What's That Pants Up To, Anyway?

What's That Pants Up To, Anyway?

Life remains hectic, but in a good way.

I've been fortunate enough to make several appearances on CBC Radio's feistiest show,The Point.

I've also been working with CBC Radio to develop a new show that explores ideas around happiness. It's been a HUGE learning curve for me, having very little radio experience, but it's been big fun and an opportunity to work with amazing people.

This summer I'll be back in the teaching saddle at UBC. The UBC Writing Centre's Summer Intensives are my favourite courses to teach. The format (one week, Monday to Friday, 10am to 3pm) means we cover a huge amount of material in a very short time. The upside is that students become immersed in their form -- they learn how to think like writers, and come away truly committed to their projects. Many classes form writing groups that continue to meet and share work after the course is over.

I'll be teaching the Short Fiction Intensive Workshop July 20th - 24th, 2009 and the Novel Writing Intensive Workshop July 27th - 31st, 2009. These tend to fill up, so register soon!

Am I still working on my novel? (sigh) Yes, I am.

Other than all that, my life has pretty much gone to the dog.

Hope you're all keeping well! And writing, writing, writing!

Signing Off...For Now

Signing Off...For Now

First of all, thank you to all the dedicated readers who have been checking back since March for updates. Life has proven a bit too hectic for me this year, so my plan for 2009: downsize commitments.

The blog isn't gone for good, just put on indefinite hold. I'll try to keep my course information updated, and you can still contact me through this website.

I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season, and that 2009 is full of peace and love, experiments and adventures, and of course, excellent writing.

(A special thanks to Renée Sarojini Saklikar for the photo!)

Should Size Matter?

Should Size Matter?

Amélie Nothomb claims to have written 56, and if Ian McEwan ever decides to write one as good as his first, I might forgive him the books in between.

North American publishers won't touch it, readers resent paying full price for it, and though our obsession with length seeks to permanently seal the gap between short story and novel, the novella remains a stubbornly tense, terse and sparky form, one that refuses to bag, sag, babble or bore -- so, how about it, are we up for a challenge?

Confronting the Canon

Confronting the Canon

A recent article on tackling Ulysses put me in mind of my own reading gaps - Don Quixote, War and Peace, Moby Dick - don't worry, there are plenty more.

Back in 2001, I read Swann's Way, the first volume of Proust's À la Recherche du Temps Perdu. Captivated by its brilliance, I bought the complete six-volume box set, determined to devour the epic in one continuous swallow. But that didn't happen. To make matters worse, I now barely remember volume one.

Luckily, contrition loves company: writers and critics confess their gravest sins of literary omission.

Spring Is In The Air

Spring Is In The Air

And a girl's thoughts turn to false memoir admissions and charges of plagiarism.

First, this woman didn't live with a pack of wolves, and now, this woman doesn't know her Bloods from her Crips.

Incidentally, the "Margaret B. Jones" book was published by Riverhead, the same imprint that published this whack-job's memoir. His novel is due out in May; get the plagiarism software ready.

At least the poets aren't doing it, right? Oh, I can't resist: an absolute gem from the archives.

Update: NPR offers a panel discussion on why and how literary fraud happens.

It's Hard Work...

It's Hard Work...

Writing from, yes, that's right, Mauritius, Tim Lott, jury president for the Le Prince Maurice Award, a luxury book prize for literary love stories, questions why writers have fallen out of love with love.

And in completely unrelated news, exactly how many times must Richard Yates be rediscovered before it sticks?

Close Your Eyes and Think of England

Close Your Eyes and Think of England

Robert Olen Butler's newest collection, Intercourse offers a fictional glimpse into the sex lives of famous couples, contemporary and historical: Charles and Diana, Bill and Hilary, Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, even George and Laura Bush (shudder).

Conspicuous by their absence are Butler's ex-wife, Elizabeth Dewberry and Ted Turner.

Viva Latin America!

Viva Latin America!

In this weekend's Observer interview, Junot Diaz had this to say about his North American writer friends:

"I was kind of bad luck. Most of them paid lip service to the idea that a work of art could take a long time, but a lot of them assumed I was doomed. For them, if they went two years without writing a book, they'd kill themselves. In Latin America, of course, no one would have cared."

They have siesta, we have kvetching.

Here's some new kvetching by Zadie Smith.

We Interrupt This Program

We Interrupt This Program

During my blog hiatus, I did manage to attend the swankiest book launch ever. A belated congratulations to fellow Bastards Denise Ryan and Carol Shaben, who both have kick-ass essays in the motherhood anthology, Between Interruptions.

Carol sent around this hilarious and painfully accurate portrayal of the writer/editor relationship. Thanks, Carol!

Bitch-Slappingly Good

Bitch-Slappingly Good

Nathan Whitlock's first book, A Week of This will be published in April. It's going to be good. I haven't read it yet, but if it's anything like the scathing reviews he's famous for, expect some lacerating prose.

For a time, Whitlock worked at my agent's office and through our frequent exchanges, we became friends. We emailed, chatted on the phone, had drinks whenever I visited Toronto. I wrote him a gushing reference letter to help him secure a writing grant. Whitlock was already building quite a reputation as a literary critic. And though I admired and respected his eloquence and intellectual rigor, I had serious doubts about the value of public criticism, and couldn't help but sympathize with his, er, victims.

You see, in the year before Whitlock and I became friends, I had received a particularly unkind review. Granted, it was only one line (the review was of an anthology in which a story of mine appeared) but it affected me enough that I sat on the bookstore floor and scribbled the heinous accusation (I believe it referred to my use of the second person POV as "fey") onto a scrap of paper, along with name of the wretched reviewer, a name I swore I'd carry in my vengeful heart until the day I died -- right after I scurried out to my car and cried into my purse. The damage was deep and sharp, and it seemed that I might never recover. But eventually, the scrap of paper slipped in with the slurry of papers on my desk, and reviewer's name gave way to larger, more urgent anxieties. Time, apparently, does heal most wounds, at least those inflicted by critics.

Not long after my first book was published, Nathan left my agent's office to focus on his own writing. I was thrilled for him, and we stayed in contact, though more sporadically. It was while I was avoiding work on my second book that I decided to reorganize my rejection file, and discovered, to my amazement, that long forgotten scrap of paper. Though years had passed, the pithy line that had sent me into months of anguish and self-doubt still stung as I read it. And then I burst out laughing. Recorded there in my cramped, wounded scrawl, the agent of my humiliation, the reviewer I had sworn to hate forever: Nathan Whitlock.

Literary Matrimony

Literary Matrimony

John and I officially merged book collections in early October, and after a beautiful wedding, two honeymoons, and countless hours of do-nothing marital bliss, we've reluctantly dragged ourselves back to work.

Ah, sweet married life.

Let's Face It

Let's Face It

At first, there seemed many ways to rationalize chick-lit. For instance, we could blame male readers for not showing up at readings or joining book groups.

Then Erica Jong questioned why women writers chose to wallow in the chick-lit ghetto.

That led us to revisit this landmark article. Not to mention its first rebuttal. And second rebuttal. Of course, we were more than charmed by Ms. Prose's acerbic deadpan.

Finally, a bit of statistical analysis to cleanse the palate.

Hmm, I see now that I may have inadvertently programed an entire women's studies course. Damn. I hate it when I do that.