Author Spotlights

Julian Smith is an award-winning speculative-fiction writer based in Yarmouth. His fiction has appeared in Asimov’s, Lightspeed, Terraform, and other venues. In 2016, his short story “Headshot” was included in The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy (Mariner Books), edited by Karen Joy Fowler and John Joseph Adams. Smith will be offering a workshop, Tiny Universes: Writing and Publishing Science Fiction Short Stories, in Yarmouth on Saturday, March 2. In what follows, he talks about the first time he was paid for his writing, his advice for aspiring writers, and more.

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How long have you been writing? What drew you to writing in general, and science fiction and fantasy in particular?

I’ve been making up stories since I was a kid, and have been playing at being a writer since early high school, but I got serious when I moved to Nova Scotia in 2010 and found myself unemployed in a small fishing village. That’s when I started actually finishing projects and submitting them for publication. 

What do you think is changing in science fiction these days? 

It feels like an exciting time for sci fi and fantasy, because the genres are finally starting to shake their reputation as a club for straight white dudes. Of course, there have always been diverse voices in fantasy and SF, but it feels like those voices are finally starting to get the attention they deserve. For example, women of colour are killing it right now—and getting the awards to prove it. Check out N.K. Jemisin, Nnedi Okorafor, and Sofia Samatar.

What was it like to have a short story included in Best American Science Fiction & Fantasy?

A dream come true. I still can’t quite believe that I was published in an anthology alongside so many of my heroes—Sofia Samatar, Kelly Link, Salman freakin’ Rushdie! It still doesn’t quite seem real, especially because I still feel no more confident or well-established than before. Writing each story is still a process of making it up as I go along.

What advice do you have for aspiring writers?

It will always feel like hard, exhausting work. I think one of the most damaging myths about writing, and creativity in general, is that it should flow naturally from your fingertips, a gush or pure inspiration. I like the following three quotes about writing and art-making:

“A writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.”— Thomas Mann

“Inspiration does exist, but it has to find you working.”—Pablo Picasso 

“I don’t like to write, but I love having written.”— Unknown 

This may not seem like advice, but in a way it is. If you get tricked by the “outpouring of inspiration” nonsense, you’ll probably give up when it feels clumsy and awkward and hard. Remember—that’s what it’s supposed to feel like. Those feelings are what produce good writing.

What’s great about writing in your part of Nova Scotia? 

Cheap property. You can own a huge, beautiful home and your mortgage payments will be less than the cost of renting the tiniest apartment in a big city. You can have a dedicated writing space and a library and a big yard. You can walk to deserted beaches and bike to your day job along old railway tracks.

What’s your guilty pleasure? 

I grew up in England, and like many British nerds I cut my nerd teeth on Games Workshop’s tabletop war games, which I recently started collecting and playing again. There’s a board game called Blood Bowl that simulates an extremely violent version of football played by elves and orks and treemen and halflings. It’s incredibly silly and also it’s a blast.

Do you remember the first time you were paid for your writing? What was it like? 

I have complicated feelings about this, and my answer might sound a bit crass. The first story I sold was to Daily Science Fiction, an online magazine that emails a story a day to subscribers. I was thrilled! And they paid pro rates! The idea that someone was saying “we want to pay you as a professional to do this” was incredibly affirming. But it was also depressing to calculate how many stories I would need to sell at that rate to make minimum wage. Here’s the math:

SFWA recently announced they’re increasing their definition of “pro rates” to $0.08 (USD) per word. Nova Scotia recently increased its minimum wage to $11.35 an hour. If an average story is 2,000 words, that means you would have to sell roughly 110 stories a year (at the current exchange rate) to make what you would make working a 40-hour-a-week minimum wage job—or a little over two stories every week! Even if you could write decent, publishable stories that fast, there probably aren’t enough pro paying markets out there to publish them all. There might have been a few writers who pulled this off back in the pulp days, but I think it would be impossible today.

So you might think I would say the money doesn’t matter—but that’s not how I feel at all! It’s easy for creative people to devalue creative work. It’s easy to let ourselves get taken advantage of, because most of us would be doing the work whether we were paid or not. It’s easy to pretend that talking about payment rates is gauche and beneath the dignity of an artist. I think that’s all damaging. Writers should be paid for their work. Even the pro rates for sci fi are not enough, but they’re not nothing. That first story I sold was a short one. I got $50 for it. But it made a difference. I got a huge confidence boost—and I got $50 (US!). Both were important.

Where do you like to write? Do you have a designated writing space, or do you like to move around? 

My house in Yarmouth has a beautiful, furnished attic where I’ve set up an office. You can only reach it via a treacherous staircase with a very low railing. I love to write up there. But it’s incredibly hot in the winter and incredibly cold in the summer, so it’s only really useable for a few months a year. But also, the silence and stillness of home can feel oppressive sometimes, so I write a lot in a local café (a cliché, I know). I like having a certain amount of background hubbub. It helps me focus.

What are you working on right now? 

A young adult novel called The Wildlands and a short story inspired by ghosts and Pokemon Go.

Based in Halifax, Ian Colford writes short fiction, novels, and literary criticism. His first book, the short fiction collection Evidence (Porcupine’s Quill, 2008), won the Margaret and John Savage First Book Award and was a finalist for the Thomas Raddall Atlantic Fiction Prize, the Danuta Gleed Literary Award, and the ReLit Award. Since then, he has gone on to publish two novels. His second book of short fiction will appear with Nimbus in 2019. In what follows, he talks to us about inspiration, writer’s block, the first time he was paid for his writing, his advice for aspiring writers, and more.

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How long have you been writing? What drew you to writing in general, and fiction in particular? 

I’ve been writing fiction for so long it’s hard to pinpoint exactly when it started. Growing up, I wasn’t much of a reader and I didn’t write at all. I didn’t discover books until I was almost finished high school. We had lots of books at home, but early on I was a math and science geek. I liked facts and making lists. My first degree is a B.Sc. with a major in mathematics. But during my first year of university (1976) I got a part-time shelving job at the public library, where I came across works by authors I’d never heard of (Cheever, Updike, Drabble, Welty, Gardner, Garcia Marquez, among many others). Curiosity got the better of me and once I started reading I didn’t want to stop. It was like I was trying to quench an insatiable hunger that I even hadn’t realized I’d been suffering. After reading non-stop for several years, I started thinking, I can do that. I walked away from science and did a masters in English. I wrote my first short stories in grad school, goofy miniatures that I showed to a few people then stuck in a drawer. After graduation I got a job and lost myself in work for a few years, but I was still drawn to telling stories and creating characters and building worlds for them to inhabit. By the end of the 1980s I’d written a novel (deservedly and thankfully unpublished), and in the 1990s I started writing short stories again, but seriously this time, with the intention of submitting them to journals. Looking back, I think what attracted me to fiction is the freedom to invent, the sense that absolutely anything goes, that any idea is viable, depending of course on how you approach it, how you tease out its dramatic potential. Writing fiction is also addictive, a form of enchantment—different from reading, but similar in the sense that once you start, you never want to stop.

In addition to writing fiction, you frequently review books for journals like The Antigonish Review. How do you approach reviewing? Do you find that your work as a literary critic has influenced your own writing? 

Ever since I started writing for publication I’ve demanded more of the books that I read, more at any rate than simple entertainment. Time is short and there are a lot of books out there, so I’m disinclined to spend time reading a book that’s not teaching me something new about writing. Reviewing takes this to another level. You develop an intensive relationship with the book under review: you can’t respond to it in a knee-jerk fashion. You have to look closely enough to understand what’s working and what isn’t, and you have to be able to justify whatever verdict you reach. You can’t just say you love it or hate it and leave it at that, you have to articulate your position and explain your reasoning. I find it instructive to approach books in this way from time to time. By taking a nuts-and-bolts approach—peering under the hood at what another writer has done, successfully or not—I can decide if that’s something I might be inclined to try myself. 

Do you remember the first time you were paid for your writing? What was it like? 

I believe it was when a story called “My Mistake” was published by Event. I remember being shocked and delighted when the acceptance letter came, with its far-fetched promise that I would actually receive money for my efforts. Event pays reasonably well, or they did in 1993. I got around $300 for that story and it came like a windfall, unexpected riches. I probably blew it on books and CDs.

What do you do when you have writer’s block?

In my experience, there are many and various reasons for being unable to write. Life distractions are ever-present, or it can be a stubborn story line that refuses to reveal what happens next, or a character you don’t know well enough to be able to see what their next move will be. It can be a poorly conceived idea that should never have been pursued in the first place, or you might find yourself in that no-man’s land between projects, where life seems empty and nothing grips you. Any of these can make you seize up and doubt what you’re doing. If I get blocked midway through a story or novel, I step back and look critically at what I’ve written so far. This can take a few days or a few months. First, I have to decide if the story is worth the sweat I’ve put into it. If the answer is yes, and if I still can’t get the flow back, I might set it aside and do something else for a while, some other activity, not necessarily writing. The best activity by far is reading, because you might hit on a book that gets your juices flowing again. Or go for a walk, or listen to some music. The important thing though is to remain connected with the story you’re working on, at some level. If the characters and their struggles are in your thoughts—and it doesn’t matter that your head is filled with all kinds of other stuff—the right idea can come along when you least expect it.

What advice do you have for aspiring writers?

Read, read, read, and then read some more. Reading will help focus your efforts and put you in touch with what you want to accomplish as a writer. Remember that all writing is derivative. Nobody writes in a vacuum. All of the writers you admire started by emulating writers they admired. If you read enough and you have what it takes, at some point your head will be overflowing with original ideas. 

Also, I think most writers have been on the receiving end of a piece of advice that goes, “Write what you know.” I certainly have. I was once offered that advice while at a workshop where I was looking for feedback on a novel set in South America, where I’ve never been. I believe that all writing is exploration. Grant your imagination the freedom to go wherever it wants. If you end up writing for publication, the industry will impose enough limits on what you can do. Don’t start out by imposing limits on yourself.

What’s your guilty pleasure?

I really enjoy mystery, suspense, and detective novels. The best of these combine a taut narrative with engaging characters tackling difficult questions and possibly putting themselves at risk. If the characters have complex backstories, deep inner lives and the prose features the occasional literary flourish, so much the better. If I was to offer a recommendation, you can’t do better than the Simon Serrailler detective novels by Susan Hill and the Quirke crime novels by John Banville writing as Benjamin Black.

What are you working on right now?

My current project is a novel focusing on the case of a missing child. It has a contemporary urban setting, and the girl goes missing prior to the start of the book. The structure is in three parts: the first is told from the perspective of the father, who loses his daughter at a playground, the second from the mother’s perspective, who is trying to deal with the loss and a variety of private demons, and the third from the perspective of one of the detectives on the case.

Lesley Crewe is the author of ten novels, including Relative Happiness (Nimbus Publishing, 2005), which has been adapted as a major motion picture; Mary Mary (Nimbus Publishing, 2016); and Beholden (Nimbus Publishing, 2018). In what follows, she talks about her previous work as a freelance writer and columnist, her advice for aspiring writers, what she likes about living and writing in Cape Breton, and more.

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How long have you been writing? What drew you to writing in general, and fiction in particular? 

I’ve been writing in journals and diaries for a long time, and sent long-winded letters home to my parents when the children were little. I took English in university and have loved books since I was two. Nothing made me happier than reading. I started writing columns in magazines around 2000, and I enjoyed that, but then was asked to do some freelance articles, which eventually bored me. Making up stories felt like my nursery rhyme books and that was comforting. I published my first novel in 2005, when I turned fifty. All of it was just for fun. When something happens in my life, and I have to process it, I turn to a pen. Other people sing, dance or crochet.

What do you think is changing in fiction these days?  

There’s more of it. The choice is overwhelming and inspiring, but I know I’ll never get around to reading it all, and that makes me sad. I almost have a panic attack when I walk in a bookstore now, which is why book sellers are so important. I depend on them to help me choose.

You’re a former freelance writer and columnist. Has this work informed your fiction? If so, how?

Every time you write anything, it helps you in the future. It’s like a muscle that becomes stronger. The writing that helped me the most with my fiction was writing a screenplay. That was definitely like homework. Editing to the nth degree. My writing became a bit tighter after that, and that’s a good thing. You don’t want to meander all over the place, which is why it’s so essential to have a great editor!

What’s the biggest misconception about being a writer? 

That it’s easy.  Everyone has a fabulous story (and I’m sure they do), and when they get five minutes, they’re going to write a book. Hopefully they will, if that’s what they want, but it’s not always that simple. I know how tough it can be, which is why I so admire writers, and not just the ones who are published. I did a school visit to a grade four classroom and a little boy came up to me and said, “This is your lucky day! I’m a writer too!”

What advice do you have for an aspiring writer? 

Write as if no one is ever going to read it. Just put it all out there and don’t censor yourself. Later you can delete, delete, delete. And don’t fret if you stop writing for a while. Sometimes not writing is as important as writing. It’s like the tide, or breathing in and out. You need both to make it work.

What’s great about writing in your part of Nova Scotia? 

I live in Cape Breton. This place is a haven for the most fantastic characters alive. I just stand in line at Sobeys and they’re right there. Being here is like being in the middle of a great big character soup! Silver Donald Cameron told me there was a very handsome priest in his neck of the woods that the locals called “Father What-a-Waste”. How can you beat that?  

What’s your guilty pleasure? 

Watching British movies or television series on Netflix, when I’m supposed to be writing or cleaning my house.

Do you have any writing rituals? 

I grab the cat and bring him into my study. His purring makes me happy. I shut the door and open the window so I can hear the rain and watch the birds. I always shut the door, even when I’m alone in the house. I don’t want all that dialogue to escape down the hallway.

Do you remember the first time you were paid for your writing? What was it like? 

No, not really. Isn’t that disappointing? But I do remember my first advance and thinking, “Holy crap. What have I done?!” It wasn’t make-believe any more.

What are you working on right now? 

I’m starting on a book of my columns, Are You Kidding Me? It should be a fun process. Completely different from what I’m used to. It will be nice to change things up.

Stephanie Domet is the author of two novels, Homing (Invisible Publishing, 2007), which won the Margaret and John Savage First Book Award, and Fallsy Downsies  (Invisible Publishing, 2013), which won the Jim Connors Dartmouth Book Award. She also writes non-fiction for publications across Canada, including The Coast, Quill & Quire, and The National Post. In the following, she talks to us about rejection, getting paid as a writer, her new projects, and more. 

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How long have you been writing? What drew you to writing in general, and fiction in particular? 

I have been writing since I learned how to grasp a pencil. So, since about 1975. I have always been a writer. I grew up in a family that prioritized storytelling—especially funny storytelling. My dad was never a professional writer—he was a teacher—but he had written poetry in his youth and had dreamed of becoming a writer. My mother, who stayed home with us kids, has always had a story bent. She was my first editor, and both she and my dad rooted hard for me to become a writer, despite the lack of economic stability in such a path. I can’t say for sure what drew me to fiction, except that I loved to read, and writing was a way for me to continue to be immersed in story.

What do you think is changing in fiction these days? 

Good question. I’m not sure I have an answer. What I hope is changing is the access to readers for all kinds of writers. I am hopeful that readers, festivals, and publishers are starting to look outside the narrow band of cis, white, middle class voices that have, by and large, made up our literature so far.

In addition to being a writer, you’ve spent many years working in radio. How did you find the transition from radio to writing? 

There was no transition from radio to writing, as I have always been a writer. I learned a lot on the radio, though. It’s like waiting on tables, which I think is in many ways excellent training for a writer of fiction. It gives you intimate access to people at their best and at their worst. Hosting a radio show immersed me in story in a different way, and showed me a deep and rich palette of human experience. A crash course in what it is to be alive. It also reminded me to pare down my writing to its essence—I do tend to want to go on, but you can’t really do that on the radio. It also gave me a chance to interview so many incredible writers, which was truly a privilege. All that said, I am so glad to be free of the daily need to be in the same place at the same time for eight to ten hours in a row. I am also glad to be out of the public eye a bit. That part became increasingly difficult for me. I am an introverted extrovert, or maybe an extroverted introvert. Being public property is not sustainable for me in the long run. So. My current set up—where I do some writing, some editing, some working for various clients, some sewing, and a whole lot of staring out the window—is very good. And sustainable in the long run.

You teach writing to children through your Tiny Empire Writing Workshop. Where did you get the idea for this program?  

A friend who homeschools her kids asked if they could come over and learn about the work of being a writer. Her five-year-old was particularly interested. So they dropped by and we talked about writing, and we did a simple writing exercise together—we brainstormed a character and put her in an impossible situation to see what she’d do. It was lots of fun, and my friend encouraged me to run a workshop. I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to do that—but then in early 2018, when I was thinking about what I wanted my work life to look like, I revisited the idea and thought maybe I would give it a try, just to see if I liked it. Turns out, I love it. I teach kids between the ages of eight and thirteen, for an hour at a time, once a week, in my dining room. They blow me away with their imagination, their creativity, their boldness and risk-taking. They are writers with pure hearts. The world has not yet told them: NO, and if I can forestall that a little longer and instead tell them: HECK YES, then that feels like a good day’s work. And they inspire me every single day.

What advice do you have for aspiring writers?

Don’t be so hard on yourself. You are not your writing, and a rejection is not a referendum on your worth as a person. If your first draft sucks, congratulations, you’re doing it right. Your second draft will probably be marginally better, and that’s okay too. By your third draft, you might start to think that maybe there’s a possibility that you might perhaps be starting to get around to getting somewhere. It takes time. And if it feels difficult, that’s because it often is. You’re fine. Consider the stakes—no one has to see your writing at all, if you don’t want them to. But when you’re ready, it’ll be okay. An editor can help you so much, so take as much of their advice as resonates with you. Be open to feedback. Try it different ways to see what works. None of it is written in stone. Unless you are actually chiselling your work into rock, in which case, no wonder it seems so difficult. Basically, all my advice—and most of my teaching—revolves around self-help. Writing is hard, but you can totally do it. So, start.

What’s great about writing in your part of Nova Scotia? 

What drew me to Halifax, where I moved 22 years ago from Toronto, was a feeling of wide-open possibility. I still feel that here. I love the space of this place. It’s cosmopolitan enough to keep this city girl satisfied, but not so dense that you can’t make eye contact with passers-by. There’s room here to be an artist, to collaborate with others quickly and easily. There’s an energy here that I find very conducive to my work as a writer and as a human. There’s an incredible community of writers, and I am lucky to have so many of them in my immediate sphere. There’s always some kind of drama unfolding just outside the window. For instance, in the time it has taken me to answer this questionnaire thus far, it has been variously: a sunny day, snowing, raining, breezy, still, grey, sunny again, raining again, raining while sunny, grey with wind and rain/snow. And don’t even get me started on the ocean.

Do you remember the first time you were paid for your writing? What was it like? 

I wrote some book reviews and an author profile for The Coast and my first cheque was for roughly $17. I took my best friend out for breakfast. He had to pay for his own coffee though. Later, the advance for my first book, Homing, bought a futon couch for our living room. That felt like a milestone, for sure. It was terribly uncomfortable, which is probably a metaphor for something.

Where do you like to write? Do you have a dedicated writing space, or do you find yourself moving around?  

I write wherever. I do have a study, but I don’t always stay put in it. I write on the couch, at the dining room table, in the garden, in coffee shops or bars—depends on the book. Homing was all quiet early mornings in the living room. Fallsy Downsies wanted bars, busy-ness, night-time writing. Good Birds, my current project, is somewhere in between. My writers’ group, The Common (Ryan Turner, Sarah Mian, Carsten Knox, Jaime Forsythe) often goes on retreat and I tend to get a lot done on those weekends. I’ve written in just about every rental cottage that’s within a two-hour drive of Halifax. Beside lots of woodstoves.

What do you do when you have writer’s block? 

I don’t generally get that. I don’t make sentences every day. I think a long time between bouts of writing. So when I come to the page, it’s because I’m ready to. The times I can’t move my story forward, though, I work my characters—I try to find out more about them, which usually helps me figure out how to get the story moving again. I have a whole separate notebook for them, with coloured tabs and all. It’s a Virgo’s dream come true.

What are you working on right now? 

A(nother) novel about grief, called Good Birds Don’t Fly Away, and a biography of Pete Luckett due out next fall from Goose Lane.

Gerri Frager is a retired physician and the former director of the IWK’s Pediatric Palliative Care Service. She is also a potter and a poet. Her debut collection of poetry, Signs of Life: Images formed from Words and Clay, was published by Pottersfield Press in 2018. In the following post, she shares her thoughts on poetry, inspiration, life on Nova Scotia’s Eastern Shore, and more.

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How long have you been writing? What drew you to writing in general, and poetry in particular? 

I have dabbled in writing ever since I can remember. Writing, particularly poetry, has served as refuge and renewal over many years. I found writing to be particularly of service while working as a pediatrician. For nearly 20 years, my specialty was caring for children with critical illnesses, as director of the IWK’s Pediatric Palliative Care Service. I truly enjoyed working with the children, their families, and our teams who cared for them, although it brought me very close to much sadness. Poetry provided me with a venue to reflect on difficult situations and afforded me a way to take a deep breath. I believe putting some of my thoughts and feelings down on paper allowed me to continue working as long and with what I hope, was as much heart, as I did.

In addition to being a poet, you’re also a potter, and the poems in your collection, Signs of Life: Images formed from Words and Clay (Pottersfield Press, 2018), are accompanied by photographs of your pottery. Do you see a connection between the two mediums? Do you find that your separate artistic practices inform each other? 

I love that the relaxation and joy I feel when making a plate or a vase is enhanced by being able to create something that also serves a function: holds coffee, flowers, or food. Having others enjoy my work further adds to the pleasure.

I hoped that my pottery would complement the poems and have heard this from people who have the book. The poems and poetry seem more than symbiotic as folks have told me that viewed together, they feel greater than the sum of the individual parts. Each form mirrors, reflects on, and builds on the other.

You have a background in medicine as well, having worked as a physician in pediatric palliative care. How do you see the role of the arts in medicine? 

I am a strong advocate of and value incorporating the arts into medicine and more broadly, health care. In my clinical practice, there were innumerable opportunities when bringing the arts into care served to open communication with the ill child, provided comfort and relief for the family and the health professional team who cared for them.

I was also director of the Humanities-HEALS Program at Dalhousie University. HEALS stands for Healing and Education through the Arts and Life Skills. There is substantial evidence that retention is enhanced when there is an emotional connection to the material. I found this firsthand and made use of it in my teaching and taught other educators ways they could incorporate the arts for their learners.

One particular example is a play I commissioned Mary Colin Chisholm to write. Ed’s Story: The Dragon Chronicles, is a play that is now part of the core curriculum for every second-year medical student at Dalhousie University. Ed was a 16-year-old patient with advanced bone cancer, in whose care I shared while working at the IWK. Ed kept a journal in his last months of life. Ed’s journal and 25 interviews of his friends, family and members of his health professional team were compiled into a verbatim play, that was a sold-out Fringe Hit at the Atlantic Fringe Festival in 2010. Formal studies and informal feedback from the medical students solidly document the benefit of learning in this novel way.

I was involved in many sessions promoting self-care for health professionals. Using the arts as part of the process was always significantly more successful than the times when arts were not part of the approach.

What do you love about living in Nova Scotia? 

The people. The ocean. The land.

I consider myself extremely lucky and am continuously grateful for where I live, on the Eastern Shore of rural Nova Scotia. It is a place of great beauty shared with friends in our small, close community.

I had countless opportunities in my work life to travel widely; from Israel to Finland, Italy and all over Canada, the US and the UK. I always felt proud and happy upon returning home to where it feels like people are generally kinder, welcoming, and helpful. 

I am able to swim steps from my front door, harvest vegetables from our beautiful and bountiful garden, and afford waterfront land where we have room for my studio.

What advice do you have for aspiring writers? 

Start. Vet/Share. Start again. Share/Vet some more. Follow your heart as it will most often lead you to a place of goodness, of satisfaction. Try not to take constructive criticism to heart. Continue to listen to your heart.

What’s great about writing in your part of Nova Scotia? 

Much of my writing, as does my pottery, takes place in and explores the natural world. Nova Scotia is one place where that is easy to do. Nature abounds here and it is generous in the wealth of images found in everyday life.

What’s your guilty pleasure?

Chips! Chips!! CHIPPS!!!

No, I’m not talking about a casual encounter. I’m talking – inability to exercise even a modicum of restraint.

What do you do when you have writer’s block? 

Not applicable, as I guess because I don’t think of writing as a task. It feels like something I do when I am moved. So, when I am moved I write. I write when I want to. I write when I need to.

Where do you like to write? Do you have a dedicated writing space, or do you prefer to move around? 

I write where and when the spirit moves me. I generally have some shred of paper and a pen I can write with wherever I am. Typically, that tends to be outside when I am on a walk or in the passenger seat of a car.

What are you working on right now? 

I recently did a reading at a University symposium. The person moderating the session is an editor for the Canadian Medical Association Journal and asked if I would submit three poems accompanied by three pieces of my pottery. As they had to be unpublished, they are new since Signs of Life: Images of Words and Clay was published. I just received word that the three pieces (poems and pottery) have been accepted.

As retirement has afforded me the gift of time, I’ve also been enjoying cooking. I’ve been making all kinds of new things I never had the time to try out before. I’m thinking about doing a book of poems and prose with each body of text accompanied by an image of cookware that I’ve made, the dish that goes in or on that piece of pottery, and the recipe.

Simon Thibault is a Halifax-based journalist, author, and producer. His first cookbook, Pantry and Palate: Remembering and Discovering Acadian Food, was published by Nimbus in 2017. In the following post, he talks to us about getting started as a writer, where he likes to write (hint: it involves a vintage table), new trends in food writing, and more. 

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How long have you been writing? What drew you to writing in general, and food writing in particular?

I’ve been writing professionally about food since the early 2000s, but I’ve been writing about all sorts of things since the late 1990s. I really started to focus on food with greater intent around 2010, after I graduated from the journalism program of University of King’s College. I actually went there so that I could really focus on it, and be able to ask the right questions, and hopefully tell stories that may not have been heard before, or at least, told in a manner that I could bring.

Having said that, I think it’s important to know when one can insert oneself in a story, and when not to. I wrote for The Coast for three years, barely putting an “I” in a story. I believed—and still do—that it’s too easy to place oneself in a story. It’s harder—and often better—to remove oneself at first. Afterwards, when editing, there may be room to place yourself in a piece, if it merits it. You’re asking an audience to go somewhere with you, and sometimes you just have to get out of the way and let them see things for themselves.  

Are there any new trends in food writing that you’ve noticed? 

Reading work by people who present stories in unexpected contexts. People like Mayukh Sen, who is queer and South Asian and wrote about his love for Tammy Wynette’s cookbook in Gravy (The Southern Foodways Alliance). It’s an unexpected juxtaposition that speaks in ways one wouldn’t imagine. This is where a first person narrative really works.

Food writing is most often about reflection: this can be wonderful and can speak to people in all sorts of ways—we see ourselves as the author experiences comfort or shame, bliss or revulsion. It’s a relatively easy way for readers to experience empathy and openness to/for/by people whom we normally would not have access to. 

I recently taught a workshop on food writing at the WFNS, and I spoke on the subject of nostalgia. Nostalgia is often the fuel for the fire of food writing for a lot of people, and that’s fine, but it can’t be the only fuel in your fire. It smoulders and flames rather than giving out steady heat, and can smoke up the room, leaving you wondering if you’re actually seeing things clearly. Your mom’s chocolate chip cookies and the memories linked to them may be a source of great pleasure to you, but it’s relatively uninteresting on its own. However, the process she went through in making them, the perspective of you looking up at her from the counter, the scene in which the cooking/making/baking happens is interesting. What does the foodstuff mean or represent? Don’t give me your cookie. Give me the recipe, and tell me how it got made.

Do you find that your two creative pursuits (cooking and writing) inform each other? 

They do, because it’s about getting better at both: how to write a better recipe so that someone can understand the process of making a dish. I find myself taking notes more than I ever did when I was just cooking for myself, because you never know how comfortable someone is in a kitchen. You may have to hold their hand, or you may want to set them free.  

In food writing in and of itself, it’s about using a medium, and using it to its best ability—who is the audience, how much do I need to explain, and how much can I just show, rather than tell 

What’s the biggest misconception about being a food writer?

That we’re all critics. That we’re all bloggers. That we all have refined palates. Nope. There is nothing wrong with possessing any of those qualifiers, but it’s limiting. Personally, I’d rather not be limited in what I do. I tell stories, and food is the medium for that story to be told.

What was it like to publish your first book?  

To be honest, I didn’t think anyone would care. I wrote a book about a small segment of the population—Acadians—and ended up talking to people across the continent. I talked to people on NPR in California about salted onions, and fricot on television in Toronto. I had conversations about the importance of culinary heritage with a Korean-born editor at a Canadian magazine. Everyone saw something about themselves, and the value of their own culinary heritage in ways they hadn’t thought about before. And to be honest, in writing the book, I looked at my own culinary heritage in a way I never would’ve experienced if I hadn’t written this book.

Where do you like to write? Do you have a dedicated writing space, or do you like to move around?  

I mostly work from home, at a vintage mid-century Formica table I bought at a junk shop outside of Weymouth. It was forty dollars. It’s often stained with coffee rings, and crumbs from whatever I am baking/eating. There is a stack of books that I should be reading on the left hand side, and a to-do list on the right. 

In your opinion, what makes a great cookbook? 

People—whether they are your average reader of your toughest editor—will often say that a good cookbook is one that makes you want to cook from it. But I would argue that a great cookbook is one that goes beyond that. It’s one that gives you a sense of agency and inspiration all at once—I can cook from this, and I never realized how special such a dish can be. Nigel Slater does this in spades with his two volume Tender series. I rarely get excited about something as humble as an apple, but Slater’s words make me want to pay attention to every detail, from the russeting of its skin to the texture of the flesh as it hits my teeth.

What are you working on right now?

I have two projects in the pipeline right now, one of which—if you look at my social media feeds—you can probably guess. I’m also working on reading as many of the books on food that I’ve bought over the past year or so. Let’s just say that I am now on a first name basis with a few booksellers, and it’s not because of my own book.

Lorri Neilsen Glenn is the author and editor of fourteen books of poetry, essays and scholarly work. Her recent title, Following the River: Traces of Red River Women (Wolsak and Wynn), is a blend of creative nonfiction, archival material and poetry. Lorri’s award-winning essays and poems appear in recent anthologies including  Gush,  Waiting,  Love Me True,  Nova Scotia Book of Fathers, and In this Together: Ten Stories of Reconciliation, among others. Former Halifax Poet Laureate, Lorri is Professor Emerita at Mount Saint Vincent University and a mentor in the University of King’s College MFA program in creative nonfiction. Here she talks about how she came to writing, what her mentor taught her, and how teaching and writing work together.

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What drew you to writing in general, and poetry and non-fiction in particular? 

As a child I rode my bike to the library every Saturday and returned with the week’s basket of magic. Stories saved me. When I was twelve and living in Northern Manitoba, a poem of mine was published in our yearbook. That was the match to the kindling.

I didn’t write another poem until I was fifty, and the feedback I received from WFNS contest readers was a gift. As a scholar, I’d been researching the role of writing in women’s lives (teachers, office workers, tech professionals) and rendering their stories in academic prose was beginning to feel like wearing ill-fitting underwear. I realized then I’d been circling the perimeter: if I was going to write instead of studying or theorizing about writing, I had to start immediately.  

In addition to being a writer, you also teach writing. Do you see a connection between the practice of writing and the practice of teaching? 

Definitely. Teaching writing (or, creating the climate and offering tools of the trade so writing can flourish, which is closer to the truth) is a joyful way to learn both about people and about writing. Every manuscript, every writer I encounter, teaches me about the human condition. It could be food sustainability, digital archives, gender identity and survival, the daily challenges of being a BIPOC person in Canada, life with MS or growing up the son of a psychic—all topics enrich my understanding. I love working with writers to explore ways to shape a text, bring a moment to life, or simply to talk shop.

What do you love about living in Nova Scotia? 

Everything. Except perhaps power outages and hurricanes.

What’s the biggest misconception about being a writer? 

Long before I’d published a book, I worked with a writing teacher who’d won a Pulitzer for his reporting. He asked my opinion—mine!?—on a draft of his work. Over coffee, I offered a few suggestions; tentatively, because I was in awe both of his writing and his work ethic. (Nulla dies sine linea, he always said: never a day without a line.) He was genuinely grateful and we talked as peers, not as master-apprentice. Writers need connection and encouragement regardless of the numbers of books they’ve written or awards they’ve won. I’m always thrilled and grateful when readers reach out to say how my work has moved or inspired them.

What advice do you have for aspiring writers? 

Pay attention, look for connections. Stay open and look outward, but don’t fear others seeing your mess. Perfectionism is seductive and corrosive, especially for women. It’s only fear wearing virtue’s hat. Find your circle, your writing companions. If you catch yourself being precious, remember we are lucky to be doing this.

And hang in there. Believe in what you’re doing. Writing is hard fun, but worth it.

Where do you like to write? Do you have a dedicated writing space, or do you like to move around a bit?

I have a desk I rarely use. I write on my lap, in a chair, at a table, on a couch, on a deck, in bed. (Sounding a bit Seuss-y here). I write better when no person or thing needs me, not even a houseplant, but that’s a luxury.

What do you do when you have writer’s block? 

Sometimes I hold an idea up to the light and know it’s not ready for words. Other times I lurch around the edges until I can find a way to write into the heart of it. Like everyone, I have weeks and months when life is filled with activities or tasks I have to churn through before I can immerse myself fully in writing. And so I think less about writer’s block and more about readiness, patience, seasoning, opportunity. Bursts and breakaways are a bonus, but mostly, it’s a long turning, a simmering.

What’s your guilty pleasure? 

You mean like chocolate? Staying in pyjamas all day? At this age, I don’t feel guilty about pleasure—maybe that’s a benefit of decades of questionable choices.

What would you do if you weren’t a writer? 

I’d paint or draw. Or be an enthusiastic, off-key country singer. But I’m an introvert and so writing fits me—it’s a snug retreat allowing me to relish solitude while I send missives out over the water.

What are you working on right now? 

Following the River was released at the end of last year and I’m still living with the stories of those remarkable women, coming to terms with being recognized as Métis, discovering Cree and Métis relatives and friends, and learning the long overdue lessons of listening. The five or more years I spent on the book were only the beginning, and the work forever changed my sense of place in the world.   

And, like most writers, I’m wool-gathering. Waiting.

Angela Mombourquette is an author, journalist, journalism instructor, and former CBC producer. Her articles and columns have appeared in publications including The Chronicle Herald, Atlantic Books Today, The Walrus, and UC Observer, and her first book, 25 Years of 22 Minutes: An Unauthorized Oral History of This Hour Has 22 Minutes, was published by Nimbus in 2017. In the following post, she talks about how she got her start as a writer, her current writing projects, where she likes to write, and more.

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How long have you been writing? What drew you to writing in general, and non-fiction in particular? 

I’ve been working as a writer since 2007. Before then, I worked in television, doing many different jobs; my last job at CBC was as a producer on the long-running youth consumer show Street Cents.

What drew me to writing, and particularly to non-fiction writing, was that I had something to say—something I felt was important and that I thought other people could benefit from hearing.

I actually got my first paid writing gig when I responded to a call for submissions I had seen in a WFNS newsletter. A journal called the Nova Scotia Policy Review (it later became Coastlands) was seeking submissions from people who were personally impacted by Nova Scotia government policies. At that time, my family was struggling to get appropriate long-term care for my mother, and I wrote about our challenges.

In addition to being an author and journalist, you also teach part-time in the King’s Faculty of Journalism. Do you see any connections between your work as a writer and your work teaching writing? 

I think of journalism as a little like welding: you can’t do it well until you learn how to use the tools, and the only way you can learn to use the tools is by doing the work. Also, to carry the welding analogy even farther, once you’ve mastered the tools, you can apply your artistic skill to make the work sing.

So, I see a connection in the sense that the best resource for teaching writing is someone who is actually working as a writer. My colleagues at King’s are all working journalists, and I think students appreciate and benefit from our real-world experience.

What do you love about living in Nova Scotia? 

I like the pace of life here. I love that you can drive to the beach in half an hour. And I love morning walks with my dog at Point Pleasant Park.

What’s the biggest misconception about being a writer? 

I think the idea of working as a writer is romanticised sometimes; I’ve never really bought into the soft-focus image of the dreamy writer’s life. For me, it’s about working hard and being disciplined. But in your slippers.

What advice do you have for aspiring writers? 

Read. Write. Think critically. And don’t work for free.

What’s your guilty pleasure? 

Food—and cooking shows. Preparing a meal is a great de-stresser for me, and I get pretty jazzed every time a new season of Top Chef starts.

Do you remember the first time you were paid for your writing? What was it like? 

I mentioned the first article I got paid for in Question 1—and I remember distinctly thinking, “Wait—if you do this well, people will pay you for it?”

Shortly after that first piece was published, The Chronicle Herald put out a call for columnists for its new (at that time) community newspapers. I thought—“What the heck—I’m a published writer now, plus I’m way opinionated.” I got the gig on the basis of that first piece and a couple of sample columns I wrote for the application. That weekly column lasted for about five years.

Where do you like to write? Do you have a dedicated writing space, or do you prefer to move around? 

I’m not one of those folks who works best in a crowded coffee shop. I need quiet, and I need to be able to focus. I have a dedicated office in the home I share with my wonderful partner, Wendy, our kitty, Piper, and our Goldendoodle, Lily (who has her own Instagram page: @obeautifuldog). Having the pets around is a good reminder to get up from my desk every once in a while.

What are you working on right now? 

Right now I’m brushing up on my Chicago Manual of Style because I have an exciting new gig coming up: I’ve been hired as the new non-fiction editor at Nimbus Publishing. I’ll be working there part-time until the end of this year, then full-time beginning in January, 2019.  

Patrick Woodcock is a poet and critic. He has published nine books of poetry, the most recent of which, You can’t bury them all: Poems (ECW Press, 2016), won the Alcuin Society Book Design Award for Poetry and was shortlisted for the J.M. Abraham Poetry Prize. In the following post, Woodcock discusses his how he got his start as a writer, his advice for aspiring writers, his new poetry collection, and more.

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How long have you been writing? What drew you to writing in general, and poetry in particular?  

I began writing when I was quite young, but they were closer to pop lyrics or prose poem fragments than poetry. But no matter how much I read I was always drawn more to poetry than any other form. I guess I began writing poetry because I loved the art but now it is also essential to help me feel less loaded down when I wake up—it helps me lighten reality. I think every year my reasons for writing poetry change, but my love for it has never wavered.

What do you think is changing in poetry these days?  

I am not sure. But I do fear, especially within today’s political climate, that poets are beginning to wall themselves in. There is a need for community and the financial safety and security of living in one specific area, and I think this leads to dull poets and dulled poetry. Words like “brave” are bandied about a lot and I just don’t see what’s brave about most things I read online or in journals. Do you really know anything about China if you bicycle to China Town to buy your ginger?

What do you love about living in Nova Scotia?  

I have lost a lot of my connection to what I used to feel a Canadian is or was and Nova Scotia offers me a place to suppress and address this. I have seen and experienced a lot and there is certainly a great disconnect happening in me. I am just not too sure where it is going—hiking in Nova Scotia or swimming in the Atlantic is my attempt at psychotherapy. 

What’s the biggest misconception about being a writer?  

That you enjoy it.    

What advice do you have for aspiring writers? 

Join PEN. It is your moral duty to be political, leave Canada, look back—return and improve it.  But we also need to address the outdated notion of Think Globally Act Locally. What absolute and obsolete bullshit. Do some research, get on a plane and immerse yourself in another country. Think Globally, Act Globally—if not, then you have no right to criticize the top 1%. Because if you are Canadian, you are in the top1% of the world’s population. Take your beliefs and your writing and leave.

What’s the last great movie you saw? 

There are three. I just watched 24 Frames by Abbas Kiarostami while listening to the new Spiritualized album—that was nice. I am not near any water right now so the waves in both helped me a lot. And his movie Taste of Cherry is now one of my favourites. November by Rainer Sarnet was also wonderful. 

What’s your guilty pleasure? 

Watching the anarchic traffic in Arusha, Tanzania—how the cars and motorcycles spar with each other. 

What do you do when you have writer’s block?  

I don’t get writer’s block. My problem now is trying to manage and record the myriad of ideas and images exploding within me. Managing time is by far my greatest obstacle. But I certainly won’t live long enough to get all the material I carry, out.

What would you do if you weren’t a writer? 

I can’t imagine what I would be. But it would have to be in the arts. An actor or comedian I guess. In my day to day life I am sort of those already, so perhaps a railroad conductor who plays orchestra symbols while he works. I like that…you’d surely hear the train coming.

What are you working on right now?    

I am living in Tanzania and working on a book called Farhang which is the Kurdish word for dictionary. It is the name of book and the main protagonist—but the book itself is a poetic memoir—a group of letters to my friend Peter Shaw—about what I have seen over the last quarter century. Pete was the first person I met when I left Canada to teach and write in Poland. I loved him—as pure as one can love someone outside of their family. But I failed him horribly and find it hard to forgive myself. He was quite a bit older than me, I was 24 and he was in his 60s when we met. But he was asked to leave the school where I worked in Koszalin, Poland because he was too odd and eccentric. I knew that moving back to Bristol, England would kill him, and I wrote him a long letter telling him that he was loved by many people and life would get better. But for some reason I will never understand, I left the stamped envelope under my passenger visor for weeks. All I had to do was mail it, nothing else—I have nightmares about this still to this day. One morning in Oakville I received a call from a mutual friend that Peter had hung himself. I asked for his sister’s number and called her to express how gutted I was, and she told me that my letter had arrived the same day he killed himself. There has not been one day in my life over the last 25 years that I have not spoken to him in some way. This book is a discussion between Peter and I, and in another sense, a plea for his forgiveness. I guess the book should be called Pete, but I am too much of a coward to do that—so Farhang we are.

Oisín Curran is the author of two novels. His first, Mopus, was published by Counterpath Press in 2007. His second novel, Blood Fable (Book*hug 2017), was listed as one of the most-anticipated books of 2017 by The Globe and Mail and won the Thomas Raddall Atlantic Fiction Award in 2018. Originally from Maine, Curran currently lives in Cape Breton. In the following post, he talks to us about new trends in fiction, what he loves about living and writing in Nova Scotia, and how he doesn’t believe in writer’s block.

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How long have you been writing? What drew you to writing in general, and fiction in particular?

It all started in third grade when I plagiarized a poem and was praised for my work. From then on, I decided the writing life was the one for me. Needless to say, I haven’t plagiarized a single word since…

People tend to write what they read, I think. When I was in my teens and early twenties, I wrote a fair bit of poetry, but I didn’t read enough outside my own oeuvre. As a result, my stuff had the ring of bad 19^th century ballads. I stuck with fiction because that’s the medium I know best.

What do you think is changing in fiction these days?

Sheer volume. There seems to be a lot of it out there and it’s very hard to keep up. Autofiction seems to be hot right now. At least, it was last year, or the year before, or something. More work from underrepresented voices—that’s probably the most exciting thing going on these days. 

What do you love about living in Nova Scotia?

Hard to know where to start. Or stop. I was drawn here first by the landscape, then my wife and now the people I meet. The longer I live here, the more I love it. The natural beauty of the place still takes my breath away, and the astounding variety of that beauty keeps surprising me. Long, sandy beaches, river valleys, waterfalls, ancient maple trees, all cheek-by-jowl. And nine out of every ten people I meet are lovely and interesting to talk to. Well, maybe eight of ten—but that’s still a much higher ratio than anywhere else I’ve lived! 

What’s the biggest misconception about being a writer?

There seems to be a common belief that it’s not that hard. I’ve met lots of people who say they’re planning to write their memoir or their novel one day, when they have some time. I would never discourage anybody from trying—after all, part of the appeal of writing is that it’s a medium available to anybody who’s literate. But what most people don’t realize is that it’s really hard to write something good. The ratio of time-put-in-writing to time-put-in-reading-that-writing must be around a thousand to one. And I mean that quite literally. And then, as like as not, it’ll go out into the world and disappear. There’s an element of masochism to the whole practice.

What advice do you have for aspiring writers?

Don’t do it! Just kidding. Do it, by all means and be more attentive to cultivating mentors and contacts than I’ve been. It’ll save you time when you get around to publishing your work. Also, stay in Canada! This is one of the most supportive environments to work in that I know of. Also, the usual—read a lot and widely. Try stuff you don’t think you’ll like—expand your literary tastes…

What’s great about writing in your part of Nova Scotia?

I live on the West side of Cape Breton, in Alistair MacLeod country. In fact, our house is just down the road from MacLeod’s family home. Locally, there’s a lot of respect for, and interest in, writers and writing. I think that’s partly due to MacLeod’s legacy, but it also has to do with an older storytelling tradition that remains strong here.

What’s your guilty pleasure?

Perusing Hammacher Schlemmer catalogues.

What do you do when you have writer’s block?

Put one word after the other until there’s a sentence and carry on from there. If it doesn’t make sense, fix it later. I don’t believe in writer’s block.

What are you working on right now?

A sci-fi, ghost-spy thriller set in Elizabethan England.

If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?

A land surveyor. Bush-whacking through forests, swamps and mountains, tracking down old-timers to get the oral history of a place and burrowing into the archives to uncover the past—how could that not be a really interesting line of work?