On March 8, 2016, I answered some interview questions posed to
me by one of Natalee Caple’s students over there at Brock University. This is
actually the second interview posed by one of her students [see the link to the previous interview here; see the link to an ongoing list of all my interviews online here],
with both interviews centred around my collection of short stories, The Uncertainty Principle (Chaudiere Books, 2014), as part of an ongoing series
of interviews focusing on short fiction. I was extremely impressed with the
questions posed by this student, far sharper than questions sent by those who
supposedly consider themselves critics and/or interviewers, so I’m eager to see
where she might end up...
Vanessa Cimon-Lambert
Professor Natalee Caple
– ENCW 3P06
An Interview
with rob mclennan on The Uncertainty
Principle
rob mclennan is a
prolific writer of prose, poetry, and non-fiction as well as critical works
including interviews, reviews, and essays. Living in the vibrant city of
Ottawa, he is the author of over thirty trade books and is the editor and
founder of the above/ground press, Chaudiere Books, and the poetry journal Touch the Donkey (mclennan’s blog). He
won the John Newlove Poetry award in 2010, the Council for the Arts in Ottawa
Mid-Career Award in 2014, and was longlisted for the CBC Poetry Prize in 2012
(Canadian Literature 1). Recently, in 2014, rob mclennan had his collection of
short, short stories The Uncertainty
Principle published by Chaudiere Books. He lives in Ottawa and continues to
promote the craft of writing and publishing.
Q&A:
Q: The cover art is
intriguing, mostly I think because of the whiteness and space on the cover
allows the image of the wasp to appear more striking. Did you take part in the
cover art design and what are your thoughts on the connection between the image
and the content within the book?
A: I’ve known
Ottawa artist Danny Hussey for nearly twenty years, and have long admired the
dense minimalism of his work, which I think fits completely with the pieces in
the collection. He loaned me a small mound of prints in the late 1990s for the
sake of a collaboration that never really saw fruition. Our move in September,
2013 provided the opportunity to dig out the pieces, and even remind myself
that they were still sitting somewhere in my vast array of papers. The image
comes from that small mound of prints.
Given my wife and
co-publisher Christine McNair designed the book, I’d say I had a good amount of
input into the design of the cover. It was she who initially suggested the size
and the use of white space on the cover, which is absolutely superb, and fits
entirely, I’d think, with the book as a whole.
Q: The Small Press Book Review gave this collection its first review
and that review examines the connection between the title of your work, The Uncertainty Principle, and the
quantum mechanics concept of that principle. The review suggests that your
“tiny prose” is comparable to the position of a particle, wherein both cannot
be precisely determined. Can you elaborate on this connection and perhaps tell
me what your own understanding and purpose was with this title, and how it has
altered since its publication and reviews? What was your process in coming up
with a title for this collection of short stories?
A: Part of the
challenge of these pieces was in their density, and their precision. There
isn’t a wasted word, and yet, not everything is explained. I like leaving a
certain amount of space for the reader to take the story slightly beyond the
borders of what I have decided to include (and, thusly, not include). If I give
everything away, there remains little or nothing for an attentive reader to do.
Q: Did these short
shorts from The Uncertainty Principle, which
are all individual accounts that seem to intertwine, come from other unfinished
works or did some of these stories begin and remain short and self-contained.
Moreover, what was the process you went through to compile these stories in
this particular order?
A: All but one
of these pieces were composed entirely for this collection. Really, the first
piece was the one referencing The Lost
Boys (1987). I liked the piece very much for the fact that it was an odd
blend of fiction and short essay. The piece confused me at first, as I asked
myself “what the hell do I do with this?”
given the fact that it certainly didn’t fit with anything I’d done before. It
took a bit of time to consider that perhaps I needed to compose a mound of such
odd, short, untitled pieces for the sake of something book-length. It was quite
a challenge, and the process of beginning to end took roughly five years.
The singular story that
fell into the collection from a further work-in-progress was the story
referencing cities requiring a memory (“Every city is constructed out of a
series of markers,”): I often work on multiple projects simultaneously, and
this fragment was originally composed for my as-yet-unfinished novel, “Don Quixote.”
I liked the self-contained aspect of the short paragraph, and decided that it
could be included in both manuscripts. Given that it lives in a different
context, depending upon which book you might encounter it in, I like the way it
shifts a bit. It might be the same paragraph with the same words in the same
order, but, living in two entirely different projects, it can’t remain the same
at all.
The
collage-accumulation of the collection required a very precise and particular
order. For about four years, I simply wrote and wrote and wrote without any
sense of order at all, attempting to simply compose short pieces that worked
both as self-contained units and pieces that connected through the accumulated
whole. I carved, carved, carved and carved. At one point, I’d one hundred and
forty pieces, boiling down to about seventy or so. Through her own edits,
Christine helped me salvage three or four of the pieces just before the book
went to press.
The final six months of
putting the manuscript together was when I started thinking seriously about the
order. Up to that point, I was focusing on the stories individual, deliberately
without any thought to order, attempting to carve lines so tight one could
bounce a quarter off any of them (so to speak). I wanted the various threads
through the collection to intertwine the length and breadth of the collection,
without putting stories that sounded too similar in tone or subject
side-by-side. Part of that process also included seeing the work as a whole
unit, which also allowed for the realization of whatever gaps there might have
been, and attempting to fill them.
Q: I enjoyed The Uncertainty Principle because the
writing style engaged with humour and relatable momentary experiences, where
writing is able to dust off trite instances and make them new again. What kind
of questions did you ask yourself while writing some of the more poignant
passages, for example when the father and the daughter look at shooting stars
(32), and the passage on childhood and the mother (40)?
A: I don’t
think the questions I asked myself were entirely overt. I wrote. Part of the appeal of composition
included the realization that I could include wee stories around odd jokes or
strange thoughts I’d had over the years, little fragments of thinking that had
never really entered my writing before. I had that initial consideration about The Lost Boys that I’d been told hadn’t
come up before even by vampire literature scholars, so I wondered, how do I get
to keep this? How can I use this? And of course, one thought leads directly and
immediately to another, such as my thoughts upon SpongeBob SquarePants, or
seeing a plush rocket with an animal inside, meant somehow for newborns.
Sometimes it was as simple as a stray line or a thought I caught from another
source that I wanted to explore, or play with. I like discovering those ideas
or thoughts that might entirely change the way we think about something that
otherwise might seem entirely familiar, and thus, render it entirely new and
unknown. I am attempting to question, I suppose.
I wanted to take a
series of very small moments and simply hold on to them, over the space of a
couple of sentences. A few years ago, I discovered that Turkish writer Orhan
Pamuk’s writing studio, for the longest time, sat on a street that translated
into English as “Sesame Street.” I mean, how could one not want to use that? I’ve been three years carving and
carving a story barely four lines long that I haven’t quite managed to get
exactly right. At least, not yet.
Q: It seems a lot of
the projects you’ve initiated such as literary journals and press revolve
around the city of Ottawa. How has living in Ottawa shaped your writing, as
well as your dedication to the craft? And what are ways you represent this
identity in your work as a writer, reviewer and editor?
A: A good
question. By the mid-1990s, I’d been here for a bit more than half a decade,
and had been active for nearly that long as a writer, editor and organizer.
Given my ex-partner and I shared a preschooler, I was very aware that none of
us, by choice, were going anywhere, so I deliberately worked to make the city
liveable for myself as a working writer. Around the same period, I was seeing a
number of poets leave town – Rob Manery, Louis Cabri, Warren Dean Fulton,
Tamara Fairchild – something that occurred again by the end of the 1990s, as
Stephanie Bolster left town for Montreal. It was extremely difficult to be a
working writer in Ottawa, given our repeated lacks: proper arts funding (the
worst per capita arts funding in Canada), media, publishing and employment (we
haven’t any creative writing program at either university, for example, which
often helps writers remain employed). It meant that writers were either
swallowed up by government work, or left town for new opportunities.
It really meant that,
by the mid-1990s, despite already having founded above/ground press, The
Factory Reading Series (at that point, as-yet-unnamed) and the semi-annual
ottawa small press book fair (all of which I still run), I was becoming very
aware of the lack of infrastructure required to support and encourage a larger
literary culture. Predominantly, Ottawa books weren’t being discussed
in the media in favour of works by out-of-towners, as though somehow remaining
in the city meant we could only be “farm-team” for larger centres such as
Montreal, Toronto or Vancouver. To remain here meant that your work became
suspect, which was absolutely ridiculous. It helped enormously when Sean and
Neil Wilson founded the Ottawa International Writers Festival in 1997,
showcasing local writers on the same footing as nationally or
internationally-renowned writers. Somehow, we needed to remind ourselves that
we were capable of supporting and producing writers such as John Newlove,
Elizabeth Hay, John Metcalf, Diana Brebner, Mark Frutkin, William Hawkins and
dozens upon dozens of others.
All that being said: I
live here. Where else am I to revolve and involve my projects? It is my job – as editor, reviewer,
publisher, reading series curator, etcetera – to be attentive to the writing
and writers in my immediate geographies.
I think the initial
lack, in many ways, forced me very early to seek out what else existed beyond
my immediate community, which, in the long term, has given me quite a broad
knowledge of writing, writers and publishing far beyond the City of Ottawa. All
of this, obviously, has fed into my editing, publishing and writing. I don’t feel
limited in any way by where I am.
But not all of my
projects are Ottawa-based. I curate the weekly “Tuesday poem” over at the Dusie
blog, a press and site originally based out of Switzerland. With more than one
hundred and fifty poems posted so far, I curate via a number of threads,
including submissions from Canadian poets, international poets and poets in the
loosely-affiliated “dusie kollecktiv.” Projects such as above/ground press or seventeen seconds: a journal of poetry and
poetics or Touch the Donkey or my
“12 or 20 questions” series have never
been Ottawa-focused, although numerous Ottawa writers have been represented
throughout. Chaudiere Books might be Ottawa-focused, but has never wished to be
Ottawa-exclusive; my goals have been wanting to connect Ottawa writers and
writing to the larger, broader world; we are no island, after all.
Q: Your engagement in a
variety of writing platforms perhaps allows you to avoid “writer’s block” but
are there other sources of inspiration you turn to in order to progress in a
moment of creative writing? For example do you use music, memories, visiting a
museum, or certain writing techniques to produce work?
A: All of the
above. Also, really well-written film or television has often sparked my
fiction. I remember being sparked by the movie Smoke (1995), as well as certain episodes of Mad Men. I have also been mighty impressed by Brian Michael Bendis’
run on The Avengers; I loved the way
he wrote a lengthy, ongoing story, often writing up to a particular action or dénouement,
and instead taking the story entirely sideways before presenting the reader
with that expected next step: providing further background or sideways action
that expanded the breadth of what he’d accomplished so far. Amazing.
And of course, Neil Gaiman,
specifically via The Sandman, is
easily the best storyteller I’ve read so far.
I’d think that if there
is a story or poem or whatnot one is attempting to complete (we create our own
problems we then have to troubleshoot, don’t we?), the problem is most likely
working in the background of our thoughts at any given time (as we head to the
grocery store or shower or whatever). Solutions can arise just about anywhere;
the trick is in knowing how to listen to what we are attempting to tell
ourselves.
And: my steady stream
of reviewing can often trigger new writing. I’ve been an active reviewer for
more than two decades, which means I receive new books and chapbooks in the
mail every single day.
Q: I read in a few
articles that you now have children and so do you notice changes in your source
of inspiration when writing?
A: Well, I now
have smaller children: my daughter Kate was born in January 1991, and Rose was
born in November 2013. My third (and Christine’s second) is due the third week
of April 2016 (we have a shortlist of names, but we’re keeping names and gender
a secret for now). I might be home full-time with Rose now, since Christine
returned to work after her year-long maternity leave, but I actually ran a
home-daycare until Kate was about four years old. Fatherhood and childcare, for
me, at least, isn’t new; renewed, I suppose.
With the emergence of
our Rose, my writing has become far more focused: I now get two mornings a week
when she’s at ‘school,’ and an hour or two in the afternoons when she naps. My
projects are far fewer than they might have once been.
I would think my
‘inspirations’ are much the same as they ever were: the world, as I encounter
it (and/or it me), from reading to living to anything else. Kate has fallen
into my writing multiple times over the years, and I spent three years on the
first draft of a creative non-fiction manuscript after the death of my mother.
When Christine and I began, she entered the writing; when we began to
cohabitate, I wrote around that. So of course, her pregnancy and the
then-newborn entered into the writing as well.
Q: Your blog is updated
daily and you work on multiple projects at once but do you also work on
different creative projects at a
time? Or do you tend to focus on a particular work that is in progress?
A: I’m able to
work on multiple projects simultaneously, certainly. Since I’ve been full-time
with toddler, my attention for writing has been shorter, so I’ve been deliberately
working to keep to a shorter list of creative projects (everything takes so
damned long).
I’ve been attempting to complete a manuscript of short
stories, for example, “this year” now for at least three years. I really want
to get back into a novel I’d set aside a few years ago, for the sake of my
post-mother creative non-fiction project.
I can only work on one
or two large prose projects at any given time, so really require to complete
the stories before I can put any kind of attention into the novel, otherwise
I’ve simply not got the attention span required for either (which was equally
the case well before Rose was invented).
I’m also about seventy
pages into a poetry manuscript that began on March 1, 2015. I poke at the poems
occasionally, but am deliberately not in any hurry to complete such (it would
just mean I’d start something else). Every
time I’ve attempted to work solely on a single thing, I’ve ended up starting a
new project instead.
Q: On your blog you
express your decision to remain solely a writer (and critic) rather than
becoming a teacher as well. You were a writer-in-residence at the University of
Alberta from 2007-2008, would you suggest an academic background for aspiring
writers these days, or a creative writing degree?
A: I would
recommend whatever works for the individual. I’ve never felt the need to do
anything but write, so never saw the point in a degree or two that would be
leading me toward teaching. I wanted to write, so I wrote. For some, degrees
and teaching is the best way; for others, the best way might be a writing
degree. Some prefer the non-teaching/literary employment. I, myself, never saw
the point in giving my best energy to something I cared about secondary to my
writing. Somewhere in my mid-20s I saw a quote by Margaret Atwood: If you want
full-time out of it, you have to put full-time into it.
I would recommend
anyone be honest and realistic about what it is they think they want to
accomplish. Not everyone even wants to write full-time (and the financial compensations
for such can be hardscrabble and, often, demoralizing).
There’s a story about
Willie Nelson, two years into a degree to be a lawyer as his “back-up plan,”
before realizing it had quickly become his primary plan; he immediately dropped
out to focus on his music.
And: given I haven’t
any post-secondary experience at all (which means I really haven’t any direct
knowledge or experience with any kind of degree, whether literary or
otherwise), I found the University of Alberta job very exciting, and even a bit
confusing. The experience was glorious in part for the fact that I wasn’t
required in any way to engage with the academic setting, i.e. some of the
horror stories I’ve heard about office politics or the drudgery of marking. I
could simply hang about and collect all of the benefits of academic life
without any of the trappings.
I also loved having an
office, which I used as my work-space. I sat seven days a week in there,
furiously working, from 9:30am to 6pm. My office door was never closed.
Q: In The Uncertainty Principle you write:
“You might have no choice but to be new, again” (36). Individuals are
constantly striving to constitute themselves as subjects in the world, and so
what are your thoughts on the cultural and ethical purpose of the craft of
writing for the self and for society at large?
A: I’ve noticed
that the bulk of my fiction focuses on individuals struggling to navigate
themselves through the world, as I attempt to articulate the ways in which they
might move from point A to point B. The craft of writing allows one to
spotlight, to open up attention into the minutiae of being and interacting.
Writing can be utilized
as a critical/thinking, and even meditative form, one that can help illustrate,
illuminate and even educate. If one is attempting to listen and be properly
aware, it can be used in multiple ways, for multiple purposes. I’ve been very
interested how poets such as Fred Wah, Christine Leclerc, Marie AnnHarte Baker
and Stephen Collis, for example, use literary forms for social engagement. I’ve
entertained such, but haven’t yet figured out the proper form(s) in which to
engage; so far, my fiction (at least) explores a far more subtle engagement
with being and living.
Q: When do you know a
creative work of yours is finished and ready for publication (or even to be
read by someone else)?
A: Experience.
Q: You reference pop
culture (tweets and famous musicians), politics (Harper and Reagan), and
literature (James Joyce) in your stories. Do you find yourself feeling any
tension between external influences on your work and your own intentions and,
if so, how is it that you navigate this?
A: I don’t feel
any tension. I live in the world, therefore I attempt to engage with that same
world, which includes art galleries, twitter, history, television, politics,
pop culture, facebook, late night talk shows and comic books as well as a broad
range of literary touchstones. I’ve long envied Milan Kundera’s ability to
engage with the personal and the political equally throughout his fiction, and
would love to be able to accomplish the same.
I would suspect that
all influences on a writer’s work would be external, even if writing about the
self (without distance, there can be no clarity). It is important not to live
(or write) in a bubble.
Works cited
“rob mclennan” Canadian
Literature: A Quarterly of Criticism and Review.
https://canlit.ca/canlit_authors/rob-mclennan-2/.
Accessed Feb. 16 2016. Web.
LaRue, C.A. “Review of rob mclennan’s THE UNCERTAINTY
PRINCIPLE: STORIES” The
Small Press Book
Review. March
2014.
http://thesmallpressbookreview.blogspot.ca/2014/03/review-of-rob-mclennans-uncertainty.html.
Accessed Feb. 16th 2016. Web.
mclennan, rob. rob
mclennan’s blog. https://www.patreon.com/robmclennan?ty=h
https://canlit.ca/canlit_authors/rob-mclennan-2/.
Accessed Feb. 13 2016. Web.
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