12 or 20 (second series) questions with Patti Grayson

Patti Grayson is the author of two award-nominated novels and one award-nominated short fiction collection. Her debut novel, Autumn, One Spring, was translated into German and was a popular book club selection. She lives and writes from the prairies. The Twistical Nature of Spoons is her fourth book and was published in fall of 2023.

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

The first book changed the interior of my life within the context of personal accomplishment. Following publication, I received an email from a high school acquaintance that read: “You’ve managed to fulfill your dream.” At that point, I was in my 40s, and it was surprising to me that people who knew me in my teens understood and remembered that I’d aspired to become a writer.  Having the first book out in the world allowed me to refer to myself as an author without a full-blown imposter-syndrome attack every time. And my exterior world was definitely enriched. Publication provided me with opportunity to encounter readers and to engage with peers at various events. Both those aspects were very rewarding. 

I’m hoping that the new work reveals that some writerly growth has taken place.  Structurally, this novel is more complex than any of my previous projects, which were all more straightforward narratives. This work definitely feels more strenuous.

It also feels more instinctual—metaphorically speaking, there was less checking over my shoulder in the fear that validation was refusing to follow me down the path. For better or worse, I granted myself permission to proceed unaccompanied with what I was creating.

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

Actually, when I decided to become serious about my writing, my initial focus was poetry, and although I never pursued a collection, I did have pieces published in literary journals before I turned to short fiction. I’d always favoured poems that leaned toward storytelling, so it felt natural for me to begin to concentrate on narrative fiction. Once I started writing short stories in earnest, I suddenly felt that I’d never be able to write another poem. It was almost as if that area of my sensibilities sealed shut and was no longer accessible. For me, poetry and fiction remain quite distinct from one another in terms of what they ask of me as a writer. Non-fiction terrifies me, so that was an easy evasion. Fiction continues to be my preferred fit. 

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?

I tend to plunge right in when I get an idea, but then the process most often turns into a slow crawl. I think it would be helpful if I could work from an outline (sometimes, when I start revisions on a completed draft, I have to create a thumbnail chapter summary for quick reference, but I’ve never started with or followed an outline otherwise). I seem to prefer the wandering, loitering, and dithering that result from the lack of one.

When it comes to revising, my projects have varied in terms of number of drafts, and of the overall overhaul that they produce. I also do tend to become obsessed with minutia; I can easily spend an entire morning reconstructing a single sentence and then delete it at noon.

4 - Where does a work of prose 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?

Each of my published works has originated in a different manner. Core Samples was a determined march toward accruing a collection of short stories. Autumn, One Spring was originally a series of connected stories which were intended to serve as the backbone for Core Samples, but I pulled them out at a late stage and replaced them. I felt that the main character wanted more of my attention, and that perhaps I was ready to tackle a novel for her sake. Those connected stories were significantly altered when I subsequently began the larger project—but their solid roots remained. Ghost Most Foul, my novel for younger readers, came from a single spark of inspiration that was literally gifted to me while I was taking a walk with my dog. The entire story arc presented itself, and every time I sat down to start a new chapter, its purpose and direction were clearly defined in my head (despite not having an outline). At the opposite end of the spectrum, The Twistical Nature of Spoons, my newest adult novel, has had numerous false starts, including the completion of a hefty number of chapters for a forerunner that was totally abandoned (other than one minor character and the vague essence of a single scene that insisted on accompanying me out of the debris). Spurred on by research that led me down absurd paths and produced notebooks of ideas that were never included, I finally did manage to write one-half of a chapter that I knew immediately was going to stick. What it was going to stick to was a complete unknown, but it roused enough curiosity in me that I was compelled to find out, and see it through to completion. I’d have to say that I equally despaired and revelled in my inefficiency.

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

Despite the anxiety they instill, I love to take part in public readings. Reading aloud is pure joy to me, and sharing with an audience is bliss.

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?

At times, I’m plagued by the question of relevance in my own work. Why not leave the writing of books to those who have wider scopes—those who are more politically situated or who have more socially relevant stories to tell? Wouldn’t it be prudent to leave it to writers who are addressing environmental issues, race relations, human atrocities, the increasing polarization of ideologies, economic disparity, the encroaching dominance of social media in our lives?

But there are other aspects to our humanity that exist within the scope of our daily lives. I’m drawn toward those more interior factors and feel compelled to explore them creatively. We all live within the framework of our families and our relationships, and within the context of community, be it geographical, cultural, or endeavour-based. The everyday questions that swirl within those boundaries fascinate me. What drives human beings to forge bonds, betray, aspire, achieve, jump to conclusions, accept defeat, hold a grudge, love, harm, hope? What makes us human? And what can we do about that? These are my questions. 

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?

As I ponder these queries, the WGA (screen writers) strike is ongoing, and there is an ever-widening discussion of the threat of AI within the creative community at large. I think the role of the individual writer is so crucial within society today to ensure that humanity’s story is safeguarded and continues to be widely interpreted—whether it’s recording broad-sweeping historical moments, or creating the scene in which a fictional character raises an eyebrow and pandemonium breaks loose.

Yes, AI can string together sentences from data bases too large to imagine, but it can’t smell the sweetness of a baby’s head, can’t feel the stinging cruelty of a racial slur, or slowly emerge from under the heavy blanket of a close friend’s betrayal. AI can think it knows these things, but it doesn’t. Writers do, and can tell us about them in a way that is uniquely their own.

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

I’ve just recently wrapped up the editorial process on my new novel, and both the substantive edit and copyedit were definitely essential. With my editors’ keen eyes on the manuscript, I was afforded a glimpse of the work from outside my own head, and the book benefitted from the collaborative efforts in terms of digging deeper and adding vertical depth. I’ll admit the process of addressing all the editorial notes was challenging—at times, exhausting—but absolutely worth it.

Improvisational theatre is mentioned in this book, and one of improv’s guiding principles is the “yes, and” rule: If someone presents an idea, you say “yes, and” adding the next idea to build the scenario, rather than saying “no” and blocking the scene. I decided to try and adhere to that rule during this book’s editorial process. I recall one particular substantive suggestion that seemed quite unworkable to me, so I tamped down my resistance with the “yes, and” rule. The revisions that I made, using my editor’s suggestion, not only resolved the original concern, they added extra value. The suggestion was also a far more natural fit than I first imagined possible when my initial impulse was to question or reject it.

I couldn’t be more grateful to all the editors I’ve worked with on each of my books.  

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

When it comes to writing advice, I can never get enough of others’ wisdom. I do, however, consistently rely on one single, straightforward suggestion that I received from a mentor: “Just keep your derrière in the chair.” 

Recently, a family member gifted me a thirty-minute hourglass timer that complements that bit of advice. It’s a beautiful object, and while the sand is descending, I’m very reluctant to get up and walk away from the keyboard. Turn the hourglass over a couple of times, and something usually gets accomplished simply because I’ve stayed put long enough to do the work . . . perhaps even long enough to have entered the “zone” where time falls away, and upon resurfacing, I have no idea when the hourglass last clocked out.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (novels to short stories)? What do you see as the appeal?

I don’t tend to be one of those writers with multiple, concurrent projects actively on the go. I literally do full stop on one before moving to the next (that has happened to me while smack dab in the middle of a project). However, after taking a breather, my plan is to turn back to short stories for awhile, and I doubt I will even think about the longer format again until I’m story-satiated.

As for appeal, I’ve been totally content residing in one novel’s world for quite a few years now; it will be equally satisfying to bop in and out of places for shorter durations, an aspect that the short story accommodates more readily. For me, the appeal is the immersion—disappearing into the work—regardless of the format. 

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

In early days, I used to be quite consistent at writing in the mornings until about 2 p.m. Within that system, there would often be gaps of several months, but then I’d reinstate. That routine is no longer in play. It’s been replaced by a catch-as-catch-can system, and if that means 2 a.m. insomniac writing, I give in, get up, and do it. I still believe that breakfast at my desk with a large pot of Earl Grey tea is the ideal way to start a writing day. 

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

When I’m stalled out on a specific problem, listening to music always helps.  It seems to “pop” me out of the negative doubts and struggles. Sometimes I dance along. (In the past, I’d often turn to long walks or long showers/tub soaks to free up my mind). 

If a more general lack of commitment is circling, there is no better way to motivate me again than to pick up a book and read. Contemplating the work of others just naturally inspires me to want to create again. Fortunately, the sources for that stimulus abound! (I will never complete my bedside TBR stack because my compulsion to add to it reigns supreme over my ability to reduce it).

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

Evergreens/haylofts.  I’m half Canadian Shield/half Prairie. 

14 - 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?

Apart from the aforementioned music, I do turn to the visual and theatrical arts for stimulus. Nature is providing more rejuvenation than inspiration as of late. Social science tends to take the win over science for me, although my abandoned novel contained a scientific component that excited me—perhaps that will resurface. 

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

So many writers have influenced me and continue to do so. I’m not sure I would have ever imagined becoming a writer if I hadn’t encountered the work of Margaret Atwood and Kurt Vonnegut in my early days. Since then, I’ve stayed the course with Ms. Atwood, but there have been dozens of other contemporary writers along the way whose books have taught me, inspired me, changed me, or expanded my understanding of how to situate myself within my own work. My incomplete list (with apologies to the many not mentioned) includes: Alice Munro, Di Brandt, Catherine Hunter, Margaret Sweatman, Katherena Vermette, Wayne Tefs, Sheila McClarty, CS Richardson, Joshua Whitehead, Patrick deWitt, E. Annie Proulx, Douglas Stuart, Zadie Smith, Jennifer Egan, Lily King, George Saunders, Richard Russo, Ann Patchett, Donna Tartt, Maggie O’Farrell.

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

Screenplay. Stage drama. Children’s picture book.

17 - 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?

That’s an interesting question because I’ve worked professionally at a variety of things in my life, including bank teller, hunting/fishing-store clerk, puppeteer, office assistant, trophy engraver, educational assistant, advertising copywriter, school librarian, and actor. Another occupation? Concierge? Think of the stories!

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

As indicated in the previous answer, I’ve done a fair bit of the ‘something else’, but I’d have to say that being told that I was a good writer by teachers probably had a lot to do with me pursuing the written word. (I loved school in that teacher’s pet kind of way.  During my elementary grades, my spare time was filled with visiting the library and writing my own stories).    

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

I’m answering this question strictly on the basis of most recent . . . I just finished Eleanor Catton’s Birnam Wood, and so admired her ability to maintain a discourse on societal issues alongside a captivating portrayal of characters in a snarl of subtle, oscillating power balances. The last film I viewed was Coda (not the recent Academy Award winner, but a film by the same name, directed by a Canadian and partially shot here).  It’s a film that invites contemplation about classical music, self-doubt, aging, and grief—understated and ‘engaging’ (TNG Trekker pun was unavoidable).

20 - What are you currently working on?

At present, a short hiatus is on the schedule as I prepare to launch The Twistical Nature of Spoons, but my husband and I have recently been discussing the law of unintended consequences (or the knock-on effect), and I’m curious as to how I might create a short story around the concept. Hopefully, its unintended consequence will be a positive outcome with an unanticipated benefit. Fingers crossed.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Katherine Lawrence

Katherine Lawrence [photo credit: Saskatoon Public Library] is the author of the young adult novel-in-verse Stay, and three poetry collections: Never Mind, Ring Finger, Left Hand, and Black Umbrella. Stay received the North American Gold Moonbeam Award for Children’s Poetry and was nominated for two Saskatchewan Book Awards: Poetry, and Children’s Literature. Never Mind was nominated for the Saskatchewan Book of the Year, and the City of Saskatoon Book Award.  Lying to Our Mothers was nominated for the Saskatchewan Book Award for Poetry. Ring Finger, Left Hand won the Saskatchewan Book Awards’ Brenda Macdonald Riches Best First Book Award.

Katherine was born in Hamilton, Ontario. She has lived in Saskatoon for over thirty-five years with her husband and their two daughters. 

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

My first book, Ring Finger, Left Hand (2001, Coteau Books) won the Saskatchewan Book Award for Best First Book.

My fifth book, Black Umbrella (2022, Turnstone Press) has just been published and I continue to explore the same terrain: family dynamics. My new book is poetic memoir. The first book used a variety of voices to examine marriage and divorce through the lens of the major players.

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

 I was influenced by the poets who visited my high school in Burlington, Ontario during the early 70s. Writers such as Irving Layton and Milton Acorn stepped into my classroom and read poetry that seemed to speak directly to me. Canada was establishing its own assured voice in literature in those days and I heard those same echoes. I thought, I can write poetry.

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?

I start with a line or a phrase that I have either read elsewhere, heard in a dream, or pulled from my head. I play, I listen, I follow my nose. I write many drafts, share it with both of my writing groups, edit, read it aloud, keep tinkering until the piece can stand alone.

4 - Where does a poem or work of prose 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 write and let the poems accumulate. After a year or longer I look at everything and usually start to see themes emerge. I like the long, narrative thrust of a full story told through poetry.

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

I love readings. I’ve got a theatrical streak in me. I love the challenge of entertaining an audience of any size. I love making connections with readers and listeners.

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?

My theoretical concerns are purely my own. I’m all about the family. What makes some families thrive and others fail? What is the function and purpose of family? How is the concept of family evolving, adapting to shifts in our culture?

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?

I feel compelled to write and therefore it’s my job to write what I feel and observe and somehow bring a universality to my specific point of view. Readers will do what they like with my material. My job is done once I send the work into the world.

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

Working with an editor is the best part of the production process. My editor for Black Umbrella was Winnipeg writer, Di Brandt. She was a joy to work with. Sharp, brilliant, fun. My previous editors were Elizabeth Philips of Saskatoon and Alice Major of Edmonton. I’ve learned from each of these generous writers.

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

“No one is asking you to write so you might as well have a good time while you’re writing.”

 Not sure who gave me that piece of advice but I agree. In other words, stop whining and write.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to young adult fiction)? What do you see as the appeal?

My novel-in-verse for middle-grade/young adult readers, Stay, took me the better part of a decade to write. I wrote two other books while I was trying to figure out the verse novel. It was a tremendous challenge, a huge puzzle, but I felt determined to bring the subject of divorce into the world of the younger reader.

The appeal continues to be the readings that I do in schools. The feedback is always fun and surprising. Every kid has either direct or indirect experience with family breakdown. Stay provides them with language, a way to talk about the challenges of living between two households while always hoping, wishing, praying that parents will get back together. I’m grateful to see the book re-released in a new edition by Shadowpaw Press.

11 - 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 write a few pages in my messy journal, read some poetry or whatever novel I have on the go. Once I’ve had breakfast I move into my office and pick up where I left off.

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

I go for a walk or a swim. I cook a pot of soup. I read a good book. I let myself wander physically and mentally.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

 Lilacs. Lilacs were my mother’s favourite flower and she associated them with her mother.

And yes, lilacs are present in Black Umbrella.

14 - 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?

Visual art is often a source. Mary Pratt’s work, for example. Black Umbrella includes a poem that references her paintings and uses some of her quotes. My greatest influence is a fabulous phrase or line. I was reading Micheline Maylor today. Here’s a line that I’ve tucked away: Out out brief candle. Out. And take all your stuff. (From The Bad Wife, University of Alberta Press, 2021). I don’t know (yet) how I’ll use those words of hers but they do something for me.  I feel a pulse in those words.

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

I’m a promiscuous reader. I read poetry, fiction, non-fiction, a lot of cookbooks, three newspapers most days. My current influence is American writer Jhumpa Lahiri. I’ve recently read everything she’s written, conducted my own private master class with a master of domestic fiction.

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

Write a sequel to Stay, move into long form fiction, and live in St. John’s for one dramatic winter.  

17 - 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 would have become an actor for the stage, not the screen. 

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

I needed to untangle my messy family when I was a teenager. Later, I needed to untangle my messy self. I’ve been on a lifelong quest to figure myself out and I know of no better way to learn about who we are than to engage in some form of self-expression. For me, it’s writing.

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

Book: Shuggie Bain by Douglas Stuart. It won the 2020 Booker Prize.

Film: West Side Story by Steven Spielberg

20 - What are you currently working on?

A long prose poem about ambivalent motherhood. It needs a new opening stanza but I love where it’s taking me. Straight back to the mystery of my parents’ doomed marriage.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Anne Lazurko

Anne Lazurko is author of the novel What Is Written on the Tongue (ECW Press 2022). Her first novel Dollybird won the Willa Award for Historical Fiction, and her short prose and poetry is published in Canadian literary magazines and anthologies. She writes from her farm near Weyburn Saskatchewan.

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 suppose I could say the success of my first book, Dollybird, legitimized what I’d been doing for so long. That sounds dumb as I say it because I’m usually more confident than that, but somehow until it was published, had some good reviews, won an award, I still whispered the word writer in reference to myself.

The act of writing one book gave me confidence to tackle another, recently released What Is Written on the Tongue. Both books are historical fiction, and I suppose they are both coming-of-age stories in their own way, but the circumstances and settings couldn’t be more different. While Dollybird  is about a young woman navigating pregnancy in early Saskatchewan, What Is Written on the Tongue is about a young man during the Indonesian War of Independence.

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

I wrote bad poetry when I was young, and some better stuff more recently which I’ve had published. But my first love was always fiction because I was a ravenous reader of it my whole life. Our noses always in various books, my mother, five sisters and I would nod absently as Dad yelled ‘did you see that?’ during what he thought was a particularly amazing display of skill during Hockey Night in Canada which, of course, none of us noticed.

Initially I loved the escapism of fiction and over time developed a deep love of language and it went from there.  

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?

It takes me a long time to start because I like to do a lot of research first. For whatever reason my novels tend to be set in places I haven’t been, or about people I have little knowledge of but have suddenly become fascinated with. I need as much information as I can corral in my head (and in notes) to feel ready, and then I try not to look at the research too much as I write.

First drafts are painful for me. I find the creative work incredibly draining. Of course there are those moments of bliss when things just come together and the words roll, but more often than not, it is slow going and even then my work needs a lot of attention once the draft is written. But that is the part I love—the editing—taking what I’ve got and working it like a puzzle. That is where the joy is for me.

4 - Where does a poem or work of 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?

My fiction usually starts with something I’ve heard or read about that tweaks an idea for both a character and a ‘what if’ scenario. What Is Written on the Tongue came out of my dad telling us he’d had a nervous breakdown while serving with Dutch forces in Indonesia. What? What happened there and why?

I didn’t think I was writing a novel with my first book because I somehow thought that was presumptuous to say. But the second book just out, and the third I’m now working on, started as novels and were approached that way.

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

I like doing readings but they happen once the book is out and, as you know, are generally aimed at marketing and promotion. So they don’t play a part in the creative process, they mostly take time away from it. But I do like the interaction with readers, to see their interest, answer their questions. I think my favorite is speaking with book clubs. The members of a book club have read the book and have an opinion of it and can have a real and thorough discussion. It’s always fascinating what they find, the questions they ask, how they draw conclusions or see connections you weren’t aware of as the book’s author. Sometimes they’ll even challenge you on things they don’t understand or aren’t happy with. I find it all very gratifying.

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?

The complexity of our lives and motivations are what fascinate me so I tend to put my characters into impossible situations and see how they manage. Some do well and others not so much, but I think that kind of realism is important, particularly in the world we now inhabit where people tend to search for easy answers to hard questions.

Where empathy exists and what happens when it is lost, how to find moments of grace in difficult times; those are some of the questions I’ve tackled, but I think each project asks and answers its own as they come up organically, both from the initial idea and as the story evolves. 

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?

I don’t think most writers have an agenda when they set out to write, except perhaps books of non-fiction with fixed topics, so I’m not about to prescribe what writers should be in the larger world. But I do think we have the ability and opportunity to give clarity to the complex questions you asked about earlier. The pandemic, climate change, war in Ukraine; the complexity of the world has people searching for the kind of clarity found in good writing. Of course there’s a lot of crap out there, but thoughtful people will always find their way to thoughtful ideas that are presented well, whether in a book, a play, a song or a blog post. It’s not necessarily our role to fill that the void, but I think it happens because we are part of the same world as everyone else and we write about what matters to us.

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

Essential. The work of editing might be difficult, but what it gives to my work is invaluable. And to be honest, I’ve learned more about writing from the editors of my books than from all the workshops and courses I’ve taken combined.  We so often think we are doing one thing in our writing, but it can be such a revelation if you let an editor show you what you are actually doing. Each editor teaches you something and each book comes a little easier in terms of seeing the flaws earlier.

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

It’s such a cliché, but ‘kill your darlings’ is a real thing. It goes along with the editing discussed above. If you hold on too tightly to what you think is the perfect passage or scene or character, that inability to let go might hold the entire novel or larger work back. Let them go gently into that good night.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (fiction to poetry)? What do you see as the appeal?

I don’t find it easy to go back and forth between fiction and poetry. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s because I become so embedded in a novel, and I can’t really think about much else until it’s done and out and I’ve come up for air. But when that happens I do like to read and write poetry because it is imagination contained in a few lines that don’t have to go beyond what they are saying. They just are. I like the simplicity of that.

11 - 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 always have breakfast and coffee and do a half hour of yoga before I start. That seems to set me up for a productive day. I’m older than when I wrote my first book and over the past couple of years have been able to commit substantially more time to my writing. I try to keep to a routine as much as is possible, doing the creative work for three hours in the morning. If I have more time in the afternoon I spend it doing research, administrative stuff, promotion, writing articles related to writing. I also walk a lot. In fact, a lot of my writing happens in my head as I’m walking with my dog on a dirt road south of our farm.

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

I don’t really turn to something or someone else. What I do is turn to another part of whatever I’m working on. If the creative first draft stuff isn’t working it might be because I don’t know enough about the character or haven’t done the research so I’ll go back to the sketch or the library. Or I’ll skip ahead to what I know is going to happen and write that scene or chapter. This often helps me to make the connection I couldn’t previously, and then I can go back and work it all together.

And, as above, I go for a walk!

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

Hmmmm…..

14 - 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?

Nature plays a big part in my writing; the stark prairie landscape in Dollybird, the heat and jungle of Indonesia in What Is Written on the Tongue, in my new novel the rolling landscape of Tuscany and Umbria. I think place defines characters or at least what happens to them. Someone raised in a tropical setting will have a completely different world view than someone raised in the cobbled streets of Europe. Whether it’s the natural world or human designed, places matter to my work.

To my surprise, various forms of art have also entered and influenced my work. I make no claim to much knowledge of visual art, yet characters and themes in my two recent works have been hugely influenced by art forms and artists.

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

I like to read books about writing. Not how to books, but more like wow aren’t the processes and inspirations of other writers amazing books. George Saunders A Swim in the Pond in the Rain, Helen Humphreys' Machine Without Horses, How Fiction Works by James Wood.

So many good books are instructive in different ways even as I’m reading them for pleasure:  Madeleine Thien’s Do Not Say We Have Nothing, Five Wives by Joan Thomas, anything by Ocean Vuong. So many good books.

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

Hike the West Coast Trail? But seriously—in terms of my writing—everything. I’m a late-bloomer in the world of books and I have so many ideas for both fiction and non-fiction that I have to be careful not to go careening off course. I keep an ideas file and when I’m done one project I tackle another and see if it sticks with me. If not, I move onto the next. Just as there are way too many good books out there to waste time on something that doesn’t transport you, writing a book should do the same thing for its author don’t you think?

17 - 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?

Oh I’ve done so many things in my years. I was a reporter right out of university, and I think if I were to go back in time I would do journalism as a serious career. I have written articles over the years, but I was once told I was the next Ann Medina (and now I’ve dated myself!) and it would have been good to give that a more serious go. Instead I worked in agricultural policy, married a farmer, learned how to dairy and then grain farm, raised four kids, rode horses, hiked and camped. So… I don’t think I’ll complain, ha!

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

As above, I have done many things else though I always wrote. It’s only publishing that I came to in middle age. I’m happy that I can now focus fully on the writing, but even now it doesn’t define me. Because of the life I’ve already had, there are so many things that define me so writing is one part, something I fully embrace and spend a great deal of time at, but it’s only one part.

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

Cloud Cuckoo Land by Anthony Doerr. Wow, just wow.

The Cloud Atlas (film). The book was fantastic too, but I recently watched the movie and it blew me away.

20 - What are you currently working on?

I’m working on a novel about contemporary women walking the Way of St. Francis in Italy as they wrestle with various aspects of their lives. The stories of these women are back-dropped by the art and life of German print artist, Kathe Kollwitz, who lived and worked between the wars and was an activist and feminist before the word existed. What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open. It’s a line from a poem by Muriel Rukeyser about Kollwitz. The novel is an attempt to write from a woman’s truth, to explore feminism over time and between waves and see if the world splits open.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Leona Theis

Leona Theis is a Canadian author whose first book, Sightlines, linked short stories that form a portrait of a town, won two Saskatchewan Book Awards. Excerpts from her novel The Art of Salvage, a story about messing up and finding hope, were shortlisted for novella awards on both the east and west coasts of Canada. Her personal essays have been published in literary magazines in Canada and the United States, won creative nonfiction awards from the CBC and Prairie Fire Magazine, and been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her stories have appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies, including The Journey Prize Stories, and American Short Fiction, where her work won the story prize. Her most recent book is the novel-in-stories If Sylvie Had Nine Lives (freehand books, 2020).

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 published my first book at age 45, after spending about eight years learning to write, mostly on my own. It wasn’t until that first book, a collection of linked stories, came out that I began to identify as a writer. So that was a big shift. My most recent work, after publishing a novel and some shorter nonfiction in between, circles around to stories again. These are linked in a much more complicated way than the stories in that first book. Each chapter stands alone as a story, but there are also arcs that are revealed gradually over the course of the book, making it a novel-in-stories. It was a tricky format to pull off, given that it chronicles nine possible lives for one woman, and those lives overlap and branch.

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

I came to writing almost by accident of circumstance during a year when I had free time. I began by writing down memories, twisting them to answer ‘what if?’ and trying to make them into something that could be called a story. I had no idea what that meant, but I was curious to figure it out. The few times I tried to make a poem, it slid quickly into prose. I wasn’t much interested in writing nonfiction until I saw a piece Mark Anthony Jarman published in Prairie Fire in the mid aughts, and I thought, Oh, you can do it that way! Until then, I was too close in time to academic life, and didn’t realize nonfiction could have so much vitality and personality.

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?

I’m very slow. My hard drive is littered with half-baked half-drafts that will never have a chance. Even first drafts take a long time to complete, partly because I circle back as well as writing forward, and partly because I’m always working on more than one project at once.

4 - Where does a work of prose 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?

It might begin with the way a particular landscape moves me, or an overheard scrap of dialogue on a summer evening, or a memory of a co-worker’s addiction. Just about anything. Whether it will become a story, a novel, or an essay is part of the exploration as I work on it.

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

I love to read for an in-person audience, and I enjoy the discussion that follows. It’s fun to be surprised by what readers find in the work, and by their questions. Readings take time and energy that could be spent creating, but I also take energy and ideas from the interaction.

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 have no answer for question 1, but I’ll take a stab at 2 and 3: I hope to raise questions rather than answer them; or walk around a question that’s already out there and look at it from some new angle. These days I’m preoccupied with human insatiability and the trouble it causes in our relationships—with ourselves, with each other, and with the planet. Questions related to that are woven through my recent novel, as well as through essays I’m working on now.

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?

I like to read all sorts of writing, and so I think of many writers filling many different roles rather than a single “current role of the writer”. As far as my own work goes, I want to write a compelling story or account (whether fiction or nonfiction) that will move someone and possibly change them, possibly spur them think in some new way about how we treat each other, and, sometimes, how we treat the Earth. I want to make them laugh somewhere along the way as well.

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

I’ve had wonderful experiences with editors who’ve asked me questions that helped me to deepen the work; who’ve helped me make a line sing; who’ve helped me find my way to clarity. It’s great when an editor can tell me something isn’t working, and I know right away in my gut they’re right. But even when that’s the case, it’s often best to look past their specific diagnosis or suggestion for repair, and find my own.

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

In a recent discussion between Ian Williams and Lauren Carter, they spoke about approaching the work with love. I’m trying to make that a conscious part of my practice. It helps deal with the anxiety associated with writing. I can’t always love the process (though sometimes I do), but I can approach the work with a love for what a particular piece of writing might become if I give it the necessary care.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (short stories to essays to the novel)? What do you see as the appeal?

I have no trouble moving among genres. Whether essay, short story, or novel, it’s about making something with words, sentences, ideas, form, rhythm, story. If I hit a wall with one project, I can slide over to another. Sometimes the problem with the first will begin to resolve because I’m not staring straight at it.

11 - 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 have no typical day. My routine depends on what stage the project of the moment is passing through. In the early stages I procrastinate, or spend more time on research than I need to. Once a project has its own momentum, I’ll work long days with plenty of energy. Time away from the page or screen accounts for a good quarter, maybe more, of my writing time. It’s mulling time, whether conscious or unconscious, and it’s often how I find the shape of a piece—and that’s essential.

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

I’m working mainly on nonfiction at the moment. I had a day last week when I couldn’t see my way through to anything worthwhile, and I picked up Crossing Open Ground by Barry Lopez. After reading only a few pages, I’d found my way back to my own voice and sense of purpose. I’ll often turn to another writer that way. Or I’ll leave the work for awhile and do something that sets my body in motion, usually outdoors. Activity opens my mind.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

Dark roast coffee, because my best idea of home is my desk in the morning.

14 - 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?

The natural world. I keep returning to a piece of nonfiction that happens mostly outdoors. I want the rhythms and shapes of words and paragraphs to mirror the naturescapes where it’s set.

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

I’m reading a lot of news, essays, and opinions about biodiversity, the climate crisis, and politics in a broad sense. I read contemporary literary novels and short stories, to see a familiar world in a new or deeper way, or to be taken to a world that’s unfamiliar to me.

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

An extended walking tour somewhere on the Prairies.

17 - 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’ve done considerable work as an editor for academic journals, and I enjoyed solving other people’s writing problems. I found it both satisfying and easier than solving my own writing problems, because I could be objective about it. It’s also handy for learning about, for example, issues in international environmental law.

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

I finished a masters degree in adult education and moved to the other side of the world for a year, which removed me from the job market for a time. I had a toddler to look after, and no paid work. I’d also undergone a number of upheavals in my personal life. I bought a notebook and began to experiment, to fill that empty space that academic work had filled over the previous couple of years.

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

I truly loved reading Kevin Barry’s Night Boat to Tangiers. Antigone, from Québécois writer-director Sophie Deraspe, is a compelling adaptation that doesn’t look away.

20 - What are you currently working on?

I’m rounding off a collection of essays, a sort of memoir, though it reaches beyond the personal. On a good day, I feel I’ll never run out of things to say. The trick is to say them well.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Gerald Hill

Gerald Hill [photo credit: Mark Anderson] has published six poetry collections — two of which won Saskatchewan Book Awards for Poetry. His latest collection, Hillsdale Book, came out with NeWest Press in April, 2015. Two sub-sets of that book were published in 2012: Hillsdale, a Map, produced with designer Jared Carlson, and Streetpieces, a chapbook produced by David Zieroth at The Alfred Gustav Press in Vancouver. Also in 2015, Hill published A Round for Fifty Years: A History of Regina's Globe Theatre with Coteau Books. Widely published in literary magazines and online journals, active as both organizer of and participant in workshops and readings, conferences and courses, and winner of Second Prize in the 2011 CBC Literary Awards, Gerald Hill is newly retired from his career teaching English and Creative Writing at Luther College at the University of Regina. In the fall of 2015 he was Doris McCarthy Artist-in-Residence at Fool's Paradise 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?
When good things happen, I nod and say that’s just the way the universe is supposed to work. No big deal. That’s how I felt when that first book came out (in 1985 from Thistledown). This theory was tested in the 16 years before I published my second book (The Man From Saskatchewan, Coteau, 2001)—years spent at grad school, raising kids, recovering from a broken marriage, with most of my writing done in summers at Emma Lake, Sask. That first collection was very much a collection of lyric poems. Now I write books, not poems. It’s all about the book concept, with individual pieces serving as just that, individual pieces that need not produce a well-wrought urn, say, on their own. It’s a longpoem approach very much in keeping with my first teacher, Fred Wah, at David Thompson University Centre in Nelson, B.C., 1981-82. I’ve always said, though, that I’m grateful for the teaching of Fred and Tom Wayman and Dave McFadden at DTUC and see my own work since as essential a blend of those three writers’ approaches.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
We produced work in all genres at DTUC. The poetry emphasis for me may have been an echo of my father, a Sask schoolteacher, who often recited poetry to his kids as we were growing up. He’d had an old-school education that involved, apparently, much memorizing and oral recitation of poetry. Or the poetry thing derives from those teachers I mentioned, who demonstrated that, all in all, anything was possible with poetry.

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?
All of these things vary. I’ve never had a problem coming up with something to write. I’m one of those who believes that if you keep the daily process going, the larger project will reveal itself, as if I’ve been working toward it all the time even before I knew it. I save hard copy drafts now, with one eye on the archive. (URegina holds the Gerald Hill papers, such as they are.) But yes, initial entries come relatively quickly; I know enough, I think, just to get stuff down knowing I’ll work on them later, a slower process. Along these lines, I really like Michael Ondaatje’s note, in his Afterword (or Foreword is it?) to the newer edition of The Collected Works of Billy the Kid, about just writing ahead, not looking back. For a long time before you start revising.

4 - Where does a poem 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 rarely assume that the piece I’m working on is discrete unto itself. It’s always a page or fragment of the larger whole. As poems are not about closing in on themselves but gesturing open to the larger constellation.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I do enjoy readings and think I do them well. I like that preparation for public performance brings a different set of editing principles into play. What I don’t like so much is the sense that getting ready for a reading necessitates getting out of the daily flow of exploration of new work.

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?
One way of addressing those questions is to suggest that what I do is deal with/ explore/ fool around with/ dodge the “I”. As a good subject of postmodern and post-structuralist literary theory 25 years ago, I learned—thank God or somebody—to mistrust the authority of that pronoun. The lyric poet is locked into that authority. A poet who works in more open forms—which is where I place myself—will undercut the “I” much more, playing with what we see to be its inherent slipperiness. As a teacher (a job from which I retired just last year) I tried to deny my students the apparatus of nailing down what a poem supposedly means. It was about submitting and allowing the poems contradictory effects to work on us, rather than us on them. The general issue here is openness, multiplicity, polyphony, etc.

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?
Beyond my largely ceremonial (but I’m working on it) role as poet laureate of Saskatchewan intending (without much budget) to spread the word of poetry in the larger society, I don’t think the writer has any role in larger culture, necessarily. A writer’s duty is first and last to his/her work.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
I’ve had good luck with my editors (incl. Dennis Cooley, Jeanette Lynes, Douglas Barbour, Don Kerr) for the most part. In my experience, they seem less interested in what I imagine the larger theoretical concepts of the book to be, preferring to focus on how bits of text work. I have noticed that I enter an editor-writer relationship warily.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
What comes to mind right now is Ondaatje from In the Skin of The Lion. Trust me, there is order here. Very faint, very human. That’s a paraphrase of what the narrator says at one point—true of the main character and the text in which he appears. So, forget what you think you’re doing. Forget meaning. Forget overly elaborative linking passages. Downplay endings. Trust. You’ll figure out and get to where you’re going sooner or later.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to non-fiction)? What do you see as the appeal?
Easy. Both are wide open.

My blog entries over the years (http://poetshoes.blogspot.ca/) have often served as versions of poems, and vice versa.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?
The day begins with sudoku and kenken puzzles. Beyond that it depends on how my body is feeling today, what errands I have to do, what deadlines I’m facing. If I’m generating new material, I’m probably walking and sitting down someplace with my notebook or tablet. It becomes an intense paying of attention to the specifics of where I am mixed, as always, with whatever comes up from inside. Generally, mornings for new work. Afternoon or evening for revision work.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
To the next page. It’s always a way out. Or to my library, reading my way out.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
If I ever get my nose on a palm springs cake, that will do it. Caragana hedge and lilac. Fresh-baked bread. Model glue (I specialized in WWI aircraft).

14 - 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?
Absolutely. We can learn from artists and works in any discipline. I learned many years ago at Emma Lake that painterly concerns—the continuum of abstraction to representation, for instance—were also writerly concerns. Their solutions might be ours. Dance, theatre, visual art, music—any discipline that calls for and evokes the great highs and lows of human existence and explores its generic protocols—will be instructive for writers.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
I got rid of hundreds of books in the last couple of years. I kept about 40 in my tiny apartment: Anne Carson, Daphne Marlatt, Charles Olson, Lorca, Borges, Kroetsch, Calvino, Pessoa, Basho. Saramago, W.C.Williams, Wah, Stevens, Cortázar, Kerouac (my first literary hero, if I don’t get a chance to say this somewhere else), Salinger, Carver, Simic, Ondaatje, bp.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
Live for a year in southern Spain. Win the G-G, why not. See my work, and that of many other writers we could name, get thoughtful critical attention. Create an endowment that would fund a fabulous writer’s retreat.

17 - 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 was a teacher off and on, here and there, for 40 years. A good one, for most students. An effective writing and literature teacher. For a while I wanted to be a sportswriter. Now that I’m older, I’d love to run—or create, get someone good to run it—a pub that showed what good service means.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
Probably had something to do with my dad’s books and poetry recitations. And being read to. Over the years, however, what has made me write is the sense that it is as a writer that I am most Gerry Hill.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
They happen to be the same. Brooklyn. In both cases, I marvel at how the story is told. And the movie, of course, has what’s-her-name—the Irish/American actress nominated for the Oscar. She’s fabulous. I loved Fifteen Dogs as well. Poetry I raid, not read—dipping in and out of Carson or Lorca or . . .

20 - What are you currently working on?
I have a book, poems, begun last summer. Dogabout, I call it. Its central character is a man named dog (lower case) though I’m running into so many dogs in literature these days that I might have to come up with something else. I know I’ve got an idea that’s good when it gives me everything I want in writing, as this one does. Doesn’t matter where I am. In January I sent every page of Dogabout—now in its 8th draft—to various journals. I sent another manuscript to a publisher in January also. And I have another one that’s been knocked back a couple of times.





[Gerald Hill reads in Ottawa on Tuesday, March 15 as part of the opening night of VERSeFest 2016]
 
12 or 20 (second series) questions