Showing posts with label Jess Taylor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jess Taylor. Show all posts

Monday, May 27, 2024

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Jess Taylor

Jess Taylor [photo credit: Angela Lewis] is a Tkaronto (Toronto) writer and poet. She is the author of Pauls, the title story of which won the 2013 Gold Fiction National Magazine Award, and Just Pervs, a finalist for the 2020 Lambda Literary Award in Bisexual Fiction. Her story, “Two Sex Addicts Fall in Love,” was longlisted for the 2018 Journey Prize. Play is her debut novel.

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

Pauls, an interconnected book of short stories, changed my life in a lot of ways. Having a book out gave me legitimacy that hadn’t been there before, especially being so young. I’d struggled financially before the book came out, and I strongly believe that having a published book helped me get more courses to teach, which gave me some financial stability that I needed.

Play, my debut novel that’s coming out in April [ed. note: this interview was conducted in March 2024], was extremely difficult to write in comparison to Pauls. Structurally, it’s a lot more complex and a bit darker. This time around, though, it’s my third book, so I feel a lot more self-assured and less nervous about its publication.

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

I actually write all three and had a couple of poetry chapbooks published (And Then Everyone… by Picture Window Press in 2013 and Never Stop by Anstruther Press in 2014) before my first story collection came out. I always say that I’ve been writing seriously since I was a kid, as I started to submit to local contests at the age of 12. Although I was writing stacks of poetry at the time, one of the first prizes I won was for a short story. I feel like that helped fuel my confidence in writing stories. Over the years, I’ve gravitated toward fiction a little more.

One of my favourite things about writing fiction is that it allows me to slip into other perspectives and characters. While occasionally I’ll write poetry as a character, my poetry more typically has a confessional, lyrical element where if the speaker is not myself, they are at least close to how I see the world. With fiction, it’s easier for me to invent complete people who think, feel, and perceive differently than I do.

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?

Usually, I’ll have an idea or line first that gives me the sense of a character. Next, I need to have some idea of a structure. If the voice is really strong, I might start to follow the voice of the character and see where it takes me, or if the story is based on an idea, I might need to let its energy and shape sit within me before I approach an actual draft. During that time, I might write bits and pieces, but I’m not approaching it with a strong sense of direction. Instead, it’s exploratory. For me, along with character, feeling is central to my work. So I need to also be chasing a feeling or have a particular vibe for a writing project.

The length of time a piece of writing takes depends on the project. My debut novel, Play, took me close to 10 years from the idea to publication, but it was a very difficult project structurally. The book has taken many different forms over the years before I finally got it into the shape it is now. I also worked with a developmental editor, Meg Storey, as I was struggling with finding the right structure. Play also has really heavy subject matter and I wanted to make sure that I was getting it right, not over-sensationalizing trauma. I think for me to do it well, I needed to give myself time to mature. I felt that while writing and trusted myself. I’m happy I didn’t push it out into the world without giving the book time to develop the way that it needed to so that it could be sensitive and thoughtful.

I just finished writing a solid draft of my second novel, and that book came to me while I was struggling with post-partum anxiety after the birth of my daughter. All of a sudden I had the voice of a character and with the character came this whole family, and I understood the family deeply without doing any exploratory work. It felt like I’d plucked them from the air. I started to write the book with naps and after about six months I plotted out Act 1 and then after another month, the remaining acts. From start to finish, that book took me two and half years, and that was with working full time and parenting in between. Probably it’ll be another year before it's ready for a publisher and then the process from there will be up to a publisher, but I think four years instead of 10 is awesome!

I know the next book could take another ten years though, and I’m okay with that, as it’s about putting the best work possible into the world and serving both the book and my audience in the best way I can. That can take time.

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?

A lot of the time I begin with a character. For my themed collections, I find that I’ll work on stories for a bit and then start to see if there is a cohesive pattern after about four stories or so. If I can find a pattern, then I know what the project is and I’ll only include stories that fit the project so that I can have a book of stories that feels like a cohesive book. I like having my collections feel like the stories work together – It’s interesting to me.

For novels, sometimes the grain might begin in a short story and sometimes, just from the scope, I can tell it’ll be a novel. That was the case with the novel I recently wrote, where as soon as I knew about this family, I was like, “Okay this is a novel and also there will be UFOs in it.” Haha.

For Play, it came out of the stories in Pauls. Paul (Paulina) is a character in three stories in the collection, and in “We Want Impossible Things,” she hints at a troubled past that she will not talk about. She was an interesting character for me because I’m an oversharer and am a little too straightforward, whereas Paul side-steps a lot in conversations and has a hard time trusting. I could relate to her pain, her shame, and her distrust, but our communication styles are different. I wondered, what would healing look like for this person? Would that type of communication, of hiding through communication, would it ever get blown open? Would she ever talk about her past? So I wrote into that, and it became Play.

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 see it as part of the work of being a writer. For me, it’s another art form, and although it’s nerve-wracking, I like performing. For short stories, I find doing readings extremely helpful for a creative project, as when you’re halfway to three-quarters of the way through a reading, sometimes you can feel a real click moment where you feel in sync with the audience and you know they are listening; you have their attention. Then you know it’s a good story and one to keep in a collection. Other times, you can feel where you lose them or where their attention wavers. You might also have moments where you’re reading something and are like, Wow this is awful, but I didn’t know until I read this embarrassing line in front of someone else. That can help with cuts and edits.

I haven’t read too many novel excerpts aloud and find I usually default to reading a piece at the beginning. I think when I do my readings for Play, I am going to try to experiment with excerpts from different parts and see how it goes!

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 think a lot of the questions I have are about the ways people relate to each other. Throughout my life, I have often been perplexed by human behaviour: Why are people not truthful? Why do people hurt each other? Why do people communicate in different ways? So I write to try to make sense of these questions.

I’m also interested in how different people perceive the world. My favourite books are ones where a character’s perception of the world colours the entire book. I am trying to add books into the world that do that as well.

I also want to know why do we consider some things taboo and not others. Where does shame come from and how can we undo it? I think over time, I’ve come to believe that shame comes from feeling that your experiences are unspeakable, so I see writing as a way to unravel shame.

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 think it’s the writer’s job to shine a light on society and to give words to the things that are hard to articulate.

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

I really love it! I think it can feel a little vulnerable, especially if you have doubts about the project. Still, one thing I tell people when I give them feedback is that I wouldn’t spend time or go in-depth on something unless I respected the writer, so I try to receive feedback with that attitude as well. I think having someone who doesn’t live inside my head give me feedback on a project is essential. Both the developmental editor I worked with Meg Storey, and Bookhug’s editor Linda Pruessen gave so much to Play. It really wouldn’t have managed to be the book it is without them.

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

When I became a parent, someone once told me that everything is a phase so that when you’re experiencing a particular challenge, you might feel like you need to fight fight fight to fix whatever the issue is at the time, and then two weeks later, everything is different. There are new problems, but that old problem has blown over. I think that can be extended to life in general. I tend to sweat every little thing and expect things to get to an objective level of “good”, but really with art, parenting, work, and everything, the hard stuff passes, the good stuff passes, and you just have to go with it and ride it out.

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

I love moving between genres. I get bored easily, so one of my procrastination hacks is to always have a bunch of projects on the go so that when I get bored or stuck on one, I can work on something else. Multiple genres keep things even more fresh,

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’m trying to be a little more consistent this year, as typically I work more in binges since working full-time. Parenting definitely throws a wrench in the works (a cute, joy-inducing wrench), so I have very few slivers of time: Tuesday and Thursday mornings between 8 and 9 a.m., time on work lunches, and after toddler bedtime. So that’s my time for writing, crafts, reading, and cleaning (yeah right). So basically whatever my priorities are, I use those scraps of time toward that. Lately, I’ve been trying to write daily pages, whether they are reflections or snippets of books so that I’m writing each day. 

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

When things get stalled, I now see it as a sign to rest and fill my experience bank. You can’t write without any experiences, so it’s important to find ways to be present and recharge. I craft a lot and find doing things with my hands is a good balance for my writing. I also think that it allows me to still take creative risks, which then builds creative confidence.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

After it rains and you’re in a forest and kick leaves and you can smell the wet soil underneath in the air.

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 think every art form I come across influences my work. Even watching a show like Chef’s Table, I’ll be inspired by how the chefs see the world and their craft. Visual art is a big one, as visual art has always been a big part of my life.

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

I have some writers that I collaborate with and who read my work. Sofia Mostaghimi has been a big one. In recent years, Catriona Wright has become one of my main beta readers, and I love her work so much. I find her a really interesting writer as she publishes in both fiction and poetry.

The work of Elif Batuman is also really important to me, as I think it opened up some stylistic possibilities that I hadn’t thought about before.

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

In life or in writing? In writing, putting out a book of non-fiction or a book of poetry.

In life, um, EVERYTHING. My biggest hurdle is that I want to do too much. I have so many dreams.

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 actually want to go back to school to be an occupational therapist but will continue to write books.

If writing had not been part of my life, I would have focused on the sciences and gone into wildlife biology and conservation.

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

That’s a really interesting question, especially since I’m drawn to so many art forms. In my youth, I saw other art forms (like songwriting and art) as a way to build on my writing. I went to an arts high school, and even in the audition for visual arts, I told them, “I want to be a writer and I think visual arts will help me describe the world.” I’m not sure what made writing capture me. I really loved books and stories, and, like many, found friendship and escape within them. I also was drawn to the stories of my family: tales my parents would tell me about their lives and the people they knew. In some ways, I became the storykeeper of the family as a child, which is funny now because I have no interest in family lore and my brother is meticulously cataloguing it and is now the family historian.

My brother also gave me a lot of encouragement to focus on writing as my art form as well. We were six and seven and working on comic books in the backyard, and I moaned about how much better his cartoons were. He told me, “But what you’re great at is the stories.” He gave me the same feedback as a songwriter when we were in a band together. He always saw my writing ability as my biggest strength, and as my first artistic collaborator, I took his opinion very seriously.

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

The last book that wowed me was probably Ripe by Sarah Rose Etter. I’m still thinking about that book, and it did so many interesting things stylistically. For film, I really loved Everything Everywhere All At Once.

20 - What are you currently working on?

I just finished a good draft of my second novel, Experiencer. I also have a story about my obsession with beads gathering in fragments and thoughts. I’m always working on way too many projects until I focus, so I also have a non-fiction manuscript about my abdomen; a long poem about the month of July; and a weird book of stories coming into existence slowly.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Wednesday, January 06, 2021

Kate Bolton Bonnici, Night Burial

 

MORROW, MORROW, VALENTINE

They say hope survives because we lack
foresight yet here

I’ve read the story & know
to miss you before you’re gone—

sorry does not call me love
but will when you are lost

a child who cannot know to mourn
your possibilities, the particular

way you would pronounce
a word like empty

the tale of the swans’ sister is a tale
told not at bedtime—take

her babies, mark her mouth, blame
her congealed heart

her blood a think Valentine
of love & consumption—

I’ve read the story
& can’t pretend

what happens elsewhere
happens to another, to some other,

at some other time
able to quiet the calls at the door.

Winner of the 2020 Colorado Prize for Poetry is California poet Kate Bolton Bonnici’s full-length debut, Night Burial (Fort Collins CO: The Center for Literary Publishing, 2020), a book-length elegy around and through her mother’s illness and death. “Quiet & you are not among the / quick but the dead I / quickened once in your womb you who felt my own / quickening // rested your hand on my / round belly at 20 weeks / riding to Pensacola a daughter / reached,” she writes, to open the title poem-section. Night Burial is composed as two sections of lyrics followed by an extended lyric title sequence, and closing with a final section of short lyrics, all of which are structured to highlight small moments amid the larger crisis, medical appointments and dissolutions. “Your mother dies.” she writes, ending the title poem-section. “The most ordinary thing.”

Bonnici writes around the death of her mother, circling the occasional other relationships around that central core, including her husband’s response to his own mother’s death, the ghost of her grandmother’s death, and the reactions of her mother’s death by and around her small children. “Since someone is always thirsty,” she writes, as part of “WITCHSPEAK,” “I deliver a child daily into want [.]” As Bonnici responds as part of a recent interview conducted by The Center for Literary Publishing’s managing editor, Jess Turner: “Night Burial addresses and cries out for absent beloveds—mother, family in Alabama and elsewhere, children close by but developing their separate selves, husband who walks his own path of maternal passing. These are my household gods, personal and yet part of larger lyric impulses, twining solitude with community, disruption with participation, death’s particularized intimacies with the rituals of ordinary time. And this is what I imagine: as a book that is read, each address summons new communion, new remembering, choral and so shared. As a book held in others’ hands, the poems find their location—a true lararium fixed for good and for real.”

There is such an ease, a clear precision to her poems, composing a lyric of direct statements packed with nuance and density, reminiscent slightly of the lyric of Ottawa poet Sandra Ridley: there’s an emotional content both directly open and held back with remarkable restraint, composed across a sequence of sentences and an extended accumulation. Through this, Bonnici allows for the sum of its parts to present what her direct statements slowly unfurl: a collection of deep attention and grief. And the book is rife with incredible moments: “My earliest memory of my daughters they / will have forgotten,” she writes, as part of the poem “IT WAS A COMMON NIGHT,” “which is not the same / as not having known.” Later on, as part of the poem “’IN YOUR ABSENCE THERE ARE NO MORTAL BANQUETS.’,” she writes: “What remains / remains to be seen / never / is what I’m afraid of [.]” Further on, in the same piece:

now that each day is memorial
           
each ends with here lies
buried here lies bones joints

           
& cataracts undoing

undone a past tense
           
I can’t reckon with
Let us resist the history

           
of every word between us

 

Friday, November 27, 2015

Ongoing notes: Meet the Presses (part two,



[the room, preparing: including Karl Jirgens, Denis De Klerk and Noelle Allen] See the first part here.

Toronto ON: If you aren’t already aware, Catriona Wright (poet and former Ottawa resident) has co-founded a new publishing venture, Desert Pets Press, with Emma Dolan, and some of their first publications include the anthology 300 Hours A Minute (2015) and E. Martin Nolan’s Poems From Still (2015). As their website informs: “Desert Pets Press was founded in 2015 by illustrator Emma Dolan and author Catriona Wright. Based out of Toronto, Ontario, the press publishes limited edition poetry and prose chapbooks and strives to combine exciting contemporary writing with innovative design.” Subtitled “Poems About YouTube Videos,” the chapbook anthology 300 Hours A Minute includes a series of playful poems (being exactly what the chapbook title suggests) composed by a variety of predominantly-emerging Toronto poets and fiction writers including Michelle Brown, Kathryn Mockler, Vincent Colistro (he has a first poetry collection due in spring with Signal Editions), Andy Verboom, Daniel Scott Tysdal [see my review of his most recent poetry collection here], Laura Clarke, Jess Taylor, Suzannah Showler [see my review of her first poetry collection here], Matthew R. Loney and Spencer Gordon.

Ted Talks

then TED foams at the mouth
forgetting to stop. TED co-opts cud as a fertilizer

two point oh. Won’t hold a microphone so one
is fastened to TED’s head. TED says hands are keyboards,

keyboards are dead phonemes. TED walks
atop a ramp atop the universities, whose popinjays cock

their heads up and balk. Cued to a power point,
TED points to its hegemony, Gemini, Jesus, Fancy Pants,

the real regressives. TED shocks she who opens
herself to touching it. Insteads are part of the prix fixe

of TED, such is its kindness, to offer hope. TED knocks
on my wall, in the voice of a friend, who shared this article,

who shared this article, who aired this sharticle,
who dares this icicle of shart? TED talks

and before long we’ll all be forced
to listen. Full stop. (Vincent Colistro)

The argument of the collection, “poems about YouTube videos,” is reminiscent of the anthology Dinosaur Porn [see my review of such here], with the argument/prompt that sparked the project seemingly as random, but for the fact that the Ferno House anthology had submissions that were much further “out there” than the poems collected here. Wright, an emerging poet herself, appears to favour a particular flavour of the short, observational lyric, one that would fit very much in that space where the editorial visions of publishing houses Vehicule Press, Nightwood Editions, ECW Press and Wolsak and Wynn might meet. Along those same lines is E. Martin Nolan’s Poems From Still, a collection of short, meditative lyrics that weave through a gentle pacing. His poems reference hurricanes, including Katrina, and the resulting damage left behind. Nolan’s poems are thoughtful and empathetic, and centred very solidly in concrete facts and situations.

KATRINA FAR AWAY

I

In Detroit, on TV, they show the storm after.
It goes on, moves north, still the shape it was.

In Ohio they read of it,
how it’s coming there,
feeding that recently droughted land.

In Katrina’s rain the small hard flowers
of Ohio’s weeds rejoice.

II         IN OHIO

The man turns from the window, the same
rain hard on the window he’s stopped at
to see the storm die over land.

The woman on the stairs stops.
She holds folded clothes.

III

A: To get the real Taino god
of the storm take the wooden face
carved into mid-scream, face the storm
and forget any carved wood.

What appeals about this press, apart from the strong work and the graceful design, is in seeing how they work to engage with their immediate, local community, and producing work by numerous poets, many of whom haven’t yet made a name for themselves. There is much here worth paying attention to.