Monday, April 30, 2007

Writing On Week Six

It's all about marketing, baby!

The more I am writing, and the more I am putting myself out there, the more I am learning... it's not so much about the writing as it is the marketing of your writing. If you have a publisher who is investing in you and making sure you are out in front of different audiences, then you really have it made. This doesn't mean you will become a famous author overnight, but it certainly gives you a fighting chance.

It's hard. Especially when you are juggling other full-time commitments in your life. I find that I've been doing better with my book sales, simply selling them face to face and on the spot. This last week, I wandered down to Munro's Books in downtown Victoria because my boyfriend had told me that the last time he checked the shelf my two copies were no longer there. I hadn't received any phone call, but I was still hopeful that this meant my books had been sold. I waited at the checkout, and eventually one of the staff came back with my two lonely copies in a plastic Munro's bag saying, "we've been waiting for you to pick these up. I'm sorry." After nearly a year on the shelf, and my tireless efforts to direct people to the bookstores to buy or order my book, they were still handed back. And yet, I usually manage to sell at least two copies at each reading. The difference is that they can hear my work. Otherwise, I am a no-name poet with my slim spine sticking out on a shelf. People don't often like to take a chance, unless they are referred to a particular writer by someone they trust, or they've had a taste of the writer.

This weekend was a success, reading at The Black Stilt on Friday and Dark Horse Books on Sunday. On Friday night, I shared the stage with another up-and-coming writer, Sean Horlor. I knew Sean from my professional writing world, working for the provincial government, so it was fortuitous to cross paths again. I have to say that I felt a bit green when he mentioned his book tour. Your what?

I suppose that is only natural -- as writers, we all want that support. I try to set up readings locally and it is a little difficult for me to get off the island as often as I might like to, but it is still possible. This is why the AGM in Edmonton will be a significant stepping stone - stepping out and beyond to share my work and meet with writers from across Canada.

I felt good and solid knowing that I had initiated the reading at Dark Horse Books on Sunday. The trick is to make things happen, and not wait for someone else to set up events and alert you when you are needed at the mike, thrusting your book into your hands. The same applies to printing off those poems, shoving them in envelopes and licking the stamps like good-luck kisses for hopeful publication. It is all you, baby. Just like the writing doesn't appear on the screen without you typing, the audiences don't show up without you hollering.

Photo Gallery - National Poetry Month Readings 2007

Poetica Erotica April 21st, Bean Around the World Cafe

Barbara Pelman, Andrea McKenzie, David Pimm, Cynthia Woodman Kerkham, Yvonne Blomer (no photo), and other sexy readers


















When you touch me just there, well,



you know what will happen.



I’ll arch forward to meet your finger



touch tip from nose to toe



and ohhhh, a small flick of



something just wet enough to taste –



and sometimes a tongue in your ear



left too long is, well, just a tongue



in your ear.



So, don’t stay there too long



if you don’t want me to giggle –



if you want a different kind of



uncontrollable wiggle of body to breast



to bum and oh! just touch me some.




by Andrea McKenzie














The Black Stilt Cafe, April 27

Andrea McKenzie and Sean Horlor






















Dark Horse Books, April 29

Barbara Pelman, Eric Miller, Yvonne Blomer, Allan Brown and Andrea McKenzie


Saturday, April 21, 2007

Writing On Week Five

Every Friday night (nearly) I lug 3 to 5 copies of my book to Planet Earth Poetry at the Black Stilt Cafe, hoping I'll come away with one or two less. On the odd occasion, my hopes are realized, as I will encounter an old acquaintance or a random listener who felt a connection. On these nights, I usually float out of the cafe and run around in circles in my condo when I get home, repeating over and over to my boyfriend's unending patience "I sold my book!" I have a feeling that no matter how many books I publish or sell or how many readings I attend, this will always happen. I love that after 11 years of reading at the open mike series, my legs still twitch and my hands get shaky. I hope to never lose this nervous energy.

On the evenings that no books are sold and I have gone on my own, my boyfriend must endure my excited babble and maybe a few poems from the featured reader's book I bought. It is wonderful simply to have a place to go and converse with writers and share.

We are told again and again that our reading series in Victoria is the best in Canada, from poets who have travelled and read at many other venues. I would like to take the opportunity to thank the League of Canadian Poets for funding writers to come to our humble, long-running series - as well as Wendy Morton, our faithful, tireless organizer, promoter and hostess (and matron of the 5-minute, one poem rule). We really do have something to treasure.

I look forward to meeting other members of the League when I attend the AGM in Edmonton from June 8-10 in June. Until now, I have been timidly on the fringe of the larger writing community, marvelling at the poets who come to visit and read through the invitation of Wendy and funding of the League of Canadian Poets. This month, I will be giving my first reading for which I will actually receive payment from the League, and this year is my first year as a recognized full member (I received a package in the mail as proof!).

My point is, it is time for me to stop hiding in my room with my computer and to move beyond the borders of Planet Earth Poetry. It is time to get out there!

Monday, April 16, 2007

Blogs to Watch

http://www.patricklane.ca/

http://www.heatherpoet.blogspot.com/

http://www.stephenkarr.blogspot.com/

http://www.robmclennan.blogspot.com/

http://www.iambiccafe.blogspot.com/

http://www.uponthewind.ca/

Recommended Reading

Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman

Speaker's Corner

Seminar Question #4

How To Trust Your Own Writing Voice

There was a question that came out of my writing group, The Waywords, which I thought was worth putting out there to the masses, as it is something that I believe every writer struggles with. Okay, we know we are writers, but we spend a lot of time trying to 'find our voice'. We absorb the words of the great writers armed with the comfort that good writers borrow and great writers steal, but when are we secure enough in our own voice and stop looking to others to say 'here's my poem, fix it'.

Now don't get me wrong - the idea of workshopping is a great tool, but there is a fine line between useful critique and giving someone your poem. You have to also trust the critique and come into a situation knowing on some level where the poem needs tightening - there is already some work that's been done. Individuals at a reading will arrive with their own tastes, and you won't be able to cater to all. That's not your goal, and there is a danger that sometimes those who work on your poem are really writing their own poems.

I realize this is a tender area because most writers have editors. Bottom line - I believe the writer first needs to trust in the direction a piece of work is meant to unfold, in the hard centre of what brought it into existence, and not be lead far elsewhere. The individual writing voice lies in the organic tone of the piece, where the line breaks fall, even if they are gently shifted in places and, most of all, the writer needs to be able to spearhead the suggestions of the editor as they come and not feel as though they are being led down a path that doesn't feel, well, like the intended writing.

Your voice may sound familiar to you from something you heard or read somewhere else - a certain reading voice or a tone of a favourite poet - and the more you interact with literature, the more muddled your writing voice may seem. Isn't that the beauty of finding your individuality? Don't we all take in thousands of pieces of media a day to sift through and decide how we will rearrange it to accommodate our lifestyles and own sets of values? Still, the writing is yours and the work will find its own place.

Thoughts? These are merely mine.

Writing On Week Four

This weekend was a writing treat, as well as a retreat. On Friday night, Gary Hyland read at The Black Stilt from his most recent collection of poetry titled, Hands Reaching In Water. I had heard Gary read at Mocambopo last year and also attended a Sheri-D workshop with him. Gary is a large advocate of the writing that occurs in his native Moosejaw, Saskatchewan, and a generous soul. He bought a copy of my book, which I tried to press on him as a gift. No dice - he was determined to help out a younger, aspiring writer. The evening was a gift.

On Saturday, we (my unexploited boyfriend and I) drove to Nanaimo to attend the 30th Anniversary of the Federation of BC Writers. My writing colleague, Yvonne Blomer, also attended. The event was hosted by David Fraser, the Regional representative of the Federation, and proved to be an entertaining afternoon. I was glad to have a new audience, and thrilled to sell three copies of my book before jumping in our car and heading back down the island. In truth, it was a treat simply to be out of Victoria for a few hours on a gorgeous spring day.

Thank you to those of you who have left comments and sent emails to let me know that the blog is working, and not just on a technical level. I am excited to keep up a weekly writing profile and engage in any writing-related thoughts, debates, tips or events that we all have to share. I'm also going to create a section for any recommended books or particular writers - so please add your favourites. Lately, I am concentrating more on reading and studying, than cannon-balling into my own work. I have a healthy list to start from with writers waiting patiently to be revisited on my bookshelf from university days, and courtesy of my poetry retreats with Patrick Lane. I'm also making a better effort to bend the spines on the monthly literary journals that come into my mailbox. However, with that said, there are so many dynamic and evocative voices, new and old, so I would appreciate knowing of any writers that knock the wind out of you!

Monday, April 9, 2007

Morning Couplets

Rain keeps me in, wrapped in my own dry skin; this warmth
of paper piling around me ready to ignite, this mountain of me.

The soft, expectant keys on my laptop accompany
the fractional opening of bedroom blinds to let in some light.

Dusty bulbs on the chandelier, unlit, hanging above
a bouquet of lilies, carnations, mums - a single rose bulb, dusty pink.

The sun-streaked sky fills with light mist, a paradox,
while winter clouds charge like cattle overhead, a mindless drove.

I sip coffee beans, sit to hear my body awaken to this brighter room,
myself in it, content, glad for silence and ceilings.

I wake up in fog, blocking my passages and the taste of near rain;
this closed-in day, licked and sealed before I unwrap my covers.

This is our morning ritual - propped pillows, mugs of tea, unstifled yawns
and animal stretches, a slow caress with lightly pressing palms.

The spindly trees stand outside like soldiers, after battling high winds
and rounds of machine-gun rain, they stand at the morning's command.

Saturday, April 7, 2007

Writing On Week Three

Happy Easter, everyone! For the first time in a few years I have the luxury of a 4-day weekend, and am using this time for writing, as well as taking care of housekeeping items. Taxes, for one. Okay, I won't think about that at the moment, as it will only make my blood rush (in a not-so-good sort of way) and thwart any other activity. Instead, I'll think about bunnies and chocolate - and how did we ever get bunnies and chocolate out of Easter? All of these strange holiday rituals that seem to stumble off the intended path... but, I must admit, in my heathen tendencies I might choose chocolate over carrying a cross up a hill any day. At Planet Earth Poetry, one poet made a thoughtful remark about why we ever came to call the Friday before Easter 'Good Friday'. Shouldn't it be considered 'Bad Friday'? Good point. The holiday seems to be more sugar-coated than the stores alone can make it.
Friday was a good Friday, though, because Planet Earth Poetry featured Bill Bissett. For those of you who have not been treated to one of Bill's readings, keep your eyes and ears peeled for a performance near you. I believe everyone should hear Bill at least once in their lifetime, as he takes on both an intellectual and child-like view of the world and everything in the world. He spreads an innocent delight that we can all identify with... if we look at the world from upside down or tilt our head at a certain angle...

I feel privileged simply to have him recognize me at our sporadic meetings at his poetry readings. Bill possesses an openness and sincerity that few embody as a constant in their everyday existence.

I digress, but what a way to spend the long weekend -- a good book, an opportunity to walk in the sunshine, write, reflect on family and friends (however that is defined for you), and seep in poetry. The taxes can wait... for awhile.

Friday, April 6, 2007

Reviews

In Paper Trail, Paré Writes Her Way into Work

by Andrea McKenzie

In Arleen Paré’s first book, Paper Trail, published by NeWest Press, she examines the everyday ritual of people dreaming themselves into and out of working. Nearing the end of her long career, a sentence, in the public service, Paré dissects the surreal and all-too-real aspects of life in the office.

The book is a series of fleeting or consuming observations, memories, thoughts and mental schedules that flow into each other like the days of the week. Paré leads us through her inner files, a briefcase filled with poetry, poetic prose, memoir and fiction. She records the misconceptions about work, both inside and outside of the office, in relation to who we are. There are sections of her book that focus on the social graces of work life and the unwritten code of fitting in, and using appropriate, airy topics for conversations with colleagues.

There are dense pages and white spaces, like work and the life in-between work. Paré looks at work as a commodity for life and how we calculate our happiness. She gives us the plight of a career woman, shifting gears between different roles that include mother, wife, daughter, and civil servant. Interestingly, she brings in another examination of how the roles of women and their existence differ in comparison with her mother’s generation.

She pairs the surreal, seemingly arbitrary working world with the concrete, practicality of life, and the surreal experiences of life with the encroaching reality of work; measuring security and what her work allows her to have in life. She uses a Cinderella complex to draw a parallel in the idea of work, security, and perceptions being impermanent.

In the midst of all this, she has short, unexpected conversations or daydreams with her own personal Kafka, which is developed throughout the book, trying to find answers, a balance or an anchor, and preparing for this transformation of leaving work.

The notion of working as part of our freewill, and subjecting ourselves to the weight, fear, demand and criticism of our work is a crucial part. She writes about trying to write herself out of her office where she feels boxed in, drawing on the story of a man who spends twenty years in a jail cell and was afraid to leave it when the door was finally opened. He wouldn’t leave. There is an invisible chain that links the civil servant to his or her desk, and the security of a full pension dangling in front of them like a gold carrot.

From there, she launches into the lists of survival kit items for everyday, to survive the office wilderness. Her briefcase is both a burden and a necessity. Paré also identifies herself and her work through the personal sacrifices, self-preservation and resourcefulness of her Parénts’ working lives. In the same vein, Paré likens work to religion and takes another look at these beliefs and values.

In Paper Trail, Paré writes another story between the musings of her work poems, writing herself into a real fiction.



Poet Explores Colours Coming Out of the Blue in New Work

By Andrea McKenzie

On December 1st, Betsy Warland, a Vancouver-based writer and the director of The Writer’s Studio at Simon Fraser University, will read from her most recent work, a book of poetry titled Only This Blue at the Martin Batchelor Gallery 5:30 pm to 7 pm.

Only This Blue is a long poem that explores coping with a life-threatening experience through the guidance of colour. Warland experiments with usage of words and poetic structure, such as line breaks and white space to create depth and meaning. The narrator of the long poem struggles with the effects of an illness, and learns a new and uneven landscape through the use of words and colour. There are four dominant colours in the poem: green, red, yellow and, finally, blue. Warland uses colour to identify a language for her experience.

The concept of the long poem was not something Warland had initially designed. The colours came as she was going through treatment. She had been writing non-fiction for four years and facing a life-threatening experience brought her back to poetry, as she said she had a need to write “closer to home”. The book was originally meant to be written in four suites of colours, and then gradually became one long, united poem. Her inspiration of colour stems from the colours of nature. Blue is the colour of the sky, and “the sky is unknowable and yet it holds great comfort and wisdom”. Colour “became a major guide for me.”

“I don’t have a negative association with any colour, as they represent the natural world for me. When going through a life-threatening experience, it is important to find a companion or relationship. As a child, a great companion to me was nature. When we are going through a crisis it can provoke fear in other people but nature is never afraid of you,” said Warland. “Now I live in an urban environment, but I value the natural world still thriving amidst the concrete.

There is a significant absence of blue throughout the poem, until the end of the book, when blue appears as a symbol of knowledge and calm; a realization and acceptance of the illness and knowing there is nothing we are able to control.

“There is a tendency when facing a big unknown to seek structure and answers. Once you go through something like that, you realize that you don’t know what will happen. This is our human condition – our awareness of uncertainty– and learning to embrace that is freeing; is a relief! For me, blue bridges everything, as it holds all colours.”

Warland has published nine books, which includes – What holds us Here (1998) and serpent (w)rite (1987) – a memoir, Bloodroot: Tracing the Untelling of Motherloss (2000), and essays, Proper Deafinitions (1990).



A Broken Mirror, Fallen Leaf: Crossing the Cultural Divide


by Andrea McKenzie

As Yvonne Blomer explains, the title for her first book of poetry published by Ekstasis Editions, a broken mirror, fallen leaf, depicts the idea that we cannot go back from a journey without transformation.

Crossing borders is more than boarding a plane and crossing geographical borders. It is embracing another world – the people, language, culture – and accepting yourself as always being a fraction separate from that world. Her book explores the barrier between cultural images that both divides and bridges the experience of being a Caucasian woman living in Japan. She has the advantage of being an outsider to eavesdrop on situations that are both foreign and startlingly human.

The book itself is divided into four sections, or seasons, of her journey: Four Seasons, Gaijin da (foreign person), Small Japan, and The Path Leading Home. In Four Seasons, Blomer looks at these quiet barriers and an intimacy that occurs with the natural world, as seen in her poem “Crabs”. The armchair reader is given a glimpse of sensual and historical Japan in “Onsen 1”, and is treated to a ‘fly on the wall’ account of tender relationship rituals holding everyday gestures of beauty and surprise.

In many of her poems, the language is sparse and full, all at once, such as in “Ofuco”. There are near haikus, and small moments not to be forgotten that hold the universe, as in the poem “Ways of Seeing a Firefly”. The variation of poem structures serves to capture each scene in its own organic rhythm.

Blomer also reveals a confessional side to her poetry, as in her connection with her own husband while adjusting to a new world and becoming more familiar with this landscape. Still, the reader is aware of a sharpness in the contrast that is felt as an outsider invited, but not entirely belonging, as shown in the poem “Four Seasons in Japan”.

The second part of the book, Gaijin da, is a series of poems that are a kind of awakening. These poems are jolting, yet subtle, and lend a braver, closer look at the surroundings and mysteries of Japan, such as in “Through the Temple with Buddha.” Blomer delves into a more observational scope with these poems, and the sketches of the local people and activities. She engages and comments largely on her own strangeness and peculiar presence to the Japanese, as seen in “The Bats Came in Place of the Swallows”. Her four-part Ghazals piece together these abstract lines, trying to make sense of disjointed ideas, sights and movements.

Blomer has included a glossary in her book to help the reader navigate through this other world. This added touch is a necessity, but also a gesture of invitation by the author to join her, and to stumble over these foreign sounds and make sense of them.

A broken mirror, fallen leaf is a journey in which a new life is adopted and, as with any new experience, we are never quite the same.

*A broken mirror, fallen leaf is short-listed for the 2007 Gerald Lampert award, which is a prestigious award developed by the League of Canadian Poets to recognize the best first book of poetry in Canada.

Published in Monday Magazine, April 24, 2007