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 Bosun Chair actually started about thirteen years before it was published, as my Master’s thesis at the U of A. I set it aside for years at a time, and kept coming back to it in spurts, revising and rewriting, trying to wrangle the form. I had a wealth of material about my ancestors in early twentieth century Newfoundland, including shipwrecks that two of my great-grandparents survived, and it was that content that really drove that project. Now, I’m more interested in writing out of my own life and the current moment. My new book, Deriving, is centred on my own experiences of infertility and motherhood, so it feels a lot more personal, and a lot more vulnerable.
2 - How did you come to memoir first, as opposed to, say, fiction or poetry?
Though I published it first, I’d actually say I came to memoir last—which shows in its hybrid, poetic form. It was the subject matter that seemed to determine the genre for The Bosun Chair. When I started it I was writing a lot of poetry and a little fiction as well, but I wanted to be as true to my ancestors’ stories as I could. The first version was fairly straightforward non-fiction, but it felt a bit like the prose was fighting to be poetry. Over time I came to its current lyrical form. I continue to write a lot at the boundary of poetry and creative non-fiction. But when I started focusing on Deriving, which is mainly verse, it felt a bit like coming home.
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 arrive at a first draft fairly quickly—probably too quickly. But the revision process is very slow. A lot of the pieces in Deriving I worked on for years. There are a few that were even published in an earlier form, that have been completely overhauled.
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?
It varies. The majority of Deriving began as individual poems, which revolved around similar themes because they were the ideas and experiences on my mind. Then I had an idea for a book that uses etymologies as starting points to explore both personal experiences and language itself. After some time I realized that it was all part of the same project; all of it was interested in origins, whether of words or families or individual humans, and how those origins affect our ways of being in the world.
The Bosun Chair was definitely a whole project from the beginning. But I have another manuscript of lyric essays that were written individually.
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. Sound is so critical to both poetry and prose, so I love having the chance to share my work in auditory form.
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?
Deriving is definitely a feminist book. A lot of the drive behind it was to combat the erasure or omission of the topics of infertility, miscarriage, and motherhood in literature, which has been an erasure of women’s experience.
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 know about “should,” but I aspire to be the kind of writer whose work is both a mirror of the larger culture and a maker of it—whose work reflects, documents, and empathizes, as well as calls for change, opens minds, and shifts perspectives.
8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
Essential! I was so lucky to work with Jannie Edwards on Deriving and Jenna Butler on The Bosun Chair. I don’t think any writer can do their best work in isolation. Especially when you’ve been working on something for a long time—the lines become so ingrained in your mind that you can’t hear them anymore. Editors give me so much more confidence in my work. I was really lucky, too, to have a great community of writers who offered feedback earlier in the composition process of Deriving—Wendy McGrath and Claire Kelly in particular were critical to the process.
9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
My friend Lisa Martin was asked to fill in for Lorna Crozier at an Edmonton Poetry Festival event in 2018, when Crozier had a last minute emergency. Lisa titled her speech “On Not Being Lorna Crozier,” and in it she talks about how recognition matters but doesn’t always arrive when we need it. So we need to “author-ize” ourselves to keep going, and do the work “as IF someone else had already recognized its worth.” She’s not talking about bulldozing forward with arrogance, but exactly the opposite—giving ourselves gentleness and the permission to keep going while we do the work and hone our craft. When I have moments of impostor syndrome or rejection it’s a helpful reminder—you can’t wait for awards or accolades to validate your work, you have to be motivated by the process and the work itself.
10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to memoir to critical prose)? What do you see as the appeal?
As a young writer starting out I found it quite difficult to move between poetry and prose, because I was always trying to clearly delineate those two categories. Once I embraced a hybrid form, and just let the writing be what it was, untethered by genre, I found that all of my work improved, including more traditional pieces. What I find most difficult now is navigating all the places that require a clearly defined genre—submission forms, bookstore shelves, etc.
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?
Because I have a regular job and small children, I have to carve out dedicated time to write. I’m lucky to be able to devote one day a week. Before children, I didn’t have a routine, and would write whenever “inspiration” struck. Now, if I’m not productive on my Tuesday writing day, I usually have to wait a week before I can try again. It has forced a different kind of practice. It means that I usually sit longer with a poem or a section of prose at one time. I can’t afford to give up when I feel frustrated or uninspired.
I find it helps to start the day with a piece already in progress and a clearly defined goal, rather than a blank page. Maybe it’s revisions, maybe it’s fleshing out a section that I’ve just sketched out. After I’ve warmed up it’s easier to move into new material.
12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
The pandemic has emphasized for me where NOT to turn—there have been so many moments of frustration and grief when doomscrolling has been almost compulsive. I have to quite actively resist turning to Twitter when I’m stalled. Sometimes just reading whichever book of poetry is on my table helps me to shift back into the right frame of mind. Other times I just need to switch to a different piece or project. I usually have a number of different things on the go at one time.
13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
Peonies. The house I grew up in had four or five big peony bushes in the yard. I have a flash essay about my mother in Contrary where I talk about writing my first poems in that yard, with that perfume in my nose.
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?
I’m constantly drawn to both science and history in my work. I love the way that a scientific term can become lyrical, or the way that a story from the past can resonate with an experience now.
15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
I think I’m most influenced and inspired by the writers in my community. With small kids at home I find it hard to attend events as often as I’d like to, but I’ve developed some wonderful relationships in the Edmonton writing community that are supportive and enlivening.
16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
I haven’t written much fiction. I’d love to explore that genre more.
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 work as an instructional designer, writing and designing online learning. I feel quite lucky that my “day job” allows me to write and be creative every day.
18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
I wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember. I love language—the music of a certain phrase, the spark of both surprise and recognition at a fresh metaphor.
19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
Right now I am reading Ross Gay’s The Book of Delights, which is a wonderful balm.
20 - What are you currently working on?
I’m in the early stages of a new manuscript of poetry, experimenting with the long poem and fictionalized voices.
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