Rules governing the Road to Success: Part 1

1. Always read the last page of a contract first. People who write contracts often put contractees in pressure situations to read the contract quickly. They put the stuff that you will like least at the end in the hopes that you will not finish reading the entire contract and sign it with partial knowledge.

2. Learn to deliver information that you know people won't like with a smile. It is more difficult to take issue with a smiling fool than a hesitant person who makes disclaimers like nurses before they "drop the needle"

3. Find novel ways to promote yourself. A couple strategies I have found novel: putting stickers on $2 coins, putting cardboard flyers in the leaves of hedges in park settings.

Canada: why do you ignore me so?

Well, I received another rejection letter. This time it was Oolichan books rejecting my collection of villanellies, saying that it was "creative and well-executed, but not suitable for our roster." This sounds like most of the rejections that presses hand out. Not one editorial comment. I know that they have many submissions to wade through, but if they cannot martial the voluntary resources of literature-lovers to create time for the editorial board to make substantive responses to writers' submissions, then it's on them that writers like me are not getting published and overhyped writers like Atwood, Ondaatje, Martel are monopolizing the literary market. This is not to say that these writers are not worthy of their success, but it is to say that there is lots of raw talent not being published because of various forms of nepotism.

I get hits from all over the world on my blog: Finland, China, Japan, Korea, Spain, England, Slovenia, Germany. I think I have more readers in China than in Canada.

I am a gold mine waiting to happen. What publisher is going to get the privilege of publishing my first book?

Kyoto: took yo' toy!

The Canadian Government recently released a study of the costs of following through with Canada’s plan to accomodate the Kyoto Protocol. It said that such an act would cause the economy to shrink by 4.2 percent, equal to the recession in the early eighties. Well, this is ridiculous. First of all, the long-term costs of NOT accomodating the Protocol are greater than the inverse because much of Vancouver will be underwater within a few decades if we don’t implement the Protocol. Second, the study did not take the economic growth aspects of rallying around the Kyoto Protocol. My brother-in-law, who works at a fibreglass plant said recently that Fibrelaminations, a company I also used to work for, is starting to quote prices on wind-generator blades.

His company, should the Kyoto Protocol be followed to the letter, stands to gain from a business point of view because the taxes proposed to limit greenhouse emissions will increase the interest in greener forms of energy production such as the wind. Harper, an Albertan, and his government are looking to protect the economic growth promised by the oil sands. Ironically, it was Conservative Brian Mulroney who privatized Petro-Canada, which was previously a Crown corporation. Had Petro-Canada not been privatized, the government of Canada would be able to cut taxes even more than Stephen Harper has done.

Furthermore, the cost of greenhouse emissions on the health care system, largely unknown and unstudied, could undo any economic benefits that failing to live up to the Kyoto Protocol might bring.

Mass Murder and the Modern Age

There's lots of renewed interest in Hitchcock lately, perhaps the best filmmaker to never win an Oscar. You have Disturbia, a scarcely veiled remake of the master's Rear Window; you have Fracture which uses Hitchcock as a touchpoint in its marketing strategy (it is a suspense/thriller "in the tradition of Hitchcock"); and you have Vacancy a new "motel horror," a genre crowned by Psycho. I was thinking of doing work on Hitchcock for my PhD dissertation, but I'm reconsidering; he does have a whole academic industry picking him to pieces. Does this industry really need another gadfly growing up from maggot status in the master's corpse, oops, I mean corpus!

On the other hand, there are those people who were in the Hitchcock discussion group that I exiled myself from. Their analysis seemed so wishy-washy that it instilled me with a will to show them how it's really done. The discussion group was more like a cult; say a word against the moderator or his acolytes, and consider yourself hen-pecked. No thanks. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I want to pursue Hitchcock because he is eminently worthy of a creative and thorough eye and ear, such as mine are. Too many film scholars are epigones of epigones. I could complain, or I could make my own contribution; I think I would prefer to choose the latter.

A Humbling Experience

I submitted a partial manuscript to the legendary Coach House Press yesterday. It is a confusing place. I've passed it a few times, and I seemed to remember there being a door that opened onto bp nichol lane. Well, was I ever wrong. I walked around to the back, and at first found nothing but a tree and a door that didn't look much like a front door to a press. I returned to bp nichol lane, and saw someone working the presses through the window. I motioned to him, and he opened what was kind of like a door, but not really. I asked him about who made the decisions about which manuscripts get published. He didn't know, and he told me to go up front to find out.

No one was in "the front." There was a typeset office, and a crowded little compartment housing books and a computer that could have been an office had anyone occupied it. There was a narrow stairway leading upstairs, but I wasn't sure whether there was anything up there besides a bathroom. I looked around a bit, picked up a business card, and frantically tried to remember what the building looked like from the outside. Was there an extensive second floor? Finally I bit the bullet and ascended the stairs. I was stopped near the top by a fresh, earnest-faced woman named Alannah. I asked her about the protocols for submitting manuscripts, and suddenly I felt like a teenager again, approaching someone I'm crushing on. It wasn't her so much as Coach House Press itself. Their legacy is a little intimidating, I have to admit. I mean, bp nichol, Christian Bok, Darren Werschler-Henry, and Steve McCaffrey. Yikes!

Thankfully, Allanah cut to the chase and asked for the manuscript. I felt a little sheepish because I had only put my snail mail address on my cover letter, and they prefer to reply via email. But that's one of the advantages of going in person: you can compensate for such deficiencies by simply writing your email address on the cover letter.

When I think about it, I have manuscripts more appropriate for CHP than the one I handed over, but it's the project that has the most momentum for me right now. Yes, it's the collaboration with terminus' own Cecile Carriere.

You should check out Coach House's Websites, because they publish great books.
http://www.chbooks.com/

Portable Brains

One thing I've noticed since I've returned from Korea, is the difference between the favorite doo-dads and gadgets here and there. You walk onto a subway in Korea, and 9 and a half out of 10 people are playing with their cellphones. You are basically a freak if you don't have a cellphone in Korea. They start early too! My seven year old students already had cellphones and were savvy with them. In public, they aren't necessarily talking to anyone or pretending to (like people here do); they play games, listen to music, watch tv, or send text messages on or with their phones. The rate of their text input is astonishing!


Here, cellphones are popular, but not ubiquitous like they are in Korea. Here, MP3 players are the gizmo of choice. I've been noticing that almost everyone who rides the rocket in Toronto has an MP3 player. I wonder how many are listening to music, and how many are listening to E-books. I gave an E-book a try once, but I didn't get into it. I like the book-object; I like turning pages. I wonder what this says about our respective cultures...?

GIMME, GIMME, GIMME!

Please click on the google ads at the top of this page. Thanks!

Paris meets Toronto

I am currently working on a book project with an artist in Paris named Cecile Carriere (sorry Cecile, I know how to do accents in Word, but not in the blog editor). I am writing poems that interpret or narrate her drawings. Her drawings are amazing; they call to mind the etchings of Goya or the drawings of Edvard Munch and/or Otto Dix. Although the grotesque appears frequently as thematic in her work, I don't think she is as bogged down by the despair or the madness communicated through some of these artists' work. Here is the poem I wrote for the drawing displayed to the left. To see more of her drawings, you can view her online gallery at

http://www.terminus1525.ca/studio/view/3967

Lecture

Some listen; some write; some wear the stripes of a vacant braille, an unrecognized memory; some pucker their lips to taste the words they spoke only moments before the spokes of the mind wheel found their simian wrench. When the book opens, the forearm becomes a birdperch, and words fly off the fingers like harpy eagles, looking for heavy prey. We wear language like a veil, a cloven braille that gallops through our manacled eyes. The hand can hold but matter while the ears can catch the wisdom that flies from the distance and lands on our wrinkled consciousness, parietal.

My Science Project

I did this a few months ago, but I forgot to tell you all about it. I grew a bunch of Urea crystals in a cup. I actually tried to grow them on a piece of paper with a Christmas Tree on it to make them look like snowflakes, but they just grew like wildfire on the cup. Urea, if you don't know, is an ingredient of pee.

You might say EWWWWWWWWWWWW, but wait and consider. What makes pee gross? I would argue that it is the smell that makes pee gross. What is it in pee that makes it smell? It is the ammonia. Urea is just a salt. It doesn't smell. Therefore, urea itself is not yucky.

LOVE LIFE, THIS PAIRING LIFE

I hold this promissary note
next to my heart, and the moment
I stopped expressing my love for you
a string of cursed pearls rolled
around my neck and
throttled.

I forgot your name.
I try to forgive myself, but to give
you have to have.

I have nothing but this empty shell
that used to sound
like the sea.

The cursed moment lies on
it's belly and stretches muscles
beyond their limits.

Please come back and let my love
live, bring into fruition
the mad shattering bliss
that leaves no me left.

Names fall like leaves,
blow into the tunnel of my mind,
echo there for a time, then leave.

Why did your name depart,
so dearly I clung to it, and found
rose blooms rather than brambles?

I look at the promissary note.
It is not in my language.
How do I know it promises
my love?

I will love you with the seeds
of my love for the unspeakable,
and if the cherry tree dies,

I apologize.

Come what brambles may,
hold on.

Hold on.

You are the only thing
worth considering right now.