A Writer's Half-Life

Slow Down--Turtles Crossing: On the Perils of Publishing

2012-01-11T16:06:00.006-05:00

Jan 11, 2012

The baby has arrived. (Yay!) Well, sort of (Boo!)

Yesterday, I got word that my newest book, Lake On The Mountain, was printed. Now all I have to do is wait for it to be delivered from the printers to Dundurn's warehouse--via turtle express. There are few industries where the adage "Hurry up and wait" applies more surely than in publishing.

Let me take you through the various steps (if you have the patience, that is...)

Year zero. First, you get this fantastic idea that already looks like a book in your head. It's brilliant. So brilliant, it burns a hole right through your brain. So now all you have to do is write it. Right? Sure, go ahead.

Year one. Writing a book can take time. A lot of time. And that time varies according to your expertise and dedication to the cause. My first book, A Cage of Bones, took me five years to finish. It's a coming out story that takes place in the fashion industry in Europe. (Nope, not a horror story, despite its title.) It was an industry I was familiar with, having worked there briefly before I started writing. The research was done, but learning to craft my story took a bit longer.

Year two: Being in a rush to get published ("Hurry up and wait!"), I started contacting agents before the book was finished. To put it politely, none of them had time for a first-time author knocking on their doors with an unfinished manuscript.

Year three. I had a messy but mostly coherent script. So I started contacting publishers instead ("Hurry up and wait!"), so sure was I that they would want my book. A word to the wise: selling an unfinished book is nearly impossible unless you're Stephen King.

Year four. I had exhausted every known publisher in Canada--seems no one wanted to take a chance on a newbie. ("Hurry up and...hmmm, give up? Never!") Time to start looking at international publishers.

Year five. Once I got a publisher interested (in England of all places--who would have thought the wide world would be interested in my book?), I still had to polish and revise the book to their satisfaction.

Year six. Only then was I offered the golden ring: a publishing contract. All of which took another year, and the publication date was still a year away, and all the time I was growing older...

Year seven. Happy endings! Despite everything, my book came out and sold very well at home and abroad. In fact, it's still selling more than a decade later. Was it worth the wait? You bet!

So this recent book (my sixth) was a bit of lark, all things considered. By now, having a track record and knowing how to structure a story, it takes me less time to create and sell my work. So only three years later, here I sit, waiting to hold my new book in my hand. Okay, I guess I can wait another week. In fact, I'll have to.

On The Way

2012-01-01T13:59:00.003-05:00

Jan 1, 2012

You've probably heard about El Camino de Santiago, the famous pilgrimage in France and Spain. For more than a thousand years, people have walked The Way to reach the Cathedral of Compostela in Galicia, where tradition holds that the remains of St James are buried. Like me, you may not have thought a film could be made about it, but it has, and a good one. Also like me, you may have resisted reading about the Camino because of its religious overtones. You can put those fears aside.

With one smart move, Martin Sheen and his other son, Emilio Estevez, have recouped the family name. Sheen stars in, and former-Brat Packer Estevez wrote and directed The Way. As one character slyly tells another in the film, "Our children are the best and the worst of us." Say no more.

If you know anything about me, you'll know I don't promote religion or politics, the isms and schisms that divide, divide, divide. I don't like dogma of any sort. On the other hand, I will promote things I believe in. If you want to talk spirituality or human rights or good government then, Hey! I'm your guy.

The Way is not exactly drama, not exactly documentary, but neither is it mockumentary. It has no special effects, no car chases, no intricate plots, and no manufactured romances. The credits are mercifully short. In fact, it's unlike any other film I can recall. If anything, it's a mirror, plain and simple.

There is a story of sorts: a man loses his only son, goes to France to collect his body, and along the way things happen. But what's it about? you may wonder, as did I, but not for long, because you'll get wrapped up in watching. In a way, this film is a parable. It's The Wizard of Oz on a deeper level. A man has a quest, but doesn't know he has a quest, and while he walks The Way he reluctantly falls in with three companions, each of who has a quest. A Cowardly Lion, a Tin Man and a Man of Straw, if you like.

Still, the meaning of the film is up to you. You can read anything into it that you like, and it will speak to you. As one character tells another, "You walk the road for yourself, only for yourself." Because what this film is about, dear reader, is you. Only you. And so, it is beautiful.

What I've Been Reading: Being John Burdett

2011-12-22T21:44:00.004-05:00

Dec 22, 2011

Series are tricky, whether books or movies. Often, writers and directors put everything into a first work without realizing more will be required, whether due to overwhelming success, over-riding ego, or a combination of the two. Sometimes it's better to stop at one, but not always. To my recollection, The Godfather Part II was superior to The Godfather. Peter Jackson's films of The Lord Of The Rings did all three books justice, while The Godfather Part III is best left unmentioned. It's a wise creator who knows to scram when the scrammings good. The temptation to continue is great, however, so it's not surprising when artists do just that.

Sometimes, fate has the final say. Stieg Larrson's fiction-writing career may have ended at just the right time. To my mind, the first book in the Millennium series was quite good, and the pacing remarkable. The second book was pretty good, but less consistent. The third was a bit of a snore, more dialectic than thriller, with Lisbeth Salander sidelined for much of it, though it still finished with a rip-roaring conclusion. I've since heard Larrson's writing described as "literary crack." I wouldn't disagree. While much of it reads like reportage disguised as fiction, as writing it's enviously addictive: 27 million copies sold as of March 2010. Apparently, Larrson had a total of ten volumes planned. I suspect any subsequent books may have diminished the estimation of the series overall.

Sometimes, an author simply outgrows his work. Ethan Mordden's Buddies Trilogy, the justly famous series on coming out and staying out, is perfection of a kind. For some reason, Mordden saw fit to add two subsequent volumes, where his disillusionment with his prior writing is evident. He seems to be downplaying the series' success, warning that his popular portrayals of gay life were unrealistic. (Some might say the jaded, cynical American version of Queer As Folk was closer to the mark. Despite how it brought gay life even further out of the closet, I disliked the American series, and adored the original British version.) To my mind, what Mordden overlooked was that life looks different as we grow older. What seemed life-affirming in his twenties must have seemed sham in his fifties. And why wouldn't it? You don't want to be doing at fifty what you thought was a scream at twenty.

Thankfully, author John Burdett has not outgrown his "Bangkok" series, nor has he shown signs of ending it. Burdett is one of those rare creatures: a writer of literary-thrillers. It may be hard to discern, as his books are so funny. If you put Bangkok 8, his mystery about the wonderfully wonky Thai detective, Sonchai Jitplecheep, up against Pulitzer Prize-winner Junot Diaz's The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, however, you'd be hard put to say which is funnier, wiser, or more literary. Both books include plenty of death and some breathtaking turns of phrase, but because Burdett's book contains a murder mystery, it's relegated to the genre pile and overlooked as literature.

I suspect the British-born Burdett did not set out to write a series when he penned what would become the first of what are now four books and counting. (Apparently a fifth is on the way.) Bangkok 8 is so exquisitely wrought that you don't need more on finishing. It's only after the high of reading it fades that you want to revisit Burdett's brilliant and mesmerizing characters and their corrupt world. Thus Bangkok Tattoo, and so on.

What's interesting is that none of these books feels the same as its predecessor. In Burdett's case, however, his style changed rather than his outlook on life. What started off as satirical brilliance got darker with each book, though thankfully not less inventive. For what it's worth, here is my take on the first three books of the Bangkok series:

Bangkok 8 (2003)

Brilliant and original. I can't recall the last time I've been so jolted by what on the surface looks like an unassuming mystery with an "exotic" locale. In fact, it's far more than a mystery just as Buddhism, one of the book's themes, is far more than just a philosophy. In what has to be the smallest "locked room" mystery ever, an African-American marine dies a gruesome death sitting alone in a locked BMW stuck in a traffic jam. Still, it's a clear case of murder. Enter Sonchai Jitplecheep, the half-caste Thai detective and devout Buddhist, and one of the few Thai policemen not on the take. Burdett is effortlessly amusing as he follows his alter-ego, who solves the mystery all the while taking pains to explain the cultural relevance of his world to the western farang. That's you, dear reader. Burdett takes us deep inside the depths of eastern corruption and menace, while granting a unique insider's look into the notorious Thai sex trade.

Bangkok Tattoo (2005)

Darker in tone and conceptually even more monstrous than its predecessor, Bangkok 8, this book is nonetheless another work of comic genius. For me, Burdett ranks with the likes of John Lanchester, Junot Diaz and Zadie Smith (if that's not a unique collection, I don't know what is) for his brilliant, tongue-biting humour and genre-busting plots. This is the second book featuring Sonchai Jitpleecheep, the half-caste Thai Buddhist detective, and a cast of zanies who come and go as Sonchai tracks the murderer of a CIA agent. While the prose seldom reaches the inspired lunacy of its predecessor, the story's the thing to concentrate on here more than the comically profound soliloquies on the Buddhist conception of life as an inescapable interplay between being and nothingness.

Bangkok Haunts (2007)

Third in Burdett's brilliant Bangkok series, this is also the heaviest and least fun of his Thai murder mysteries. That's somewhat to its detriment, because the levity is as much a part of the reading enjoyment as the diabolically clever plotlines. Still, the story keeps you hooked. In this volume, Thai detective and devout Buddhist Sonchai Jitpleecheep exposes corruption and skulduggery when a snuff film of one of his amours sets him on a journey to unmask the killers. If you prefer your mysteries hard-boiled rather than droll, you may like this one best. In any case, if the series intrigues you, don't start here. Go all the way to the beginning with the marvellous Bangkok 8.

On The Runway

2011-12-15T18:37:00.012-05:00

Dec 13, 2011

This week my newest book, Lake On The Mountain, is going to press. For a writer, that's the equivalent of being in a plane and taxiing down the runway. You're not quite airborne, but your seatbelt is snug and all the expectation is there.

The timing was propitious. Last month LOTM received a positive pre-review in Publisher's Weekly, the bible of the American publishing industry. A single glowing sentence from that review will now end up on the book's cover along with a blurb by Gail Bowen, one of Canada's most delightfully audacious writers and author of the highly successful Joanne Kilbourn mysteries. Both of these are great coups and the sort of thing writers and publishers dream of.

As with any journey, there's an anticipated place of arrival down the road. For me, as for most writers, that hoped-for destination is one of undying fame, financial success beyond my wildest dreams, and outrageous adulation from my readers. It's called "Dreamland." Few, if any, writers reach it in their lifetime, however, so in the meantime I've learned to enjoy the journey. Duty Free shopping, here I come.

Lake On The Mountain, the tale of a gay missing persons investigator and father of a teenage son, is a bit of a departure for me in one way, yet in another it's precisely where I've been heading for years. I intended it to be that rare, some would even say "apocryphal" animal, the literary-thriller.

Like most university-educated Canadians of my generation, I was raised to be a bit precious in my reading. Genre? Not for me. Nicht, nein, never. It was verboten! I sniffed my way through the romance section in bookstores. I didn't deign to crack open a mystery or a sci-fi book, what with all the wonderful CanLit novels to be read.

So how ironic to find myself the subject of genre discrimination. My first novel, A Cage of Bones, was refused by just about every publisher in Canada. Not because it wasn't well written or literary, but because it was in a genre barely acknowledged at the time: GayLit. In fact, I had to find a publisher outside the country to take it on. For all our literary affectations, Canadians were decidedly behind the times on that one. Not that I minded having a UK publisher first time out of the gate, however. They turned it into an international bestseller, something many Canadian publishers could not have done for me.

Learning I'd inadvertently become a genre writer made me see things differently. One day I picked up a copy of John LeCarre's The Spy Who Came In From The Cold, wondering if it would be even half as good as the film. In fact, it was terrific. But I was suspicious. Should I admit I'd read it? Should I worry it might influence my writing?

Since then I've come across a considerable number of genre books and writers I feel can hold their heads up to anything being written today. Not to mention the success they achieve. In fact, you're far less likely to die the death of a starving artist if you can write outside the literary arena than in.

Ironically, the snobbery I've faced over genre writing has been a double-edged sword. Some of the most blatant discrimination has come from genre-philes who refuse to accept that a literary writer could or should make the cross-over. Our territory—keep out, is how they seem to think of it.

One of my most telling experiences came when I participated in a mystery writers' seminar in New Orleans, not long after the publication of my satirical thriller, The P-Town Murders. I talked about the difference between writing mysteries and literary fiction. At the time, I was set to publish my literary novel, The Honey Locust. Set in the Bosnian War, THL had taken me more than a decade to finish. I'd struggled with it greatly and certainly didn't want to have to repeat the effort. "The formula for writing mysteries is easier," I confided to my genre-loving audience, who gasped.

Apparently the F-word is about the worst thing you can say to a genre writer. "Where is this formula? Can I buy it somewhere?" snarled one curmudgeonly old fellow, who turned out to be a seasoned American mystery author. "Try Walgreen's," I suggested. "Second shelf on the right."

In fact, all good writing is based on a formula. Agatha Christie used one and so did Shakespeare. If you want to argue with them, grab a Ouija board and do your best. I can't help you there.

In the meantime, here I sit on the runway, waiting for my fifth title to be released. I no longer worry whether my books are considered genre or literary or something as yet uncategorized. It's a book. And I believe it's the best one I've written. Years from now, I may still believe it. I know that because of how proud I am of it and how right it seems when I re-read it.

I can feel the plane lifting.

Nov 16, 2011

2011-11-16T17:20:00.006-05:00

With a new book coming out, there’s always anticipation to see how it’s going to be received. I’m happy to say Lake On The Mountain, my literary-thriller from Dundurn, had a great start this month with a very positive review in Publishers Weekly. Publication is slated for end of January 2012. For those of you disappointed with the delayed publication of Vanished In Vallarta, third in the Bradford Fairfax mystery series, I hope this will more than make up for the wait.

Oct 20, 2011

2011-10-20T23:33:00.001-04:00

Fans of Don Shebib’s 1970 Canadian classic, Goin’ Down The Road, are in for a surprise of the pleasant variety. If, like me, you’ve been saying “They don’t make Canadian films like that any more,” then you will be thrilled to see Down The Road Again, as Shebib and a good number of the original cast revisit the story and give it an update truly worthy of its predecessor. Join Jayne Eastwood, the late-Cayle Chernin, Doug McGrath, and some talented newcomers for a return voyage in that unforgettable 1960 Chevy. You will love it.

Oct 10, 2011

2011-10-10T09:10:00.002-04:00

Happy Thanksgiving! I've neglected my blog so long I couldn't recall the password. That's because I've been completing a new book. As I feel myself nearing the finishing line, it demands more and more time and attention. (Note to potential suitors: never marry a writer unless you like a lot of alone time.) In this case, I've been completing a second draft, not the final product. I put it to rest this morning. No doubt there'll be plenty of time to lose myself in a new draft quite soon.

July 18

2011-07-18T18:10:00.002-04:00

Having fun with Paul Bellini around is a given. Taking over the Flying Beaver Pub last night, the former-Kids in the Hall writer performed his Flatus Maximus (it’s Latin, look it up.) Not exactly a performance piece, it consisted largely of Paul reading from his hilarious FAB columns (think Michael Musto sidelined in Toronto, as if that were possible), with an occasional side-splitting silly song (who knew!) thrown in for—what, even more comic relief from the already over the top comedy? Anyway, it was a quiet riot, culminating in the playback of one of the most awkward telephone interviews ever, as the intrepid Paul tried and failed to get some semblance of an answer to his quite reasonable questions from crotchety B’way legend Elaine Stritch, proving again that some things (and people) are beyond even the most laudable efforts, but not beyond comedy.

Jul 11

2011-07-13T13:10:00.000-04:00

Went to the Met’s Die Walküre in HD tonight, part two of the Ring cycle production staged by Robert LePage. The set, referred to as “the machine”, was not as extensively used this time around, so the music took centre stage. James Levine’s conducting was nothing short of glorious. I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated Wagner so much. Bryn Terfel’s (Wotan) voice doesn’t excite me, but his acting was terrific, as was Susan Voigt’s (Brünnhilde). The star of the evening, for me (and many of the audience) was the German tenor, Jonas Kaufmann (Siegmund.) In terms of vocal ensemble work, this may become the definitive Ring for years to come. Really superb.

June 29

2011-06-30T06:22:00.002-04:00

I can scarcely believe my luck this summer: first kd lang, then Aretha, now Dame Helen Mirren and Jeremy Irons with conductor Lorin Maazel. The latter three appeared in a joint evening of Shakespeare in music and words at the BlackCreek Summer Music Festival under the stars. Mirren and Irons performed a mini-version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream integrated in and around Maazel’s glorious conducting of Felix Mendelssohn’s music with the dynamic and youthful Castleton Orchestra and Chorus. A knockout!

June 25

2011-06-25T17:37:00.001-04:00

A night with the Queen of Soul: As many Torontonians know, Aretha Franklin was in town for a free outdoor concert, making up for time off due to a bout with cancer last year. It was hard to know what to expect from a 69-year-old, post-surgery Aretha, but if she thought she was fit to perform then I knew it would be something to see. So did thousands of others, but everyone was friendly despite the close quarters, even if you stepped on a toe or two. (The audience was massive: take all the white people who came to the free kd lang concert last week and then add all the people of colour who didn’t come but should have. A very big event.) The only genuine disappointment was the poor organization that saw a VIP tent with too many awnings and flags obscuring the view, while a giant screen was positioned so far off that you couldn’t watch the real show in tandem with the monitor. That was just plain dumb. But we were there to pay homage to the queen, not to bitch. The first act was a bit tame as she flew through her old hits for the sing-a-long fans, but by the second half (after some truly awesome entr’acte jazz from her band) her voice had warmed up and she raised the roof. A twelve-minute rendition of Bridge over Troubled Waters (a song that in other hands can be so saccharine it hurts) showcased her gospel-raunch side. And what a side! I’ve lived with Aretha records for most of my life, but I’ve never experienced the fiery excitement she generates with a live audience. From that moment on, the fun never let up and we knew we were going to get what we came for. Freeway Of Love was the last great highlight of the evening for me, though the show went on for another quarter hour, ending at eleven-forty. Thank you, Queen of Soul. Thank you, TO Jazz Festival. It’s been a great time to be in Toronto.

June 17

2011-06-18T01:23:00.002-04:00

So Vancouver had hockey riots. (What’s the surprise? It’s a game about barely suppressed violence, after all.) Toronto, on the other hand, had a free k.d. lang concert. I can now die happy, having heard lang sing Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah live. I can barely remember the last time I cried in public (Well, yes I can, but I won’t mention it here.) Somehow, over the past twenty years, lang has gone from kitsch lesbian hillbilly to classic Canadian icon, all without getting staid and boring. Watching her perform has to be one of the most rapturous experiences on record, Canadian or otherwise. And the Siss Boom Bang is one of the best backup bands around. A superb evening. Thanks, Luminato!

May 18

2011-05-18T10:46:00.001-04:00

What happens when you get a Shakespearean actor to direct a film about a Norse god? You get a terrifically entertaining action flick that doesn’t insult your intelligence. It’s funny, moving, wry and even educational (the gods forbid!) A cross between Henry V and Avatar, Kenneth Branagh’s Thor is a winner on all fronts. The only misstep is that it should have been 3D. If you didn’t enjoy it, you and I should never see a film together.

May 16

2011-05-16T19:08:00.003-04:00

Recently watched the first two episodes of the 2011 Doctor Who. If you haven't seen it since you were a kid, try again. It's an updated, camp version of what was almost an embarrassment. Still, I was disappointed with this season's opener for several reasons. First, it's set in the US. Is it a coincidence that the Doctor’s rules of non-violence are being over-stepped at a time when the media is screaming, “It’s a great time to be American!” after Bin Laden’s murder? (I’m far from being a Bin Laden apologist, but let’s call it what it is.) Second, Matt Smith’s comic brilliance is taking second place to Arthur Darvill (Rory)'s new heart-throb hairdo. (Not such a terrible thing, but I found Matt pretty sexy last year, for all his goofiness.) All this comes about since Russell T Davies left the show in the hands of Steven Moffat. Will I stop watching? Hmmm…well, no, not as long as Matt's still in it.

May 1

2011-05-01T15:48:00.006-04:00

It's been a whirlwind week of performances. Wed saw me at a dress rehearsal of the COC's Ariadne Auf Naxos. If you think German opera isn't funny, this will change your mind. It’s an hysterical collision between comedy and tragedy. Adrianne Pieczonka stars as Ariadne, though she opted out of the second half of the rehearsal (to save her voice for the opening, I presume.) No great loss, because her understudy, whose name I missed, was a marvel. Jane Archibald is utterly charming as the upstaging tart Zerbinetta. The performance is uniformly praiseworthy.

Thu saw me at the Enwave for a performance by a unique dance duo, the tiny Yvonne Ng and the much larger Robert Glumbeck, who together make up Tiger Princess Dance Productions. It would be inadvisable to focus on their physical disparities, however, because the dance is even more unique, often hauntingly beautiful, and with a perfect blending of east and west.

Fri brought me back to the Tarragon Theatre (where I once endured an unpleasant season as part of the Young Playwrights' Unit) for the English premiere of Forests, by Wajdi Mouawad. Mouawad is the writer of the critically acclaimed play, Scorched, now a brilliant, Oscar-nominated film Incendies from Quebec director Denis Villeneuve.

March 26, 2011

2011-03-23T12:16:00.001-04:00

Happy one-hundredth birthday to writer Tennessee Williams, happy fifty-eighth birthday to artist Michael Ridler, and fond farewell to actor Elizabeth Taylor. As they say, thanks for the memories!

Mar 3

2011-03-03T10:35:00.001-05:00

One of my fave things in Toronto is the World Stage Festival (sadly no longer a cohesive festival, but spread over a year.) Last night, writer Keith Garebian and I caught a feisty update of Cocteau’s La Voix Humaine. Acclaimed Dutch actor Halina Reijn gives a remarkable performance as a woman having a final, devastating phone conversation with a lover due to marry another woman in the morning. Moments before starting, Woody Harrelson, toque pulled well down, squeezed past and sat three seats away. Woody has always reminded me of my brother Mark, who lives two hours out of town. “What’s my brother doing at a Dutch play in Toronto on a cold Wednesday in March without telling me?” I wondered. Then I realized who it was. “Oh, it’s not my brother,” I thought. “It’s only Woody Harrelson.”

Feb 21, 2011

2011-02-21T16:50:00.003-05:00

All good trips must end, and so we say goodbye to the leaping whales, the lime and papaya trees, and the margaritas. (Oh, the margaritas!) On the up side, I'm returning home with a complete draft of Bon Ton Roulez, the fourth adventure in the Bradford Fairfax series, set in New Orleans. Has anyone shoveled our sidewalk yet?

Feb 12, 2011

2011-02-12T18:47:00.002-05:00

Welcome to Puerto Vallarta! I'm here getting my annual dose of vitamin D and working on the fourth Bradford Fairfax book, Bon Ton Roulez (which actually takes place in New Orleans. Oh well!) Today the humpback whales are actually jumping right out of the water in Banderas Bay. You can't beat that for glory!

Jan 25, 2011

2011-01-25T19:09:00.004-05:00

Time to switch gears again. After finishing a solid draft of The Sulphur Springs Cure, a fun little mystery with an 82-year-old protagonist (think Miss Marple crossed with Auntie Mame), which I've been working on for awhile, I decided to lay that aside and go back to song writing. I'm now finishing the fourth song in a five-song suite, Flowers For Aña Calil, that I've been composing for soprano Lilac Caña. This is the final piece to be completed. The fourth piece is Puck's Song, by one William Shakespeare. It's the lightest of the five songs, but the one that has eluded me most. The first three songs are already recorded on Lilac's CD, Blossom (www.cdbaby.com/cd/LilacCana.) Do yourself a favour and check out this remarkable singer.

Dec 24, 2010

2010-12-24T22:46:00.002-05:00

I was very honoured to be the Writer In Residence at Open Book Toronto all month. It was a terrific experience. I posted my last blog this evening, IMAGINING PEACE. Here's the link: http://www.openbooktoronto.com/jround/blog/imagining_peace

Dec 9

2010-12-09T11:20:00.001-05:00

The King’s Speech shows Colin Firth at his best as the socially awkward, stuttering and stammering King George VI, better known these days as the father of HRH Elizabeth II. While many of us may be familiar with the slow, grave delivery of the speech, delivered September 1939 and informing the world that Britain was at war with Germany, few will know or remember the story behind the speech. The King’s Speech tells that story in a moving, compelling way, while incidentally providing a prequel to Stephen Frears’s The Queen, with its glance into the curious, dysfunctional affairs behind the scenes at Buckingham Palace.

Dec 5

2010-12-05T23:56:00.001-05:00

The Doomsters by Ross Macdonald (Knopf 1958)

Macdonald, whose real name was Kenneth Millar, was American-born and Canadian-raised. His most successful character, Lew Archer, is at the heart of this and many other volumes of noir writing. Macdonald is one of the early genre writers revered as both a good crime writer and a literary stylist. Indeed, his prose has moments evocative of Scott Fitzgerald. His weakness, however, is the corny, tough-guy dialogue that so many of his characters spout. Nevertheless, his mysteries have edge and he can twist his plots along with the best of them. In this volume, a runaway from a mental institution turns to Archer for help. He gets it, despite his best efforts to resist Archer’s uncanny ability to read into other people’s characters.

Nov 28

2010-11-28T18:07:00.004-05:00

For some technologically brilliant theatre, catch Electric Company Theatre’s Studies in Motion at the Bluma Appel Theatre (till Dec 18.) Kevin Kerr’s play about Eadweard Muybridge, inventor of an 1880’s version of stop motion photography, contrasts nicely with Robert LePage’s Ennogata, another biographical work, part-dance and part-play, about a cross-dressing spy, at the Sony Centre. Here, LePage has gone back to his roots, creating with the utmost simplicity. While neither has much of an emotional through-line, both works are riveting technically.

Nov 18

2010-11-18T18:43:00.002-05:00

Today is the 78th anniversary of Proust's death. Coincidentally, I finished reading (for the third time) his second volume, Within A Budding Grove, today. The ending is extraordinary as the narrator examines in minute detail his growing love for Albertine and the end of the tourist season at the beach at Balbec (Cabourg, in real life.)

Oct 25

2010-11-01T18:36:00.003-04:00

Benjamin Britten’s Death In Venice as performed by the Canadian Opera Company.

I’ve never really taken to Britten’s music, though Death In Venice is somewhat of an exception. It’s also one of a handful of operas I’ve wanted to see live, and can now cross off my list. Unfortunately, the Met’s “Live In HD” experience over the past few years means I may never enjoy a live performance as much as I used to. I’ve been spoiled by the intimacy and quickness of things on camera, as opposed to the static predictability of an opera’s distant unfolding onstage. This production is slow and serious. For better or worse, it feels like “Art.” The first act is visually beautiful but remarkably undramatic, and while the COC orchestra is aurally stunning under conductor Steuart Bedford (very capably matched by Alan Oke’s performance as the novelist, Gustav von Aschenbach), the musical emphasis on atmosphere means it doesn’t ever really jump to life. It’s in the second act where both the drama and the music kick in, as the aging Aschenbach explores his attraction for the beautiful Tadzio, an adolescent Polish boy vacationing on the Lido. While contemplating what this says about his views on art and literature, he somehow manages not to think of what it means in terms of his no-longer sublimated sexuality. An introverted, intellectual libretto, it shines with inner drama if you’re in the mood for some serious contemplation. If not, it will just feel slow.

Oct 22

2010-10-22T15:00:00.003-04:00

Returning to an unfinished novel is a little like catching up with an old friend. While the publishing world seems to be in turmoil, and I still have no idea when the third Bradford Fairfax novel is going to come out, I’ve been getting on with the fourth episode, Bon Ton Roulez, a Cajun term meaning roughly, “Let the good times roll.” In the new book, Bradford finds himself in New Orleans not long after Hurricane Katrina, where some very nasty politicians are cooking up a scheme to displace the low-income citizens trying to return and pick up the pieces of their lives. When I visited New Orleans in the spring of 2006, some eight months after the disaster, I was left with an indelible impression of the city in ruins and the sense of loss the people were facing. That impression is strongly making itself felt in this book.

Oct 9

2010-10-09T14:02:00.002-04:00

The Nesting Dolls by Gail Bowen (McClelland & Stewart 2010)

Gail Bowen is one of my favourite crime writers, with her sly humour and no-nonsense, down-to-earth outlook on life that also happens to spill over into her books. She leaves the impression that we could all do just a little better with not too much effort, and that we would all be that much better off for it. Joanne Kilbourn, Bowen’s protagonist of a dozen books, is made of the same mettle. She spars (lovingly) with her hubby Zack, a paraplegic power-lawyer, and a myriad of lost souls who tumble in and out her life. In The Nesting Dolls, Kilbourn pits herself against the elusive killer of a lesbian mother who leaves her newborn son with the boy’s presumed grandparents right before she is killed. Finding out the who also helps unravel the why, and it’s a doozey of a solution that fooled me right to the end.

Sept 17

2010-09-17T21:59:00.003-04:00

Lately I've been directing a video for Canada's PopToOpera Trio, one of the most diverse singing groups I know. Shot in three sections--Broadway, pop, and opera--on a tiny stage in the basement of a church in Parkdale, it's amazing to see that little space take on the characteristics of so many different locations. It's also great to see the pieces come together as they develop from a series of random shots and low quality camera sound to a fully integrated video with stereo output.

Sept 11

2010-09-13T10:29:00.000-04:00

A delightful afternoon spent with Ben Heppner, one of Canada’s great singers. Performed on a simple, elegant set bathed in blue and gold, the program was a refreshing change from the usual cloying lieder, with songs by Greig, Sibelius and Tchaikovsky, followed by arias from Massenet and Wagner, with a final Tosti song.

Aug 30, 2010

2010-08-30T20:38:00.003-04:00

Seems to be Proust month for me. Check this book out if you're a fan:

Proust at the Majestic by Richard Davenport-Hines (Bloomsbury 2006)

In May 1922, just weeks after putting “Fin” to the pages of his great seven-volume work, In Search of Lost Time, Marcel Proust attended a gala event at Paris’s Majestic Hotel, a fête arranged by an American couple, Sydney and Violet Schiff, two of his greatest fans. (Sydney was later to become the first official English translator of Proust’s final volume, Time Regained, following the death of CK Scott Moncrieff in 1930.) The party brought Proust together with James Joyce, Serge Diaghilev, Pablo Picasso and Igor Stravinsky, all among the most renowned and highly regarded members of the Modernist avante garde. While the event may have been just one more example of the Schiffs’ parading Proust’s friendship to the world, the desire to create an epoch-making event was no doubt genuine, if just as self-serving. Sydney Schiff had writerly ambitions and saw Proust as the living embodiment of his artistic dreams. And while both hoped for a longer acquaintanceship, Proust was to die six months to the day following one of the grandest soirées Paris had seen in decades.

Still, this book is more than a fond reminiscence of a party, however grand. It’s also a perceptive critical examination of Proust’s work and life, and how each affected the other. Was Proust a homosexual? Rightly or wrongly, that question lies at the heart of his writing. Today, many would say yes. While he clearly had same-sex relationships, however, the answer may not be so simple, as Davenport-Hines explains it, and therein lies the key to at least part of his very complex work. While the theory that In Search Of Lost Time is a homosexual book with the sex and sexuality of many of the characters transposed to suit the mores of the times is an intriguing one, and anyone with a modicum of gaydar can attest to feelings of sexual-psychological falseness with at least some of the characters, nevertheless, Davenport-Hines contends quite convincingly that Proust revelled in sexual ambiguity and the emotional frisson generated by his unresolved and frequently unrequited relationships, beginning with the narrator’s youthful obsession with his mother. If the brain may be said to be the most important sexual organ then Proust’s outright denials of his homosexuality and his protestations of a more ambiguous amitié amoreuse may have validity after all. (And, coincidentally, making this book one of the longest instances of artistic foreplay on record.)

This is a refreshing work after many similar works that don’t quite so convincingly plumb the psychological depths of Proust’s intense and difficult makeup, as well as his complex artistry. Not surprisingly, it stands in marked contrast to the critical reception received at the time of the books’ initial publications (including the ones Proust did not live to see), as most of Proust’s contemporaries were inclined either to ignore or dismiss outright the books’ sexual themes—which are decidedly pronounced no matter how you read them—while a handful of critics complained in the name of public decency. The final chapter, dealing with the last months of Proust’s life and the aftermath of his death (the news was greeted with the sort of reaction a rock star might hope to receive today), is surprisingly moving and convincing in its verismo. Proust at the Majestic is one of the most impressive books of Proustiana to come along, whether read in its own right or as a counterpart to the work itself.

Aug 20

2010-08-20T15:45:00.001-04:00

It’s always a pleasure to have a colleague over for dinner, and Gail Bowen is one of the most entertaining and fun writers I know. She and her very convivial hubby Ted came by of an evening at the end of Gail’s tour for her twelfth Joanne Kilbourne mystery, The Nesting Dolls (M&S.) We got to gossip and talk shop and send off a few of those invisible poison arrows that even the nicest writers long to let loose once in a while. Publishing industry dirt, oh my!

Aug 11

2010-08-12T11:15:00.006-04:00

I've just heard that The Honey Locust has been long-listed for a ReLit Award. It's ALWAYS nice to be recognized by fellow writers, in whatever capacity, and the ReLit Awards are just that: founded in 2000 by Newfoundland author Kenneth J Harvey, ReLit stands for "Regarding Literature, Reinventing Literature, Relighting Literature." A noble aim, and one I am proud to be associated with in this or any year.

August 7

2010-08-07T20:18:00.002-04:00

On the whole, it's been an unusual summer (and I don't mean the weather.) I've bounced back and forth from finishing a short film (a documentary on the life of comedian Rusty Ryan) through finishing up a song cycle for my friend, soprano Lilac Cana, to trying to get back to work on a novel I've started but can't quite get excited about. It's one thing to have choices, but another to make one. Maybe fall will bring me back to my senses and I'll start to wonder where summer went.

July 22

2010-07-22T10:48:00.003-04:00

Am I the only person in the world who wasn’t impressed with Inception? Dream-world concept notwithstanding, it’s full of bogus, clichéd character stakes: “I’ve got to break up the power monopoly to save the world,” “I have to get back home to my kids”, etc. I’ve never seen DiCaprio so easily upstaged before, but Tom Hardy does it without trying. I also couldn’t figure out why DiCaprio was being made to look like Orson Welles, Jr, but then came the rosebud-safe opening scene and all was made clear, to my chagrin. That one deserved a resounding "Boo!" At least Avatar, while it was only cowboys and Indians in space (but with the Indians winning), was a memorable visual experience.

July 18

2010-07-21T17:29:00.002-04:00

The City and the Pillar by Gore Vidal (Random House 1995, orig. 1948)

It’s hard to believe this book caused such a furor on its publication in 1948. (Most major publications ignored it and then blacklisted Vidal’s subsequent books for the next six years; the NY Times refused advertising on its behalf.) Published the same year as the Kinsey Report, it must have seemed part of a concerted attack on American morals. In fact, it was the first notable volley of queer writing to appear in English by a respected author, and it remains one of the watershed novels of 20th century gay literature. Thomas Mann called it “noble” and “truthful.” In the original version, a teenager named Jim Willard has a sexual encounter with a fellow high-school student, Bob Ford. Bob leaves town to join the navy and Jim spends the next seven years trying to find him, which he does with tragic consequences. Vidal later revised the book, toning down the ending considerably in a version republished in 1965. While it has its charms, it’s not a very good book by any means, but back in the day it was the only game in town, so it’s not surprising so many gay men grew up on it.

July 13

2010-07-13T13:44:00.001-04:00

The Pilgrim Hawk by Glenway Wescott (The Noonday Press 1990, orig. 1940)

This is my second reading of this short novel, given to me by my friend, the late Douglas LePan, who saw it as a book worthy of note. It’s a concise tale of two American expats in France in the 1920s, on a summer afternoon when a peripatetic and self-absorbed Irish couple, the Cullens, drop in and leave abruptly. The woman, Madeleine, carries a falcon everywhere with her, to the dismay of her drunken husband. The hawk becomes a prism through which the characters view the world and each other, as well as a metaphor for love that embraces captivity versus freedom, and the various appetites said to inform the need to be free versus the need to stay captive. The writing is graceful and delicate, but largely unmoving, largely because none of these characters is particularly admirable or even likable. Wescott has been called a low-rent Fitzgerald by detractors, while others have compared him favourably to Katherine Anne Porter.

July 12

2010-07-12T10:48:00.002-04:00

Wow! Queen Elizabeth II, Elton John and Lady Gaga all in one week. Will my head explode? HRH took a stroll through Queen’s Park last Tuesday, while his Elton-ness attended Her Royal Gaga’s Monster Ball at the Air Canada Centre last night. Sad to say, the sound was terrible in the upper seats. I could hardly understand a word Gaga said, though the lower realms responded with something like ferocity at her every statement. I got a small taste of what it must have been like to experience Beatlemania, or perhaps a Nuremberg rally, but the frenzy was largely contained once the concert began and things began to feel more like a large house party with a very likeable, though rather ordinary looking hostess, apart from the fantastical costumes.

July 6

2010-07-06T17:25:00.005-04:00

Starstruck? Moi? Not bloody likely. I’ve seen my share of stars in the entertainment world, and even worked with a few, but I feel no razzle-dazzle when I meet them. There are, however, a handful of celebrities I would go out of my way to see, and Queen Elizabeth II is one. Save your Kennedys, take your Tom Cruises and Julia Roberts—watching the queen descend the steps of Queen’s Park and stroll around the grounds greeting people today was real glamour. And while I may be part of a generation that has grown cynical of politics and figureheads, Queen Elizabeth has been a significant figure for my entire life. It was her picture on the walls I saluted in public school and her broadcasts I still listen for at Christmastime as part of a handful of traditions that hold meaning for me. Stoical, well-mannered, gracious, and seemingly indefatigable, at 84 she is the living embodiment of what a grand monarch can be. God Save The Queen!

July 5

2010-07-05T11:00:00.001-04:00

Naming The Bones by Louise Welsh (2010 Canongate)

This long-awaited fourth volume by one of the more interesting contemporary writers is yet another deviation from her previous books. It seems everything Welsh sets out to write is a foray into fresh fields, as though each volume completes one journey and paves the way for another. In the current book, Murray Watson, a would-be biographer of a little known Scottish poet named Archie Lunan, tracks his long-dead quarry into the past and makes some startling discoveries. With its emphasis on atmosphere—ruined castles, semi-deserted islands, and even sinkholes—it’s more of a gothic novel crossed with an almost-traditional mystery. Almost, in that a good number of the mysteries are left inconclusive at the book’s end. There’s a bit of fun name-play—Watson, as in the bumbling Dr. Watson, Lunan as in poetic ‘lunacy,’ a mysterious former-mistress named Graves whose secret is literally buried, and even a foe named Baine. Frankly, I would have been tempted to dismiss this book early on if I hadn’t been aware of the incisive intellect behind it. It feels as though someone said to Welsh, “Enough with the brilliance, Louise; how about writing something the rest of us will understand?” I suspect with this book Welsh is heading stolidly toward the mainstream, and no doubt it will take her there, but it may leave fans of her previous volumes bewildered at best and disappointed at worst.

June 30

2010-06-30T16:48:00.002-04:00

Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin (Modern Library Edition 2001, orig. 1956)

It’s not everyday that one encounters a gay classic for the first time, but this is a first reading for me. At the core of Baldwin’s novel is David, a young, white American who has an affair with Giovanni, an Italian bartender in Paris in the mid-1950s, after David’s girlfriend Hella leaves for an extended stay in Spain. The affair blossoms until Hella’s return, when David abandons Giovanni and tragedy results.

With writing reminiscent of Fitzgerald at his unencumbered best (Gatsby, and the more luminous bits of Tycoon), this book is one of a handful of literary stepping-stones that illuminate pre-Stonewall queer experience in the 20th century. (The list includes, among other titles, Forster’s Maurice—begun in 1913, though not published till 1971—works by Gide and Proust, Vidal’s The City and the Pillar from 1949, the novels of Genet, and a few others, that tell us about queer life before we evolved into an integrated community with a literature of our own.)

The book is also remarkable, probably as much then as now, in that it is a novel about whites by a black author. Perhaps even rarer, it offers a startlingly clear perception of Americans abroad seen from an outsider’s viewpoint. The writing is of a consistently high calibre, told through the narrator’s reflections. To me, however, it lacks passion. I admire it, but can’t love it the way I love Gatsby, for instance, even though I relate more readily to Baldwin’s characters than Fitzgerald’s. While Baldwin analyses his characters’ feelings brilliantly, he seldom seems to share their suffering. He distances himself from the story, just as both Giovanni and Hella accuse David of distancing himself from them.

Perhaps this is a result of Baldwin’s apprehension that his black readership would turn on him with this book (it didn’t) or maybe fear that white readers might misunderstand him. (And, if so, perhaps I am one.) Or maybe it’s just the result of being gay, black and an American ex-pat in a time when any of those qualities might easily cast you in the role of pariah—easier to shut down your emotions and view them from a safe distance, say, in the pages of a books. Whatever the reason, the story is nonetheless an invaluable part of queer literary history as well as a memorable read.

June 28

2010-06-28T12:05:00.002-04:00

In writing of the death of his friend, the artist Henri Gaudier-Brzeska, at the age of 23 in WWII, poet Ezra Pound writes how the force of new art is thought dangerous by a certain type of person who fear it, think it ugly, or hate it because of the effort it takes to come to an understanding of it. He states, rightly, that there are those who believe “the stability of property is the end and the all” while others believe “the aim of civilization is to keep alive…the intellectually-inventive-creative spirit.” Yesterday, when someone asked if I understood the rage behind the destruction of property in the city during the recent G-20 Summit, I thought of that statement. For those of us who do not believe in wholesale globalisation, who do not believe that more is better, or that the taking of power confers the right to force those beliefs on others, rage is a common reaction. In fact, I would say it’s a natural bi-product in en era of Survivor and Idol mentalities, endless consumerism, and the worship of celebrity, diet and beauty aesthetics.

For surely globalisation means more politics and politics, ultimately, means war in one form or another: political, economic, moral. More people dying for causes they don’t believe in. Would you be willing to die for cheaper oil, for an expanded marketplace? Because that is what it comes down to. Pound saw his friend’s death and the loss of his talent as a tragedy for humankind, and not merely for one person, just as he understood the forces behind the face of war as being largely economic and political. Why did our prime minister, who has openly declared his contempt for artists and his resentment of Toronto, choose to host the summit here, in a city he despises? Why did he not listen to the voices of authority in the city who advised him—strongly—not to host the event downtown?

Just because there are many who don’t want power does not mean we think it’s okay for others to grab it and turn it back on us, but that is what politicians do. Connecting the dots from the Mayan peasants forced off their land so others can raise cheaper beef for McDonalds or cheaper coffee for Starbucks, up through the cheerful looking corporation fronts that appear on our street corners is not always easy to do, but the trail is there to follow if you make the effort. Protests are one means of voicing an opinion about such things. Sadly, in this age, violence speaks louder than peaceful demonstration. It’s the power brokers of the world who have made that fact a truism, which is why the violence was directed at them. Reap what you have sown.

June 27

2010-06-27T09:28:00.004-04:00

An earthquake, a full moon eclipse, and a protest riot leaving the downtown core a shambles. Can one city take much more? No doubt we can. I remember Joan Didion's remark about staying in New York during the week following the events of 9/11: "Would you really want to be anywhere else?" I couldn't answer that at the time, but now I know: as a writer, I need to be here to witness. What was interesting was seeing the two versions of yesterday's events: one in real life and the other on TV. From outside, it probably looks far more frightening than it does close-up. If it is a war zone, then war zones are places where danger is far more banal than you might imagine. Smashed windows and spray-painted walls--these are child's play. The real forces to worry about and reckon with are at work inside the compound.

June 23

2010-06-23T13:22:00.007-04:00

The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest by Stieg Larsson (Trans. from Swedish by Reg Keeland, Penguin 2010)

This is the third and last of Stieg Larsson’s highly successful Millennium series, featuring anti-social super-hacker Lisbeth Salander and hyper-moralizing rogue journalist Mikael Blomkvist. With Hornet’s Nest, we hit the ground running immediately following Lisbeth’s assault on Russian defector Zalanchenko at the end of The Girl Who Played With Fire. With a bullet in her brain—no small peanuts—Lisbeth is transferred to hospital and operated on. Wanted for the murders of two journalists whose report on underage prostitution lies at the heart of the previous book, Salander now waits as others argue over her fate and Blomkvist plots to free her.

With this volume, Larsson moves heavily into conspiracy theory territory, briefly recruiting even the Swedish PM as a character while focusing on a secretive government cabal believed to have covered Zalachenko’s existence. The book vacillates wildly between action and rhetoric, between swiftness and inertia, but without Salander’s outrageous unpredictability at its centre much of it feels oddly flat.

A total of ten books were planned for the series, including fragments of a fourth left incomplete at the time of Larsson’s death, so perhaps others will appear in future. (If Mahler’s tenth symphony could be successfully reconstructed after his death, then why not Larsson’s books?) At times, the current volume threatens to implode from the weight of its sub-plots and secondary characters, as well as a lot of overwrought expounding on issues of sex and sexuality. Though the odds are always heavily weighted on the side of the good guys, nevertheless you still feel inclined to cheer as the would-be tension builds to a rather predictable victory for Our Side. In spite of everything, the series ends with a considerable bang rather than a whimper, and the conclusion makes it well worth the ride. Thank you, Stieg Larsson.

June 12

2010-06-12T00:53:00.014-04:00

Another stellar evening for Proust & Company. Our Pride Poets evening over Glad Day Bookshop featured some fantastic readings by Keith Garebian, Maureen Hynes and Billeh Nickerson. (If you think poetry readings are dull, you should have been there last night. That was some talent!) Keith read from his newest book, Children of Ararat (Frontenac), while Maureen read from a collection of new and older work, including Harm's Way (Brick Books), as did Billeh Nickerson with his inimitable sense of humour, giving us selections from McPoems (Arsenal Pulp). And of course the stalwart musical stylings of Omel Masalunga rounded out the event. Thanks, all!

May 29

2010-05-30T09:41:00.003-04:00

Whoever said awards ceremonies were dull never went to the Canadian Booksellers Association Libris Awards. Of course, it didn't hurt that I got to sit with the Sheilahs: Sheilagh Rogers of CBC hosted the evening in her inimitable style and Sheilah Kauffman of Another Story Bookshop was a presenter along with me and a number of others. Also at our table was incoming CBA president Mark Lefebvre, whose amusing manner kept us all at ease. And I'm happy to say that my very own editor, Marc Cote of Cormorant Books, went home with the award for Editor of the Year.

May 7

2010-05-07T20:07:00.004-04:00

Nearly famous. Went to the Churchmouse & Firkin for a quaff with my friend Enrique yesterday. While I was downstairs in the loo, the server came by and asked where she might have recognized me from. E pointed to the cover of Xtra! on the table and asked, "Does he look like that guy?" She pondered my photo for a moment, then shook her head. "Sort of, but not really," she said, and went off to fill E's order.

Apr 28

2010-04-28T18:36:00.000-04:00

F-U-N. That's a word I haven't used in a while. Today I even had some, modelling for Toronto arts scene photographer, David Hawe, for an upcoming issue of Xtra! Xtra!'s new managing editor, the charming Marcus McCann, was on hand to make sure we didn't get too carried away while I posed for the article on my symbiotic existence with sexy super-sleuth, Bradford Fairfax. For those who don't know, Brad is currently preparing for his upcoming adventure, Vanished In Vallarta, due out in June.

Apr 12

2010-04-12T11:31:00.003-04:00

What's better than a short mediocre review in the New York Times? A great, full-page review in the Literary Review of Canada. I'll be sure to post the link to Steven Hayward's review of The Honey Locust, "Battles Foreign and Familial", when it comes on-line!

Apr 5

2010-04-05T23:56:00.005-04:00

News flash! I'd heard that the normally genteel and diplomatic Canadian mystery writer, Anthony Bidulka, author of the Russell Quant mystery series, has been writing about me in his blog. The very idea brought me to my knees in despair! How could I have sunk so low that a nice guy like Anthony would gossip about me? So I checked out his site, and there it was in black and white, and a few other colours, for everyone to see. And so can you: http://anthonybidulka.com/blog/. But then again, if it's all true, does it qualify as gossip?

Mar 26

2010-03-26T14:35:00.002-04:00

Open Book: Toronto (http://www.openbooktoronto.com/). Those of you who follow it will know it's a gold mine of writer information. I've just been invited to participate as an on-line Writer-In-Residence in December. It's a ways off, but that gives me lots of time to practice my blogging skills.

March 14, 2010

2010-03-14T14:23:00.004-04:00

Mission accomplished. Just past noon today, I finished the first draft of my new thriller, Endgame. It's a re-write of a famous Agatha Christie plot, with an entirely new setting and cast of characters. Does this mean I'm now writing commercial fiction? We'll see. In any case, I can now come home feeling I've achieved my goal.

March 10, 2010

2010-03-11T11:02:00.002-05:00

This morning, as every morning here, I'm sitting high in my turret overlooking Puerto Vallarta and Banderas Bay. And it is glorious. But not too glorious to keep me from writing, which is what I've been doing since I arrived. Odd, though, to be thinking up ingenious ways for my characters to be murdered while watching waves and whales and sailboats going past on a perfect blue sea. Hasta la vista, baby.

March 3, 2010

2010-03-03T21:01:00.005-05:00

Very happy to be in beautiful Puerto Vallarta! My, how it's grown since I was last here in 2008. Obviously the economy slowdown hasn't affected things. I suspect it will lose its intimate quality if it keeps on like this, however. For now, I'll just have to make the most of things. I'm looking forward to revising my latest book over the coming weeks.

Feb 27, 2010

2010-02-27T11:23:00.001-05:00

It's been another busy week, with an author power-lunch with writer Michael Rowe (one of my favourite people to kvetch with), a book signing at the Book Expo at the Metro Convention Centre, and silly good fun with writer Peter Dube (here on a writers grant from Quebec) and poet Billeh Nickerson (just bumming around while on leave from Vancouver.) That's the fun part of being a writer.

Feb 14, 2010

2010-02-14T17:38:00.004-05:00

It's been a powerhouse week. First an Author's Brunch and then the Book Lovers Ball, and now the end of the rough draft of my latest book.

This one's a mystery (I'm keeping the title to myself for now), but not comical like the Bradford Fairfax series. I had the inspiration for it last summer while attending a BBQ with a band of rock musicians, but was unable to get started on it till recently.

I began the draft on Jan 18 and have worked on it sporadically but quickly since then. It's not a record by any means: that belongs to Vanished In Vallarta, due this summer from Cormorant Books. That one was roughed out in 14 days straight.

I'll sit on this new one for the next two weeks and take it with me to work on in Mexico in March.

Feb 12, 2010

2010-02-12T02:05:00.002-05:00

Had a terrific night at the Book Lovers Ball V at the Fairmount Royal York, held in aid of the Toronto Library Foundation. It was a star-studded event, with names like Peter C Newman, Wayson Choy, Nino Ricci, Richard Gwynne, Anne Michaels, Dionne Brand, Allan Stratton, Andrew Pyper, and many others, for a total of 55 celebrity authors. I felt a bit outclassed, but loved it nonetheless. I got to sit with John Farrell of the TPL, as well as folks from fashion houses Farley Chatto and Indiva, who were responsible for two of eight fashion segments on book themes (Sherlock Holmes and Slumdog Millionaire), featuring some fantastic creations and terrific choreography. I’d happily do it all again tomorrow night.

Feb 11, 2010

2010-02-11T14:36:00.000-05:00

Feb 8, 2010

2010-02-08T18:13:00.005-05:00

Happy 79th, James Dean! Yikes, can you imagine? Not really.

Had a great time yesterday at an Author's Brunch fundraiser for the Dayne Ogilvie Grant for Emerging LGBT Writers, sponsored by the Writers' Trust. Dayne and I were colleagues at Xtra! in the early-90s. He was an editor, writer and arts patron, so it's fitting that this grant should be established in his name by his good friend, Robin Pacific.

Writers Wayson Choy, Maureen Hines, Brian Francis and Zoe Whittall were there, along with many other enthusiastic supporters of the arts. It was a friendly, homey crowd. I read briefly from The Honey Locust, my new literary novel published by Cormorant Books.

The wine was pretty good, too.

Feb 2, 2010

2010-02-02T12:49:00.003-05:00

This month I finally finished my new video. Driving With Rusty is a composite of archival stage show footage and interview material with the late-Rusty Ryan. Rusty was a founding member of The Great Imposters and a protege of Craig Russell. In 1992, he performed in my one-man show, Driving To Tatamagouche, at the Fringe of Toronto Festival. I had intended to make a documentary on his life and career, but it remained unfinished when he died in 2003. At last, there is a tribute to his talent and inimitable sense of humour.

Jan 20, 2010

2010-01-20T10:29:00.000-05:00

Quick: what's a non-skiing, Internet scavenger like me doing at a family ski resort with only a dial-up modem at the top end of the Appalachians? Why, writing, of course! It's the McConnell family annual get-together at Owl's Head in the Eastern Townships of Quebec, and possibly the most beautiful scenery this side of the Rockies. It reminds me of a hotel in Heiligkreuz, Switzerland, once owned by my cousin Barb Grossenbacher. I knew I wouldn't end up on the slopes once I got here, but I didn't know I was about to walk into a new fiction plot. Talk about a perfect setting for a mystery! This is as secluded and atmospheric as it gets, with mist shrouded mountaintops and roads blocked by snow. Still, it's going to have to wait, since I'm already deep into writing three other books at the moment. Every dog (and book) shall have its day.

Jan 14, 2010

2010-01-14T01:38:00.004-05:00

My first blog post of the new year. I seem to be getting lazy at this. Lots has been going on, including the preliminary sketches of the cover for Vanished In Vallarta, third volume of the Bradford Fairfax mystery series. Nick Craine has created another great sketch. He tells me he finds the books inspiring, and I believe him, because his covers are terrific. He's had an idea for a box set of seven in the Pride Flag rainbow colours. I just happen to have seven books planned. And by chance, the first two spines also happen to be lavender and indigo.

Dec 22, 2009

2009-12-22T22:12:00.002-05:00

A fun evening at BENT, with four other writers: Tamai Kobayashi, Farzana Doctor, S Bear Bergman and John Miller. Kudos to moderator Andrew Vail, who presided over the festivities with flair and finesse, and many thanks to the lively audience at this well-attended event at the Gladstone Hotel on Queen W. We may not have solved the publishing dilemmas of queer authors, but we had a hell of a good time discussing them.

Dec 5, 2009

2009-12-05T23:48:00.002-05:00

Tonight marked the one year anniversary of Proust & Company, the musical and literary salon held above Gladday Bookshop. Thanks to our wonderful readers, RM Vaughan (Troubled), Peter Dube (Hovering World) and Steven Bereznai (Queeroes), as well as the Urban Flute Project, who provided some terrific musical ambience. Thanks also to John Scythes and Gladday, co-host Josh Bentley-Swan, Shane McConnell (who did most of the work, as usual) and everyone who dropped by.

December 2, 2009

2009-12-02T17:20:00.000-05:00

It's always nice when you feel your writing is appreciated. And then there are those extremely rare reviews that send you over the moon. This is one: http://www.stageandpage.com/the%20honey%20locust.htm#locust

November 23, 2009

2009-11-23T09:23:00.002-05:00

Just back from a surprise birthday trip to Paris. (Free ticket—don’t hate me!)

Best meal: soup a l’oignon, steak with Roquefort sauce, patates frites and mousse au chocolat at the economical Côte d’Azur in Montmartre.
Best moment: twilight on the roof of the Arc de Triomphe. (Frommer’s is right—it’s the best view of the city, bar none.)
Most memorable moment: getting stuck in the World Cup Soccer craziness when France beat Ireland and missing the last subway across town. (And we think Toronto closes early. Thank goodness for all-night busses!)
Most sentimental moment: accidentally coming across the Carnavalet Museum in Le Marais, where Marcel Proust’s bedroom has been recreated with his actual furniture.

November 6, 2009

2009-11-06T13:18:00.000-05:00

It's been a rockin' kinda week, starting with a very fun launch of The Honey Locust at Nicholas Hoare Books (thanks, guys!), and then an evening as a featured writer at the prestigious Writers' Trust Awards dinner at the Four Seasons. These events were followed by a dream performance of songs I composed for soprano Lilac Cana at the funky Ars Audet fundraiser for ACT--on my birthday, no less! The stars are shining nicely these days.

November 3, 2009

2009-11-03T22:11:00.002-05:00

A superb launch for my new novel, The Honey Locust (Cormorant), at Nicholas Hoare Books last night. Thanks to everybody who came out! I look forward to seeing you all again before too long.

October 22, 2009

2009-10-22T15:03:00.003-04:00

As part of the United Readers of Cawthra (UROC) series, I was treated to a special performance of the opening scene from my award-winning play, Zebra, about the murder of librarian Kenn Zeller in Toronto's High Park in 1985. The Grade 12 students did a great job with the scene, which takes place in Kenn's grade school. It was a treat to see it enacted again. I also read from The Honey Locust, Death In Key West and a very short scene from my first novel, A Cage of Bones. I was amazed by what an appreciative and generous audience the students were.

October 20, 2009

2009-10-20T10:07:00.000-04:00

Back from the cape, where it was cold, windy and beautiful. Provincetown is a great place to be at any time of year. Bradford Fairfax and I had a good time at some old hangouts, like having a latte at Joe's Coffee, watching the sunset at Race Point and walking over the breakwater. (I finally timed it: it takes half an hour to cross at a steady pace.)

October 12, 2009

2009-10-12T21:15:00.002-04:00

Greetings from Asbury Park! Well, sort of. Bradford Fairfax and I took a little trip to New Jersey on our way to Provincetown. We spent the afternoon taking photographs in Asbury Park, now an up-and-coming hot spot on the Jersey coast, though until quite recently it was known best for being a derelict resort town as well as the title of a Bruce Spingsteen album. Can't wait to hit the Cape tomorrow.

October 6, 2009

2009-10-06T21:52:00.001-04:00

Recently, a friend asked if I referred to myself as a gay writer or just a writer. Given the recent kaffufle at the Lambda Organization, I thought it highly topical. Here's what I wrote back:

I do not refer to myself as a gay writer, though I don't mind if other people do. Shakespeare has been called a gay writer by many people (including me, and precisely because of that "pride by association" you refer to), so of course I'm fine with it, but the public perception generally is that contemporary gay writers write largely about gay people and gay issues, which is somewhat true in my case, but, more importantly, that we write only for a gay readership. It's the latter category I want to avoid being placed in, because I feel I write for everyone.

On a basic level, being called a gay writer can limit an author's readership, and I don't want to be limited in that way because I think I have things to say to many different people. For the very same reason, it puts us at an economic disadvantage, as well as placing us in a category of writer that often gets overlooked by award adjudicators. I don't think there's ever been a gay or lesbian novel up for a Governor General's Award, for instance. In Britain, in 2004, Alan Hollinghurst won the Booker Prize for his "gay-themed" novel, The Line of Beauty. I believe that was a first in almost forty years of prize-giving. Times are changing, yes, but some of us are starving in the meantime, when we aren't being overlooked.

Right now, in the US, a huge controversy is raging in the ranks of the Lambda Award people on whether or not to allow the entry of "gay-themed" books by non LGBT authors. Whoever wins an award gets a huge boost to his or her career, so the question is whether or not the Lambda Foundation wants to further the careers of non-LGBT authors who, presumably, make money on their non-LGBT books and can be eligible for non-LGBT awards. A very valid question. But what do you do about the recent phenomenon (and it is a big phenomenon) of straight women who write male/male romances? They spend their time writing books intended for a gay readership (authors like E. Annie Proulx, who write an occasional gay-themed work like Brokeback Mountain, are less common.) Do we turn our backs on these non-LGBT writers who happen to contribute a lot to the gay community, but also happen to stand outside it, biologically-speaking? It's another valid, and very tricky question.

On the one hand, the foundation was established by gays/lesbians with the intent of furthering gay/lesbian culture. (Interestingly, a group of lesbians broke off from this group to found their own awards, feeling they were being overlooked by the men.) But on the other hand, you could just as easily ask what happens to a lesbian author who wins an award and then has a sex change and becomes a straight-identified man? Will they take back her/his award?

As for bookstores, I would like my books to be in the gay and the regular sections, simply to increase my chance of having them considered by a potential customer. As ridiculous as it sounds, there are still people who would never be seen browsing an LGBT section in Chapters, or anywhere else for that matter. We're still fighting all that ignorance and prejudice. (The bookstore categories, presumably, are there to guide customers to the kind of books they're looking for, not to marginalize any particular "type" of writer, but it happens anyway. It's human nature in one of its lowest forms--nothing new.) For that reason in particular, however, I would prefer my books be read for what they are and classified afterwards.

Miles Davis said, "I'll play it first and say what it is later." I couldn't agree more.

September 27, 2009

2009-09-27T21:35:00.005-04:00

Word On The Street proved as popular this year as ever, only this time it was my turn to read. I always enjoy introducing a new book to an audience, because it gives me a chance to get a feel for how people will react to it.

Today's festival was my second reading from The Honey Locust, after last week's session at Words Alive in Sharon Ontario. It was also my last public reading this month.

As enjoyable as the month has been, with a new book out, a new documentary screened, and a public performance of three new songs at the St Lawrence Centre, I'm exhausted and looking forward to doing very little in the week ahead.

Bake a cake and invite me over, someone.

September 22, 2009

2009-09-22T08:56:00.006-04:00

A very busy weekend! It began with the publication of my new novel, The Honey Locust (Cormorant Books), of which I am very proud. It's a beautiful looking book and I think it's my best writing yet.

Then on Saturday, two premieres: my documentary on the life, career and charity work of singer Lilac Cana was followed by a performance of three songs I composed for Lilac. Best yet, I got to accompany her on piano on-stage at the St Lawrence Centre for the Arts. A magical evening.

On Sunday, I read from The Honey Locust for the first time, at Words Alive, a very special literary festival held on the grounds of the Sharon Temple, in Sharon ON.

September 18, 2009

2009-09-19T01:27:00.004-04:00

My new book, The Honey Locust, arrived today. It's my fourth book, but this one feels really special, perhaps because it's taken so long to be published. I have never held a newborn baby in my hands and thought, "This is mine; I created this," while marveling at the infinite possibilities that lie ahead for it. And while I don't mean to undervalue the gift of human life (or my other books), I feel something very much like that, as I hold this book and caress it and marvel over its beauty.

September 12, 2009

2009-09-13T00:30:00.005-04:00

Another fun night at the Proust and Company salon, featuring the new must-have anthology from editor Caro Soles and MLR Press. It was also Paul Bellini's birthday -- the Big "0". Happy birthday, Paul! And thanks to everyone who came to listen and buy a book.

Here's my take on the collection:

Don Juan & Men edited by Caro Soles (MLR Press 2009)

"What if Don Juan were gay?" is the question posited by this unique collection. Unlike his real-life counterpart, Giacomo Casanova, Don Juan is a fictional character, Byron's epic poem Don Juan and Mozart's opera Don Giovanni (libretto by Lorenzo da Ponte) being among the most famous versions of the legend. Now editor Caro Soles presents us with a convincing collection of short fiction showing the Don's other face as gay seducer. Characterized by fine craftsmanship, as much a nod to editor Soles' qualities as a curator as to the talented writers she's selected, this collection gives a wonderfully varied look at what a gay Don Juan might be like: greedy and generous, sadistic and loving, aggressive and gentle, and most of all, irresistible.

September 1, 2009

2009-09-02T11:46:00.003-04:00

A rather remarkable morning at the recording studio today. I spent two hours with singer Lilac Cana and producer Michael Freedman going over the four songs I'd written for Lilac's new CD, Blossom. Of the four, we loved three and decided to scrap one, eventually re-recording the first song we recorded back in spring. There was nothing wrong with the take, but in the intervening months, Lilac and I had found a new tone and tempo for the song, and it made the old take sound lacklustre. I'm quite excited about the collection, which features a young violinist on the third song, Violets, with words by english poet John Moultrie.

August 12, 2009

2009-08-12T20:32:00.003-04:00

Today was one of those rare transformative days. I recently finished final edits on The Honey Locust, my novel about the Bosnian war, due out next month from Cormorant. I played hookey and spent three hours on my bike listening to my iPod and riding around the east end. At one point, I stopped in a ravine to listen to the Bach cantata Ich Habe Genug ("I Have Enough"), with one of my favourite tenors, Ian Bostridge. I was utterly transported, to the point where I felt as though I was in 18th century Leipzig in the middle of an Alpine forest (my fantasies are nothing, if not elaborate.) It took me back to a similar moment that brought forth this particular book, many years ago. I was sitting on my back porch under a neighbour’s Honey locust and experienced a feeling of utter peace that was entirely foreign to my nature at the time. It was to become the basis for the last scene of the book even before I knew what the story was about, other than its underlying theme of personal redemption. Those two moments—fifteen years apart—have book-ended things for me, for it’s only now that the book has been fully realized in my eyes. The moment itself was very Goethe-Schiller-18th-century Romanticism, but I’d be a liar if I denied that my soul is steeped in that tradition, even if my current style is outwardly anti-romantic in nature.

August 8, 2009

2009-08-08T13:40:00.004-04:00

Wow--a whole month since my last entry. And a busy one. Since then, I've learned that Death In Key West is the number one seller at Glad Day Books, our local beloved bookshop. It was also among the top six sellers at Saints and Sinners Literary Festival in New Orleans in May.

Lately, however, I've been under the gun to put the final touches on The Honey Locust, my literary novel about a Canadian journalist who experiences the Bosnian War. It's now in to the proofreader. I'll have a final go at it next week, and then it's out into the wide world with it, where I hope it finds a good home. Reality can be harsh.

July 8, 2009

2009-07-08T10:34:00.002-04:00

This month sees me engrossed in three quite different projects. The first is the rough draft of a YA novel, "Javier and the Temple of the Jaguar," a brand new genre for me. It was inspired by my trip to Chiapas and the Mayan ruins at Palenque in February. The second is the continuation of the composing and recording project of my song cycle for soprano Lilac Cana, while the third is the video for Lilac's 40th birthday celebrations at St Lawrence Centre for the Arts this September. Busy times!

June 29, 2009

2009-06-29T21:32:00.007-04:00

It's been a busy time. Following last week's very successful launch of Death In Key West, book two of the Bradford Fairfax mystery series, I was invited to read at the Proud Voices stage as part of Toronto's Pride Week Celebrations. It's something I've been hoping would happen for years.

I had perfect weather for my reading on Saturday, but the following day threatened annihilation by thunderstorms that miraculously passed by until the parade and most of the celebrations were over.

And as if that weren't enough excitement, today I finished my rough draft for book four of the series, Bon Ton Roulez, Cajun for Let the Good Times Roll. (I'll let you guess what southern city it's set in.)

June 26, 2009

2009-06-26T19:26:00.002-04:00

Dear Friends,

It was an amazing evening on Tuesday, June 23, at the Moose Factory. Thanks for all your support and well wishes.

Glad Day Books did some booming business to get the book launched in style and with impressive numbers.

As well, the Writers' Trust raised a small fortune for the Dayne Ogilvie Memorial Award.

Thanks to everyone for your generosity!

Jeff

June 11, 2009

2009-06-11T17:41:00.002-04:00

So far, the month has held a cornucopia of riches, including a very successful fourth evening in the Proust & Company series, which featured authors Storm Grant, John Miller and me. This was followed a few days ago with a private meeting with one of Canada's great mystery writers, Gail Bowen, Writer In Residence at the Toronto Reference Library. Gail had seen a preview selection from Lake On The Mountain, my "serious" mystery about a gay missing persons investigator and father. Not ony did she give me some terrific insights into parenting, she was also downright fun to sit and yack with and share writing trade gossip--a constructive and memorable morning.

This morning, I was thrilled to be in the studio with my friend, the dynamite soprano Lilac Cana, for a recording session of three songs of mine. Two of the songs were new works from a song cycle I'm writing for Lilac, with lyrics by other writers, including Robert Frost, Allen Ginsberg and Shakespeare.

June 7, 2009

2009-06-07T21:49:00.001-04:00

Another fun evening for Proust and Company last night. Josh Bentley-Swan hosted the event, taking over for me. Fave jazz duo Omel Masalunga and Jeri Aniceto put on another great set with an expanded repertoire, including classics like "Big Spender" and "More (Theme from Mondo Cane)". Newbie author Storm Grant gave a compelling first reading from "Gym Dandy", her "frothy gay romance" set in Toronto's gaybourhood, while Toronto favourite John Miller read from his expert, award-winning "A Sharp Intake of Breath", and I followed with the opening chapter of "Death In Key West."

Thanks to all who attended. Your support makes it all worthwhile. Please join us Sept 12, 8-10 p.m., for the launch of the Caro Soles-edited, "Don Juan and Men", a scintillating collection of fiction reworking the Don Juan legend, featuring Paul Bellini, Michael Rowe, and others.

June 2, 2009

2009-06-02T11:53:00.004-04:00

Having a new anthology show up in my mailbox is a reminder I have one less publication ahead of me that my work will appear in. Sad, but it's how I think. On the bright side, I'm always thrilled when the anthologies are smart looking, like the two volumes I was accepted in recently. Boy Crazy, edited by prolific Canadian Richard Labonté, is the first. And it's undoubtedly smart looking. I'm happy to be included with established masters like Michael Rowe and James Magruder, as well as talented newcomers like Rob Wolfsham and Natty Soltesz. The book's subtitle, "Coming Out Erotica," might seem a bit misleading. For the most part, these stories aren't about sex, but about self-discovery that comes through sexual awakening. Most are just downright good writing, first and last. All are filled with the unabashed ardour and joy of first time sexual intimacy. Dale Chase's Army Brat has a charming insouciance, while FA Pollard's Game Boyz wins big for hottest and most natural sex scene, and Wolfsham's nerd-boy voice in The Viking is irresistible. Others, like Rowe's August, Magruder's Treasure Map, Soltesz's Paperboys and Thomas Fuch's Larry and His Father, will take you places you won't expect to go and won't forget either—the trick of accomplished writing.

May 18, 2009

2009-05-18T11:10:00.008-04:00

And then there were none. The 2009 Saints and Sinners Festival, one of the best little book festivals in the world, is now officially over. I participated in a panel discussion on mystery writing on Saturday, read from Death In Key West on Sunday, then attended the knighting of Michael Thomas Ford as he was inducted into the S&S Hall of Fame. (After publishing 55 books, Mike received a "mid-career" award. There's optimism for you.)

The closing ceremonies were wet inside and out. The alcohol was freely flowing and I've never seen New Orleans so cool and rainy. It felt as if I'd never left Toronto. It was great to catch up with old friends like Jeff Mann, Jill Braden (aka Kathleen Bradeen), Lynn Krauss and Mike Ford, as well as new friends like fellow panelist Gary Zebrun.

As usual, I picked up some great story ideas. Two days ago I woke in the early morning hours to a noxious smell of burning chemicals and later learned a pier was on fire under suspicious circumstances in Bywater (a nearby neighbourhood to the Faubourg Marigny, where I always stay at the wonderful and welcoming Lions Inn on Chartres, if you want a solid gold recommendation for a New Orleans guesthouse.) The burning of the pier will probably become the opening scene of Bradford's fourth adventure, which takes place in NOLA. I don't have a title for it yet, but I'm toying with calling it Bon Ton Roulay, Cajun for "Let the good times roll."

Two days left before I head home.

May 15, 2009

2009-05-16T01:04:00.003-04:00

Saints and Sinners is now offically in full swing. Today I took in four (4!) masterclasses with some experts in the field: Writers' Guild lawyer Michael Gross on writers' contracts, Michael Thomas Ford on the impossibility of being a full-time writer (and how he has being doing the impossible for 20 years), New York Times writer Benoit Denizet-Lewis with some highly personal insights on writing creative non-fiction, and Greg Herren on exploring sexuality in a fictional context. All entertaining, all rewarding sessions. And that's just day one.

May 14, 2009

2009-05-14T20:25:00.007-04:00

Saints and Sinners Literary Festival, New Orleans

Although the event hasn't started yet, I'm dipping into New Orleans culture and hospitality. A bike ride (16 miles!) around the city reveals how much of the devastation from Hurricane Katrina still remains, but how different the city looks from two years ago when I was last here. Then, it was a disaster area, and the expressions on people's faces said they were running out of hope their city might ever recover. Today, nearly four years after Katrina, it's looking like a vibrant community again.

This morning, Shane and I went out for a celebratory beignet (if you don't know what that is, think the best deep fried doughnuts in the world, covered in icing sugar and served smokin'), courtesy of BC writer Geneva St James, aka Lynn Krauss, whose wonderful "Made For You" was recently nominated as one of the top five comic lesbian novels of 2008.

On the way to meet Lynn I saw Montreal writer Peter Dube sitting in a cafe and, later, at the Bourbon Orleans Hotel where the festival takes place, I spotted multi-award winning author Ellen Hart stepping out of a cab.

I've got a panel coming up Saturday and on Sunday I'll be reading from the new Bradford Fairfax adventure, "Death In Key West", (which I haven't seen in print yet!) In between, I'm going to try to hear as many writers and attend as many Master Classes as I can.

Say hello if you're here!

April 30, 2009

2009-04-30T21:29:00.001-04:00

Blood Hunt by Ian Rankin writing as Jack Harvey (Orion Books 1994)

You know that a book written by a one-time punk musician is going to have street cred, though what else it may contain is anybody’s guess. In this case, intelligence, suspense, and some fun political theorizing. Scotsman Reeve is a former SAS officer who trains weekend warriors in the art of tracking and overpowering imaginary enemies. He doesn’t know how handy those talents will come in until he receives a call saying his journalist brother has been found dead in San Diego. The web Reeve unravels to find his brother’s murderers is long and sordid, and would do any conspiracy theorist proud. For the most part, it’s amusing to watch Reeve at work in this tale of physical and intellectual warfare. Rankin has a big reputation among the thriller set, and it’s deserved, though the downside is that the writing doesn’t shine. Words have no importance here—one can just as easily be substituted for another with no detriment to the book. The story’s the thing, and it moves and moves, though if it stopped moving, it would very likely collapse. There’s a lot of sound and fury signifying little, apart from some brief philosophising on the nature of power.

An acquaintance and I once discussed our respective literary tastes. His litmus test was The English Patient. He wouldn’t credit the taste of anyone who admired that book. Ironically, it was also my test. I couldn’t credit the taste of anyone who didn’t understand what makes it great. It’s not snobbishness; it’s about values. In TEP, words are magic. Or rather, how they’re used is the magic, since few words have currency on their own these days. If you have a tin ear for words, the writing won’t entice you. “What about The Great Gatsby?” he asked, not knowing he’d touched on my ne plus ultra. “It’s pretty boring,” he said. To him it was simply a story about a love triangle. Or rather, two love triangles that bisect, with a narrator standing outside each squaring the hypotenuse. Seen in that way it would be pretty boring, but if you have an ear for words, it’s magic. While Rankin’s story rocks, his ear for words is the equivalent of punk music. It’s about raw, primary power, not subtlety and certainly not magic.

April 29, 2009

2009-04-29T12:54:00.004-04:00

The Violet Quill Reader, Edited by David Bergman (St. Martin's Press 1994)

The 20th Century was dotted with literary groups (Bloomsbury, Stein's Paris Circle, the Harlem Renaissance, etc.) Many of these influenced the course of literary history; all were dominated by gays and lesbians. (Yes, all--check the rosters, if you don't believe me.) The Violet Quill met only eight times between 1980-81, yet it was the first official group created with the express aim of writing to and for a gay readership. The seven men who comprised the VQ--Felice Picano, Andrew Holleran, Edmund White, George Whitmore, Christopher Cox, Robert Ferro and Michael Grumley--all met in a personal capacity before throwing in their lot as a literary "movement."

Published 13 years after the official "disbanding" of the group, The Violet Quill Reader contains work by all seven writers, including a formerly unpublished story by Cox, who produced little and died young (as did Grumley, Ferro and Whitmore), as well as letters and diary entries detailing the group's short-lived formal activities. By all accounts, the group shared a basic political outlook (gay liberation theology), but not an aesthetic one. Their work does not constitute a school of any sort, apart from that of being written by and for gays in what is now loosely called "the post-Stonewall era."

Bergman has carefully shaped the book to reveal the evolution of the writers before, during and after the group (only Holleran, whose famed Dancer From The Dance was among the first best-selling pieces of Gaylit, seems to have come to the group with his style fully-formed), as well as to frame their work in an historic context. It opens with White’s wonderful firsthand account of the Stonewall Riots, and some early letters of Holleran and Ferro not long after the two met at a Writers' Workshop in 1965. It ends with Holleran’s tribute to Ferro, following his death to aids in 1989.

While the work no longer seems revolutionary (Whitmore's The Confessions of Danny Slocum, for instance, reads like very slow literary foreplay, and White’s Nocturnes for the King of Naples is nothing more than self-indulgent "poetic" gobbledegook), in its day much of it was revelatory. Under the group's influence, individual members began producing far more notable work and were considered among the most successful gay authors of their generation. And while much of it covers familiar territory (coming out, facing discrimination, living with aids), a good deal of it remains powerful: the excerpt from Whitmore's Nebraska is gripping, as is the one from Ferro's last work, From Life Drawing. There are some memorable short pieces as well, like White’s intriguing An Oracle, and the droll Whitmore short story, Getting Rid of Robert, a "biographical" work that threatened to tear the VQ apart.

While the amount and the quality of work produced by individual members differs greatly, the group's collective influence on GayLit has been huge, and its value perhaps only now beginning to be recognized. The remaining members, White, Holleran and Picano, are to be honoured by the Lambda Literary Foundation with the 2009 Pioneer Award next month. And though with hindsight the VQ may seem to have been a movement whose time had come, we owe much to those who marched before it became entirely fashionable to do so.

April 17, 2009

2009-04-17T18:00:00.006-04:00

And suddenly it's summer! Today it reached 21 degrees--nice T-shirt weather for most Canucks, though I won't shed my winter gear till it hits 23.

Two weeks ago I sat down to start work on the third draft of my non-gay, non-literary mystery, The Sulphur Springs Cure, written for, yes, money. (It's a Miss Marple-style cosy about an 82-year-old woman who returns to the scene of a childhood murder, and which I intend to publish under the name Isadora Funk.) I quickly ploughed through the first hundred pages. Since then, one thing after another has conspired to keep me from getting back to it, including the final proofs of Death In Key West, which is unofficially due out May 8. Every day it seems there's something new needing to be done.

Today I finally booked for the Saints and Sinners Literary Festival in New Orleans next month. As gay literary festivals go, it's one of the most enjoyable and rewarding around. I'm especially looking forward to seeing pals like Greg Herren and Paul Willis, as well as Lynn Krause (aka author Geneva St James…shhh!), Jeff Mann, Michael Thomas Ford, Aaron Hamburger, and a whole lot of others…not to mention the gumbo and the beignets!

April 5, 2009

2009-04-05T13:48:00.010-04:00

Last night's Proust and Company saw one of the most rousing evenings we've had at the event so far, and this was as much due to our highly appreciative audience as to some terrific readers and performers. Singer/guitarist Ezequial Ledesma started us off with a superb set of classic Latin songs, featuring some evocative backup vocals by Geri Anecito and P-and-C perennial, Omel Masalunga. Then poet, biographer and theatre critic Keith Garebian read from his recent work, Blue: The Derek Jarman Poems, a haunting elegy to the late filmmaker whose life and work have inspired some of Keith's most passionate poetry. He was followed by Toronto favourite and new mom, Elizabeth Ruth, whose famous Clit Lit reading series ran for nearly five years and showcased more than 400 writers. Elizabeth read from Smoke, her highly acclaimed second novel about a Southern Ontario tobacco country boy with a facial disfigurement, selected as the 2007 One Book, One Community series. Finishing the evening with a bang, the only writer I know who achieves vertical lift-off the moment she starts to read, west coaster Karen X Tulchinsky put in a surprise appearance after a cancellation by RM Vaughan. Although Rich was missed, we were thrilled to have Karen step in to take his slot, reading from her first novel, Love Ruins Everything. Truly a grand evening, and thanks to everyone (John, Josh, Ryan...) involved.

March 17, 2009

2009-03-17T16:38:00.004-04:00

A friend recently wrote to say she was depressed and angry after her debut novel failed to make the shortlist of nominees for this year's Lambda Awards. Here is my response:

Dear ____

Now you're sounding like a real writer.

I felt exactly the same after my book got bumped from the shortlist of another prestigious award. I felt worse when I saw the books that made it to the list, and far worse when I read the book that won. And then it got really bad when a colleague told me one of the jurors had hated my book and given it a terrible review.

The truth is, your novel was funny and touching and well written, but that's no guarantee it will be a prize winner. The Great Gatsby didn't win any prizes and received mostly bad to mediocre reviews when it was published. Then Fitzgerald had a shitty life and died at 44 thinking himself a failure. Gatsby eventually went on to become a major bestseller and one of the most beloved novels of all time. So who's laughing now? (I don't know either, but it ain't Fitzgerald. That much I can tell you.)

All of which is to say, getting your book published is a little like winning the lottery. It doesn't happen to everyone. And even if the world doesn't care, it should be a big deal to you. Enjoy the fact that people bought your book, and were touched or cheered by it, or maybe were just impressed by the fact that YOU ARE A PUBLISHED AUTHOR. You now belong to a small but select group, and that in itself is an achievement.

In future, when you win your award for whichever book you write that manages to attract the tastemakers of whatever year it gets published in, do yourself a favour. Remind yourself that no matter how good or popular it is, it is probably not the best thing you will ever write. And then get going on the next one. It's all in the work.

Most so-called overnight successes take years to get to the top, and most of the real instant successes are forgotten tomorrow anyway. Just write the best you can and always-always-be thankful for your talent. You won't take the prizes or the money to the grave with you, but you can live knowing you accomplished something remarkable.

That may not cheer you up, but it should give you a little perspective on what kind of territory we work in. It's not always nice or kind or fair (in fact, usually it's not.) But we can hold our heads up knowing that we're the sort of people who live with integrity and respect for our talent. And that's something.

Now gwan -- get writing.

February 25, 2009

2009-02-25T14:20:00.012-05:00

From Cancún to San Cristóbal de las Casas
(photos: http://www.flickr.com/photos/29261658@N03/ )

It can be difficult to come home after a good trip, but this time I found it particularly hard. To finalize portions of a book I have coming out this fall (The Honey Locust, Cormorant Books), I travelled to Chiapas, Mexico’s southernmost state. It’s such a far-out place, I almost feel I’m not part of this world any more.

Chiapas is not highly travelled by tourists and almost everything is inexpensive. Part of the reason is that this is where the Zapatista Liberation Army (EZLN) staged its anti-globalization protests in 1994. As a result, much of the state is now under armed rule, a heavy-handed monitoring (and occasional torturing and murder) of the goings-on of the Indigenous people, who lead impoverished lives, being both poorly educated and malnourished. Perhaps not surprisingly, the US financially supports the Mexican government’s suppression of these people to help maintain NAFTA’s stability. I’m not aware if Canada does the same directly, but we are still NAFTA-ites.

To get to Chiapas, we travelled by car from Cancún, west through Mérida and down past Campeche, a coastal city with two walled fortresses. From there we continued to our final destination of San Cristóbal de las Casas, a beautiful city of light and colour ringed by mountains and reminiscent of Florence with few traces of tacky Tijuana-style Mexico. It’s cool there—the average nighttime temperature was about 15 degrees. Seeing people in ski jackets and toques, even in the daytime, was not unusual.

Our total driving time was 17 hours each way, so we got to see a lot of the country, including some spectacular mountain vistas. Needless to say, the drive is not for the timid unseasoned tourist (most of it is unlighted and often unmarked) or for those with plain old bad karma.

Chiapas is home to Palenque, one of the granddaddies of Mayan ruins, set in the jungle at the foot of the Chiapas highlands. You can explore the ruins in relative peace—they’re not over-crowded and the tourists who go tend to be respectful. Another set of nearby ruins is the often-overlooked Toniná, once a political rival to Palenque, situated just outside of Ocosingo. Though less complex, I found these ruins more impressive than Palenque because of the majestic views of the valley and surrounding mountains from the top of the pyramid (which you can no longer climb at highly visited sites like Chichén-Itzá.) While there, Shane and I were invited to participate in a spirit-raising ceremony sung/chanted in a Mayan tongue and addressed to the four directions: west for thoughts, east for emotions, north for characteristics and south for personality.

For me, the most memorable part of our journey came with a horseback ride to a small native settlement, San Juan Chamula, situated in the hills just outside San Cristóbal, which gave us our biggest insight into the life of the modern-day Maya. A very poor town, the superb and highly colourful crafts seemed to be the biggest source of income. Though the townsfolk were welcoming, we were warned by our guides not to take pictures of the natives, who believe photographs steal their souls, as well as of the church interior. To disregard these laws (they are actual state laws) can result in a fine or jail sentence. It was difficult, but I managed to restrain myself from snapping a few photos in secret.

The interior of the church at San Juan Chamula is like no church I’ve ever seen. Though it has the requisite portraits of saints, it’s very different from a traditional church. The pre-Christian Maya worshiped a tree they called the World Tree, which they dressed in human clothing on festival days. When the Spanish imposed Christianity on them, the Maya combined the World Tree with the cross, to maintain their own religion while satisfying the demands of the conquistadors. To this day, the crosses in and around San Juan Chamula are all strapped to pine trees.

When you enter, the first thing you notice is that the floor of the church is covered in pine needles and hundreds of burning candles. The air is filled with smoke and lit by the glow from the candles, which you must step around as you walk. There are no pews. People sit on the floor or huddle in prayer over the candles. If you look closely you might see a shaman cracking an egg over someone with an affliction (in order to draw off evil), or, for more serious causes, decapitating a chicken, which is kept in a cloth bag to keep it quiet until it’s needed for the sacrifice. You will also see people “purifying” bottles of Pepsi or spring water by revolving them over the candle flames—their version of holy water.

At another small mountain town, Zinacantán, is a series of hills (bumps, really, in the larger scheme of things in that area.) This is where the Maya believe the world started, and which they call the “navel of the world.” It’s now an artistic community as well as a home for numerous greenhouses that supply flowers to florists to the north.

I had brought glittery pencils to give out in some of the small villages on the way (the children will barricade the roads until you give them something or risk running them down.) The mothers in particular were grateful, and often asked for more for children at home, though far more than pencils are needed to help these people.

Despite their impoverished lives and primitive living conditions, the people are always impeccably dressed and well groomed. You can tell the differing tribes by their clothing. (You can even tell things like marital status—an unmarried Zinacantecan man, for instance, will leave the ribbons of his hat untied.) Though we occasionally felt resentment in some of the poorer areas, we never felt unsafe, except when we were stopped and questioned at the military checkpoints (which only happened if we travelled after dark, which we quickly learned not to do.)

Driving back to Cancún, we spent a few days on the Mayan Riviera, which was so over-crowded with tourists it seemed to have little to do with the real Mexico. We made a day trip to a cenote (a cavern filled with fresh water, part of a vast system of underground limestone caverns stretching throughout the Yucatán Peninsula.) Judging by the artefacts left behind, this one was determined to have been a place of (non-human) sacrifice serving various purposes, such as supplicating the gods for fertility or rain. We were even able to kayak in one of the underground caves before heading back home.

January 20, 2009

2009-01-20T19:52:00.004-05:00

THE MEDIA HAVE LANDED

Something important I learned recently: if you put it out there, it will get heard. My on-line comments about an Albright-Knox Art Gallery event last September (one piano being dropped onto another piano with musical accompaniment) were recently cited in the Buffalo News “Arts Beat” blog. Naturally, I was impressed that my little entry was noticed, let alone publicized.

So here’s another…

In the summer of 2007, I watched a CBC news documentary on the “coming financial crash.” It seemed the media had got tired of promoting the coming “bird-flu pandemic” and the coming “Taliban take-over” and latched onto something juicier: money—a topic we can all relate to. Citing a stagnant market in the US, the item gloomily predicted an imminent and drastic drop in Canadian real estate prices.

Over the next few days, as I fretted about this impending loss to my property value, I began to notice a disproportionate number of properties coming onto the market. The media, it seemed, had sparked its own little “crash” as people tried desperately to unload their properties before they deflated.

Flash forward a year and a bit: everywhere you looked was news about the worldwide financial crisis. While it’s true that lost jobs and struggling economies are not simply a media fabrication, here’s the odd thing: I, who years ago vowed to dedicate myself to writing rather than hording money or working for corporations (my own little vow of poverty), suddenly found myself panicked over the crisis. I, who have not had a “real job” in years and have no investments or savings, suddenly found myself consumed by fear of “loss”. Why? Because the media told me I should.

What goes down will come back up. It’s the way of the world. Has an economy ever foundered so badly it never recovered so long as the country still existed? Has a market ever fallen so drastically that prices never got back to their level again? I doubt it.

As an artist, I see myself as a creator and a contributor rather than a consumer. (I have a sneaking suspicion God thinks the same thing, but maybe I’m wrong there.) I put things like happiness and personal relationships ahead of jobs and money (and therefore ahead of worries about getting ahead or starting wars to protect my property.)

Admittedly, my understanding of finances is very, very basic: if you have money, you can spend it. If you don’t, then you can’t. Simple me, but it’s true. And that’s how I live.

It seems to me many people put “having” ahead of “being” or “doing.” Where does this drive come from? I don’t know, but I’m sure the media have a lot of say in it if we’re at the point where we sell our properties and run because they say we should. A house that’s devalued is still a house. An acre of land that’s worth less on today’s market than yesterday’s still doesn’t get smaller. When do we start worrying about the real things we’re in danger of losing: the freedom to think, peace (of mind and country), tolerance and respect for others? These are the only things we should fear losing, if fear we must.

January 2, 2008

2009-01-02T15:25:00.007-05:00

I’ve never been a Tom Cruise fan. Nor have I understood the popularity of director Bryan Singer. To me, psychological truth of character is of an extremely high regard, and Singer has always skirted this maxim with a wide-girth, putting spectacle before verisimilitude. So VALKYRIE was a highly unlikely choice for my New Year’s Day movie, but something compelled me to see it. Perhaps I’ve come to have a slightly higher regard for Cruise the person because of the personal bashings he’s taken recently, particularly his being fired by his studio after being a money-maker for decades. How do you fire a legend? Isn’t that what 20th Century Fox did to Marilyn? Money, apparently, is no respecter of anything. And Tom Cruise’s response was to say, “F**k You,” thereby gaining a modicum of my respect.

In fact, I was surprised I liked VALKYRIE as much as I did. It builds on the strength of the characters propelling the story. Never mind that it’s a Disney-Does-World War II take on certain events. Never mind that it often feels like Steven Spielberg crossed with Phantom of the Opera. The events, as overblown as they occasionally are, hold an important truth: not all Germans are evil. After decades of Hollywood telling us they are, that might be a revelation to some. In another instance, it might be that not all Palestinians are terrorists. Or not all whites are racist. Or not all Americans believe might makes right. Extrapolate as you wish. Look closely enough and you will find yourself on the list, wishing for someone to speak the truth about you, too.

Between the two poles of CASABLANCA and CABARET, it seemed for years that Germany’s reputation as the epitome of all-consuming evil might never change. With the recent film THE GOOD GERMAN and now VALKYRIE, it’s possible that our understanding of the events of the past might deepen, and something might be redeemed that was deserving of not just our respect, but our admiration as well.

December 21, 2008

2008-12-21T15:29:00.003-05:00

Today I finished the second draft of the Sulphur Springs book (the title of which is now uncertain.) I'm okay with where it's headed, but I'm not excited by it and it's been harder work than usual. Frankly, I decided to write this one for the money, though I've become very fond of the 82-year-old protagonist, Violet McAdams, who returns to a childhood haunt to solve a very old murder. It's a non-gay mystery, which could make it marketable, though I'm still toying with publishing it under a woman's pseudonym. With the payment I get for most of my books, it's the love of writing and my obsession with perfecting things that keep me going. And having finished LAKE ON THE MOUNTAIN in the fall, it will take a lot for me to get excited about anything again, as I know that one will be hard for me to better.

In any case, I'm going to leave it for now and return to work on THE HONEY LOCUST. If I go to Mexico this year, for the first time in more than eight years it will not be to the Pacific coast but to the Atlantic--to the Yucatan and south-west to Chiapas--which will help with some finishing touches in my research for that book. If all goes well there, I hope to be off to Bosnia in the spring for the rest of the research.

December 8, 2008

2008-12-08T14:42:00.002-05:00

PROUST & COMPANY: I’m thrilled to report the inaugural night of Toronto’s newest literary salon was a great success! The series, hosted by Glad Day Books, Josh Bentley-Swan and me, was inspired by my recent trip to Paris as well as stories of Sylvia Beach’s famed SHAKESPEARE AND COMPANY. Michael Rowe read his delightful and intimate childhood portrait, MY LIFE AS A GIRL, from his 2008 Randy Shilts Award-winning essay collection, OTHER MEN’S SONS, while Beverley Stone read a selection of short passages from her stunning literary debut, NO BEAUTIFUL SHORE. The readings were memorable, moving and entertaining, as was the musical accompaniment by dynamic jazz duo Geri Aniceto and Omel Masalunga.

Join us for the next evening on Feb 7 from 8-10 PM, (above Glad Day Books at 598A Yonge St), featuring Nairne Holtz (THE SKIN BENEATH) and S. Bear Bergman (BUTCH IS A NOUN.)

www.proustandcompany.com.

The event is always free!

November 29, 2008

2008-11-29T16:05:00.001-05:00

Recently I returned to work on my MYSTERY AT SULPHUR SPRINGS, a “cosy” (god, I hate that word), which I’m considering publishing under a woman’s pseudonym. It’s about an 82-year-old woman who returns after 70 years to a spa where she inadvertently became involved in a murder at age 12. Here she will discover what really happened. Because of the split narrative, I’ve had trouble finding a suitable voice for both parts. The opening is dramatically Shakespearean, with ghostly hauntings and spirituous visitations not unlike the opening scene of HAMLET, as the 82-year old Violet struggles with her memory of past events that will compel her to return to the spa. But the real-time past sections felt too childlike, almost like a Nancy Drew mystery. Writing YA is just not in my scope. I struggled so much that I nearly put it aside again. It was another Shakespeare play, via a Verdi opera, that helped me crack the code. Yesterday I bought a live recording of Callas’s MACBETH. The introductory essay describes how, in the sleepwalking arias, Callas brings a childlike simplicity to the calculatingly evil Lady Macbeth. It was this duality that helped me realize what I needed to do. In my narrative, the 12-year-old Violet is a well-behaved girl who unwittingly unleashes forces of evil when she substitutes a note hidden in a hole in a wall. While Violet’s consciousness is innocent, the consequences of her actions are not. It’s precisely this duality I need to bring out in the earlier narrative voice.

November 28, 2008

2008-11-28T17:00:00.004-05:00

The heartbreak of budget cuts: sadly, we did not make it into the Features First program, although we were unofficially told that had it not been for financial cuts forcing a shrinking of the number of positions available, we would have.

In any case, Proust and Company is now my focus as we prepare for the first in the series of readings with musical entertainment. If you're in Toronto on the 6th of December, be sure to drop into Glad Day Books for some fun (not to mention free food, alcohol, music and more....)