sun-kissed imagery and weathered textures, Culls has earned its newfound peace. 

Recent Reads: The Destructions by Amish Trivedi

The Destructions by Amish Trivedi (above/ground press, 2015)

It seems paradoxical to describe Amish Trivedi’s The Destructions as both sharp and blunt. Scenes of visual memory flash out from a vague, romantic crisis. Using brevity to skirt what reads like a complicated relationship, these minimal arrangements isolate precise emotions at the expense of any greater context. In some cases this paradox translates into original perspectives of universal themes. In other cases it mystifies.

The “destructions” I find most rewarding tend to be provincial to the self, a portion-taking of agency or ego in favour of some erotic pleasure:


Destructatron

I stepped in
a flood
    for you:
    another
    immolation

decided to be
a cherished sacrifice
    in this moment

feared and rejected.


And yet other instances feel wholly, well, destructive, the loss of agency coupled with heartbreak:


Destructagedon

In another set
of moments,
    in silence
    pretending
    this schism

is burnt and
delusional and
    digestive and

festering.


These groupings may feel rudimentary — like semantics of what it means to be selfless — but Trivedi’s motifs reinforce them: poems that suggest sensual giving are loaded with water imagery whereas poems focused on time denote a wasting away. The “soggy plastic / bags run over / in the parking lot” set the scene for “a pair of / wet excited thighs” in “Destruction (4th time around)”. By contrast, “95th Destruction” confesses: “I’ve been here / four hours / lying on / the ground / pretending to / laugh or / be dying.” The passing of time amid a physical coma creates slow-boil tension.

While it’s clear that my imposed groupings hinge on a break-up — its friction and fatalism are as distinguishable as water and oil — that traumatic separation-point is tough to pinpoint. As such, The Destructions nixes an obvious narrative for a mixed chronology, fitting these poems together like splintered glass. The collection’s a bit of a dead bouquet, in that respect. But for readers coping with their own turmoil, Trivedi’s verse may thread a worthy catharsis.

On Writing #79 : Dina Del Bucchia

OMG. Watch TV!

Dina Del Bucchia

I don’t believe in unsolicited advice. It’s kind of like someone punching you in the face out of the blue. You didn’t ask for it and it probably didn’t feel very good and now everything is uncomfortable and weird and you don’t know what to say.

But a lot of times when people talk about writing they are really telling you what to do. Like, turn off your Wi-Fi while writing or go to a coffee shop at a certain time every single day like you’re going to a boring day job or spend money you don’t have on a desk in some shitty building across town so you can have your own space to write and your own taxing commute. Or what not to do. Like, don’t check social media, don’t read the comments, don’t watch TV. Don’t even think about it!

You’re reading this, so I’m going to assume this advice is solicited. And you can take it or leave it. That’s the kind of thing I’m into. You do you. So, here goes. Keep your Wi-Fi burning up. Look things up online and go down rabbit hole tangent after rabbit hole tangent. Watch videos of otters holding hands and read the comments. Don’t unfriend those gross people who are offending you on Facebook. Stalk them and see what sticks. Study a rom com on Netflix and write a poem about it with a friend. OMG. Watch TV! As much of it as you like. Even if you’re into those shows about building decks that I watch if I need to induce a nap. I still respect you if you’re into that. TV is TV is TV.

Take the advice and ideas that appeal and the others can GTFO of your brain to make room for more and better ideas. And don’t punch people in the face.

Dina Del Bucchia is the author of Coping with Emotions and Otters (Talonbooks, 2013), Blind Items (Insomniac Press, 2014) and Rom Com (Talonbooks, 2015), written with her Can't Lit podcast co-host Daniel Zomparelli. She is the Artistic Director of the Real Vancouver Writers' Series and dress enthusiast who lives in Vancouver.

We Who Are About To Die : Robert Swereda

Robert Swereda is the author of Signature Move (Knives Forks and Spoons 2015) and re: verbs (Bareback editions), as well as four chapbooks: bloom circuits, Capture, chicken scratch and ionlylikeitwhenitrhymes.  His writing appears in Canadian and international literary journals.

Where are you now?
I’ve been in Victoria, BC for 2 years now, though I like to roam around on adventures.

What are you reading?
Crash - J.G. Ballard

Scorch Atlas - Blake Butler

Tres - Roberto Bolaño

Walden & Civil Disobedience -Thoreau

What have you discovered lately?
That I'm not motivated by higher education and working a job is stupid so I'm confused what direction to follow.

Where do you write?
Places quiet and caffeinated
http://wheredoyouwritemylovely.tumblr.com/post/123550073960/robert-swereda

What are you working on?
A 3rd manuscript of poetry. A collection of fiction based in rural Alberta. A collection of visual poetry.

Have you anything forthcoming?
According to Submittable, no.

I just published a digital chapbook though
https://ourteeth.wordpress.com/2015/08/25/swereda-bloom-circuits/

What would you rather be doing?
napping, fapping, smoking, eating. Mostly napping.



.:. albertan bodies

paddle cold elbow elkwater ghost 
whirlpool snaring rocky fiddle battle sylvan muskeg

headwall hidden pembina
saddle spirit westprairie pelican house 
buffalo belly smokey spray

moose peerless pigeon sand
whitemud heart bow panther
badheart sterling rosebud

 wolf meadow primrose skeleton
goose sulphur powder coal sturgeon kananaskis

 driftpile swan
thunder vermilion sunwapta chip
bighorn gull lobstick

birch horse abraham beaver keg
athabasca spruce slave raven clearwater

crowsnest castle
blindman calling cardinal peace jackpine
wolverine pyramid

snake-indian highwood 
hay milk death garden sheep lesserslave redder

 elk baptiste medicine barrier oldman cascade ram redwater