Showing posts with label Amy Jones. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Amy Jones. Show all posts

Sunday, October 11, 2009

12 or 20 questions: with Amy Jones

Originally from Halifax, Amy Jones is a graduate of the Optional Residency MFA Program in Creative Writing at UBC. Her short fiction has appeared or in several Canadian publications, including The New Quarterly, Grain, Prairie Fire, Event, The Antigonish Review, maisonneuve, and 08: Best Canadian Stories. In 2006, she was the winner of the CBC Literary Award for Short Story in English. Her first short fiction collection, What Boys Like, is the winner of the 2008-2009 Metcalf-Rooke Award and will be published by Biblioasis in October, 2009. Amy currently lives in Toronto.

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?

I don’t know yet! I’m hoping astronomically! My first book is very brand new, so brand new, in fact, that I have yet to actually see it. I guess completing it and having it accepted for publication changed my life in that I started to think of myself as “a writer” as opposed to “a student” or “an unemployed hobo,” although I still can’t actually bring myself to say “I’m a writer” when people ask me what I do.

The stuff I’m writing now is different only because I’ve moved on to different obsessions. When I first started writing, I was obsessed with language; I wrote sentences because I liked the way they sounded. Lately I’m more obsessed with story – I really want stuff to happen. And my newer stuff is better, I think. I guess I still think of myself as a student in that way... I like to think I’m not even close to being as good as I could be.

2 - How did you come to fiction first, as opposed to, say, poetry or non-fiction?

I actually came to poetry first, if I’m going to be honest about it, but my poems really sucked, in that sixteen year old self-indulgent kind of way (even long after I was ever sixteen). I needed more room, so I started writing fiction. Non-fiction was never really appealing to me; the main reason I write is to entertain myself, and reality is almost never as entertaining as what’s going on in my imagination... or at least, I can’t write it to be as entertaining. I sometimes tell people that I like writing fiction because I feel like fiction can sometimes be more truthful because it’s not stuck in fact, but in really I just like to make stuff up.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?

When I first started writing, everyone told me the best thing to do was to just write and write, even if it was crap, and then re-write it later, and for years I really tried hard to do that. But eventually I realized that method just frustrated me. For me, writing like making pastry or dough or something, cause I have to mix things together carefully, and if I handle it too much it just ends up ruining it. So I won’t sit down to write something until I have it completely worked out in my head. And I don’t take notes! If it doesn’t stick in my head, if it doesn’t burrow itself into my brain until I’m going so crazy that I have to write it down, then it won’t work for me. The story doesn’t always end up where I thought it would go, because my characters tend to sometimes have a mind of their own, but I have to know the voice inside and out before I can start putting it on paper. And when I start, it just comes tumbling out.

4 - Where does fiction usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?

I always think in terms of individual short stories. With What Boys Like, I never even saw anything in common between the stories until I started to put them all together and other people started reading them. It actually started as my MFA thesis, and the hardest part of the entire process was having to write an abstract for it. I think I ended up writing something along the lines of “This book is about people who do stuff.”

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?

I love doing readings! First of all, I think hearing my work out loud, hearing the rhythm of the words and the cadence of the sentences and the voice of my characters is so important; it helps me understand my stories so much better. Secondly, and probably more honestly... I come from a theatre background. I love being the centre of attention, I love hearing the sound of my own voice, I love having a captive audience! Admitting this is probably going to earn me eternal damnation in writers’ hell or something like that, but it’s the truth.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?

I don’t feel in any way qualified to answer any questions with my writing (in fact, even these ones I’m not so sure about!) In a lot of ways I’m just an east coast girl who likes to make stuff up. Of course, if I inadvertently answer some questions for some people, who am I to take that away from them?

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Does s/he even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?

Um, this feels like one of those questions I’m not qualified to answer. I guess it depends on the type of writing. For a fiction writer, I’d say to entertain, primarily. For, say, an economics textbook writer, I’d probably say the opposite.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

I haven’t had a lot of experience with editors, but what I have had has been really positive. I get way too close to my work sometimes; I love each and every word that I put down on paper as if they were 2500 or 5000 of my own little children (and yes, I realize parents everywhere will laugh at that statement) and can’t imagine them doing any wrong. I need someone to sit me down and say “Okay, Amy, some of these kids have to be disciplined.” I mean, obviously not in those exact words, but you get the picture.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?

“Stay in school as long as you can and don’t get married until after you’re 30.” - My dad.

10 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

I’m really bad with routines. I tend to just kind of write when I feel like it. Also, I work nights, so I tend to stay up really late and write then, unless there’s something good on TV, or I have 12 or 20 questions to answer... in which case I’ll write on my break, or when I get out of the shower, or when I’m supposed to be cleaning the bathroom. I make myself feel less guilty about this by telling myself that most of the writing I do is in my head, so really, I’m writing all the time, and since my stories and characters are all contemporary, doing things like watching TV or surfing the internet is really like doing research, because it’s so important to, like, engage with the cultural zeitgeist or something. But really, I’m just a slacker. So I’m not going to lie: my day typically begins with coffee and Eggos and sports highlights and blog reading. And I’m not apologizing for it!

11 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

I think any sort of “stalls” I have in my writing stem from me having the equivalent of a two year old’s temper tantrum. I have a cache of about 10 short story collections by people I adore that I will read over and over again when I start thinking “I don’t want to do this!” And then I remember that, yes, I do really want to do this. And of course, I really, really do.

12 - If there was a fire, what's the first thing you'd grab?

My laptop.

13 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?

Everything. Anything that moves me, that gets me really excited, that puts me in a moment. I remember flying to Vancouver a couple of years ago and sitting in the aisle seat next to these two little twelve year old boys who were on their way to snowboard camp. They fell asleep and there was this moment when we started flying over the Rockies and I sort of leaned over them to look out the window and Hawksley Workman’s “The Future Language of Slaves” was playing on my iPod and I swear to god I wrote an entire short story in that single moment.

14 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?

Rick Moody, Lisa Moore, Annabel Lyon, Lorrie Moore, Aimee Bender, Elise Levine, Miranda July, Deborah Eisenberg, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Lee Henderson, Michael Chabon, Pam Houston, Zsuzsi Gartner, Dave Eggers, John Irving, Salman Rushdie, Anais Nin. Those are the writers of the 16 books, out of the possibly hundreds of thousands, I took with me when I moved from Halifax to Toronto.

15 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

Ride all of the top ten biggest roller coasters in the world.

16 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?

I read this article by John Mighton about how math and science need to be taught differently in school, and now I have this theory that I could have been really good at math and science if I had been taught it differently in school. I like to think I would have been a pretty good vet, or marine biologist.

17 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

I don’t know, I never really considered doing anything else. Even when I was acting, I never really thought of it as something I was “doing.” A palm reader once told me that whatever I was doing with my life was what I was meant to be doing, and I believed him, even though he later told me (and all the other girls at the bachelorette party) that “this line here means you’re really good in bed... see, I have the same line!”

18 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

I’m currently reading Steve Almond’s My Life in Heavy Metal and it’s pretty freaking amazing. Although maybe just “great” as in “freaking amazing,” not as in “very big and important,” so I guess it depends on the type of “great.” As for film, it’s hard for me to answer that question without embarrassing myself. I thought Zombieland was pretty cool. But mostly because of the roller coasters.

19 - What are you currently working on?

My XBOX hockey skills. And more short stories.

12 or 20 questions (second series);

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Ongoing notes: The New Quarterly, Mirage #4/Period(ical), Fence

Waterloo ON: One of the features of this new issue of The New Quarterly (#111, Summer 2009) is an interview with (conducted by poet Katia Grubisic), and three stories by, Toronto writer Amy Jones, with her first collection of short fiction, What Boys Like and Other Stories, out this fall as part of the award, “Bet You Can’t Read Just One.” I have to admit, I quite like these stories by Amy Jones, recent winner of the Metcalf-Rooke Award. After reading the published short story collection by a previous winner, a collection I never quite understood the appeal of, I’ve been leery of the award proclamation; should I try for another winner? And it’s true, I couldn’t read just one.
Amy: I like to mess with my characters a little bit, see how they will react when the things they expect to change their life don’t end up changing their lives at all. Most of my characters try to make all these huge external changes as a way to find happiness—running away, moving home, chasing a new relationship—when the changes they really need to be making are internal ones. Despite the lack of happy endings, though, I like to think my characters will be okay…

Katia: What was the genesis of What Boys Like, oh puppetmaster?

Amy: I guess you could say these stories all came from the same sort of place: I look at the world and I think what if? What if that bored housewife I see at the grocery store was kidnapped at nail gun-point by a sexy stranger? What if that pregnant woman in front of me in traffic lost her husband before the baby was born? What if that sales clerk who helped me pick out bras at the lingerie store was actually a virgin? And the best part is, I can answer the question any way I want.
And it’s good to see something by Ottawa poet Robyn Jeffrey, two poems; she used to quietly populate readings around town, and even participated in an open set or two. Where exactly has she been hiding herself?

Lee Miller’s Bedbugs (1944)

They strike before dawn: notching
her thighs, shoulders, chest
seed-like bodies plump with rust, burning
violaceous, punch-drunk on blood.
But they can’t get enough of her, girl
photographer, bunkered in a shot hotel
only shards from the front. The scorched
ruins and chiseled guns. The severed hand
caked in muck. And though her camera
can’t protect her from the itch
of nettled skin, she won’t flinch—
she knows how to hold a pose, observe
until morning.

An issue far more interesting prose than poetry, it also includes a lovely “In Memoriam” section for the late Quill and Quire editor Derek Weiler. And what happened to their regular “falling in love with poetry” feature? Still, I like that they keep up with other features, including the “magazine as muse,” this new one by Trevor Cole. And there is the most lovely postscript by Cory St. Elmore Lavender for his great-grandmother.

San Francisco CA: I recently received copies of Kevin Killian and Dodie Bellamy’s (almost) monthly Mirage #4/Period(ical), with issues #155 (March 2009), #156 (May 2009) and #157 (June 2009). How does one (or two) continue to produce such a journal after ten long years? These are lovely little missives, giving a touch of what’s happening in the world every month or so, in digestible passages, and running the range of comfortable to uncomfortable writing, including Jesse Hudson’s prose piece, “Hole.”
Watch this.
I made sure there wasn’t anyone watching and then I…
It was a picture, a still life, that inspired this and caused me to disintegrate. It’s pretentious really, a little too bloated and decomposed to really signify anything now.
It’s rotting as you read this, swirling in a circle of ash grey words. I will cut a hole here, a small painless gash, so you can peek behind the curtain and examine it with that intuition of yours.
You see it, right? I don’t want you telling anybody about this, spouting all my secrets from that big, cocksucking mouth of yours. I’ve kept this hidden for a long time and I don’t think I’m ready to let people know. (Jesse Hudson)
Who was it that said that a journal should give the news? This very much feels like a variant on the journal as community newsletter, much in what was being accomplished in Vancouver journals TISH, and later, TADS and the online journal The News, and what we’ve been working to attempt with The Peter F. Yacht Club. This is one that feels as though it is certainly giving a sense of what is happening from that central point of San Francisco outward, each issue featuring another set of authors from surrounding rings. Roughly twenty pages per issue, stapled in the corner, each issues features three (or more) authors of poetry and/or fiction, with these three featuring works by Matthew Gordon, Maria von Hausswolff, Tom Kendall, Raimundas Malasauskas, Adam Fieled, Colin Herd, Chris Tysh, Cody Carvel, Jesse Hudson and Jennifer Manzano, with cover art by various artists.

HEATWAVE CITY (Love is like a)

Doctor’s description of my sleep cycle
xx Fragmentations
xx Duration charted against duress
xx Necessitates a narcoleptic’s carefree
Attitude (cat naps swimming

“’Mary,’ doctor said.
‘Mary are you terribly
In love?’ I woke.’

By papers, sharp
Sawteeth desirous
Tree strength yearning to hang you
Coaxial about the doorframe

We
Sliced rearranged
Conductive

‘I was just burned’
Don’t blame the nerves (Cody Carvel)

At $3 a pop, email Killian at kevin@kevinkillian.com to find out how to purchase copies.

JUST WHAT I NEEDED


Girl behind counter
rings up a pizza, she
is silver-plated under
me later, ribbons muss
her hair into strands,
she talks through hit,
there is no sleep in
her, there is only
someone to feed. (Adam Fieled)

Albany NY: I’ve always been a fan of Fence magazine, edited by Rebecca Wolff, featuring an array of new poetry and fiction as well as a small handful of non-fiction pieces. In this issue, a feature from the AWP Conference in Chicago in February 2009, “Truth or Consequence in Nonrealist Fiction: Which Are We Reading For?” with contributions by Kate Bernheimer, Brian Evenson, Laird Hunt, Joyelle McSweeney and Eric Lorberer. I’m always a fan of such conference proceedings appearing in print after the fact (the annual League of Canadian Poets “Anne Szumigalski lecture,” for example, subsequently published in Prairie Fire, as well as various collections over the years from full conferences), and certainly appreciate the conversation, but what’s wrong with the culture being so afraid of such writing? The silence against such writing fuels as much frustration as it does conversation, and seeing the push against such works (and the inherent silences again) happen on both sides of the border is frustrating. But at least there are some places to head, such as these, as Evenson concludes his portion:
And this finally is the thing to remember about genre, whatever the genre is, whether it claims to designate the realistic or the fantastic: As an organizational mechanism, genre distinctions are a system of control and regulation, and as such they direct our thinking in advance, they shape our aesthetics without our fully knowing. As long as we remain unaware of this, we literally won’t see much of the work that might best transform us, even might best destroy us, work that exists within all categories and that awaits us if we can only step beyond genre’s tyranny.
And good to see new writing by American poet Kate Greenstreet, author of not only an above/ground press chapbook, but the magnificent first collection, case sensitive, and a second, finally, appearing this fall, The Last 4 Things.

“A BODY BEING OUTLINED”

Pink among the statues. Dark around the edges
like a tunnel. Look at all this junk.

“These paintings
were made with blood.”He claimed he wrote it one night.

Deplore.
Apace.
When you’re with the puppet.

I chose the better looking habit.

Very clean and white. Very white.
Before the first word
is spoken.

“I did it. Did you see me?” (Kate Greenstreet)

Other highlights include the two other non-fiction items, Rebecca Wolff’s intriguing “Op-Ed: ‘Who’s Buying?’” (a magnificent sibling piece, almost, to Kyle Stone’s “Neighbours” from Granta 79, fall 2002) and Peter Wollen’s engaging “Brecht in L.A.”