I’ve been doing a series of mini 5″ x 7″ paintings on canvas board, and I’ve put some of them up on my visual art page here, and publicly on FB. Enjoy!
I’ve been doing a series of mini 5″ x 7″ paintings on canvas board, and I’ve put some of them up on my visual art page here, and publicly on FB. Enjoy!
Thank you, my friends, for supporting Black Lives Matter. Every day, there are new reports of police brutality coming from the US, while citizens around the world watch appalled, enraged, then marching their fury and demanding substantive change. How hard it is for Black mothers, fathers, children. How terrifying to have to educate your children about the dangers they face, yet let them leave your side.
In Canada, where I live, similar murders or beatings often occur, as well–our police forces are increasingly militarized, just like in the US, and their attacks are often against the racialized, poor and disabled (particularly Indigenous peoples). Lately there have been a series of attacks during so-called “wellness checks,” sometimes when police weren’t even requested but paramedics were. Imagine needing a hug and medical care and instead being degraded, dragged, beaten, murdered.
We’re watching you, police, and we are not happy with what we see.
Do I need to state that these atrocities just don’t happen proportionally to cis, het, white, non-disabled people? No, I don’t. The facts are inescapable, inarguable, the need for overhaul acute.
COVID-19 surges. I’m lucky to live in an area that’s had few cases, but we understand, here, that re-opening poses a significant threat. I wish good fortune to everyone, and extend a hope that the vile and inhumane triage protocols that target older, more ill and disabled people with sidelining will never be enacted where you live. (Please, please, let’s not add the inhumanity and Nazi-legacy of eugenics to this mess.)
Of course, this is a writing blog, but for me writing, now, seems unimportant and beside the point. If you’re able to lift your pen during these crises, I wish you courage and strength.
Happy to say that a poem of mine, “Game Show,” which was published at The Puritan has been chosen for Best Canadian Poetry 2020, edited by Marilyn Dumont and published by Biblioasis. Thank you and congrats to everyone!
Here are some reviews for the series:
“The wide range of writers, forms and themes represented here make it a great jumping-off point for readers who might be interested in Canadian poetry but are unsure about where to start.”—Globe and Mail
“Buy it, or borrow it, but do read it.”—Arc Poetry Magazine
“A magnet, I think, for the many people who would like to know contemporary poetry.”—A.F. Moritz, Griffin Poetry Prize winner
“The Best Canadian Poetry series offers an annual sampling of voices and experiences—a little slice of Canadiana that may be appreciated beyond borders as well.”—Examiner.com
“An eclectic and diverse collection of Canadian poetry . . . a wonderful addition to anyone’s bookshelf.”—Toronto Quarterly
“Bits of eternity, arranged alphabetically.”—Merilyn Simonds
“Canada’s most eloquent, profound, humorous and meditative writers, ranging from the seasoned and well known to the new and upcoming.”—Broken Pencil
Event is a great litmag here in Canada. I am so happy that I won their non-fiction contest today with an essay about guns in Canada and the time I went to a shooting range to combat my fear of them, “The Dead Green Man.” Thank you to the judges, the final judge, and congrats to the other winners! At the start of the year, Gay Mag cited my essay “The Pleasure Scale” as one of their 2019 faves; an EU periodical Queen’s Mob Review of the Decade picked an essay “The Nothing Between My Legs” as one of their best of the decade; recently I was long-listed in the Mogford Food and Drink contest and a few weeks ago, I won 2nd place in the Writer’s Digest short story contest with “The Pride,” a story about a lion researcher who lost her husband in a terrorist attack. It’s all been a relieving start to the year.
In other news, we are in a global pandemic of COVID-19; on this continent we are in the “keep your distance” stage of trying to flatten the curve and slow the growth. Sophie Grégoire Trudeau, wife of our Canadian Prime Minister, has tested positive, and Justin Trudeau is isolating. I wish them well. I wish everyone well as, together, we go through this. Thinking of you all.
I’m happy to announce that my story “The Pride” won second prize in the Writer’s Digest short story contest. Congrats to the other winners! There were 2000 entries. My story is about a pregnant animal researcher who loses her husband in a terrorist attack. This will be officially announced in WD’s summer issue.
2019 was a damned exciting year for queer womxn’s TV. Check out what Autostraddle has to say about the best shows.
“This year’s list of top TV shows with LGBTQ women characters have played with form and format, from Fleabag‘s fourth-wall smashing to the drop-dead-dynamic visual style of Euphoria and Dickinson to Russian Doll’s binge-catered loops. Room has been made for stories that aren’t focused on straight cis white people and rooms have been given to the writers best equipped to write them, like on A Black Lady Sketch Show, Vida, Pose and One Day at a Time. We have a record number of shows (17) on this list in which a protagonist or other lead character is queer or trans. Ten of these programs are centered squarely on one or two lesbian or bisexual female leads — a situation that was virtually unheard of five years ago. I’m not talking ensemble shows here where there’s a queer person in a lead ensemble. I’m talking the whole fucking world revolving around her. Her face on every poster. Her name at the top of the credits on imdb. Her Emmy nomination, if she’d ever get one. In some of these, queer love and sex are centered, too and in some of them queer love and sex are centered and the protagonists are actually masculine-of-center: Gentleman Jack and Work-in-Progress. We have two shows with all LGBTQ-ensembles; Pose and The L Word: Generation Q. We are getting somewhere.” -Riese, Autostraddle
I’ve been reading author Carmen Maria Machado’s new memoir ‘In the Dream House’ this week. Luminous, queer, wry, broken–it’s smart and vulherable about IPV in queer relationships. Fragment to fragment, it builds a sharp wounding story.
Some of her anecdotes, though, have been hard on me.
Some anecdotes Carmen described are similar to ones I experienced. In particular, I remember one night where my ex raged and stomped so hard and long that I, terrified, locked myself into my office. This infuriated her and for about 4 hours she pounded the door. That night, I thought she was going to kill me; I didn’t know whether to call 9-1-1 or resist (I’d been warned off it by my lawyer who said the cops wouldn’t support me; in the end, there were about 5 times I needed police or ER help but didn’t call because of that advice). In ‘In the Dream House’ Carmen says that if there had been a gun around, she’d have been killed by it. Me too. I’ve been relieved I lived in Canada, where household guns are rare. That night, I gauged the ridiculous awning windows we’d had put in that opened only about 8″–wondering how I could slither my fat, disabled body out onto the second floor roof. My ex carried on for so long and at such volume, pounding the door, yelling abuse, wheedling, that eventually I had to pee into my coffee cup, and when I did, a pure vein of hatred for her erupted. I had never hated her before. I didn’t again. That’s what Machado understands. She gets it when you are too beaten down for hate. Hate is beside the point. Horror, incredibly sadness, the fall-out of love’s betrayal, the realization you could die–those are what replaces hate. My ex finally stopped trying to pound the door in and things grew quiet, but that was the most ominous thing yet–had she quit? was she waiting until I turned the knob?–and I went back to shaking and waiting, waiting. Waiting for what I didn’t know. Waiting for something to happen.
A few Christmases ago, two fathers in BC killed their families over the holidays. We like to think of familicide as uncommon, but it isn’t. The next fall, I started a book that takes place 10 years after a family homicide. I’ve been considering this novel as my winter rewrite (I work on several). Like Carmen’s book, oddly, it is written in fragments. And it’s illustrated. (Or at least I have envisaged it as such.) I decided to just write a novel I wanted to write (and read). This is how my experimental ‘The Grey Closet’ came to be.
Now I’m going to crawl into bed with the last third of Carmen’s luminescent masterpiece.
…Carmen Maria Machado’s “In the Dream House.” It releases Nov 5. What’s one of our least-discussed social problems? Intimate partner violence in the queer community. We avoid talking about it. We even avoid acknowledging what a problem it is. Everyone understands how fragile queer acceptance is around the world–how can we start saying that our relationships are (in this way) just like straight relationships, subject to domestic violence and rape? So we pretend. When a queer woman assaults another queer woman we know where that’s going to go … right under our big rainbow queer carpet, where we’ll all keep tripping over it, getting up, dusting off our knees and going about our business. What lump under the carpet? What the heck are you talking about?
The offender will not be held to account. The victim will be spurned, just like straight violence survivors often are.
Here is the Publisher’s Weekly starred review of “In the Dream House” in its entirety:
“In this haunting memoir, National Book Award–finalist Machado (Her Body and Other Parties) discusses the mental and physical abuse she was subjected to by her girlfriend. The book is divided into short, piercing chapters, in which Machado refers to the victimized version of herself as “you.” (“I thought you died, but writing this, I’m not sure you did.”) Machado discusses meeting the girlfriend (her first) in Iowa City, where Machado was getting her MFA. She masterfully, slowly introduces unease and dread as the relationship unfolds. The girlfriend turns threatening if Machado doesn’t immediately return her calls, starts pointless fights, and inflicts physical discomfort on Machado (squeezing her arm for no reason, for instance). The hostile environment turns utterly oppressive, yet Machado stays, becoming further disoriented by someone who inflicts harm one minute and declares her love the next. Machado interestingly weaves in cultural references (to movies like 1944’s Gaslight and 1984’s Carmen) as she considers portrayals of abuse. She points out that queer women endure abuse in their relationships just as heterosexual women do, and queer abusers shouldn’t be protected: “We deserve to have our wrongdoing represented.” The author eventually leaves her toxic relationship behind, but scars remain. Machado has written an affecting, chilling memoir about domestic abuse. (Nov.)”
I have my own stake in the topic. I was battered in a long-term queer relationship. A few years later, I was raped in another. Once, I tried to get enough submissions to edit an anthology of essays about queer IPV, but there weren’t enough writers. Still, that was how I was introduced to Carmen Maria Machado’s fine writing. Now you can be, too, and you can stop to think about how her writing represents all the rest of us who’ve experienced domestic terrorism in our partnerships and marriages. Now we know. So let’s work on effectively dealing with it.
Have you, like me, been frustrated by short, short readings, authors who read 2-5 minutes from their work? They may answer some questions afterwards, or give over the mic to a new reader, but the new reader, too, will read for just a minute or two.
The DAISSI Queer Reading Series on Salt Spring Island takes aim at short readings, giving a single author an hour or longer to read what they really want to read. The time can be formatted however the author pleases. They can read one story, or read from multiple books, or have an interview format Q+A with me (or someone else), or an audience Q+A. Really, they can do whatever they want.
Lydia Kwa came from Vancouver to give us the most thoughtful, engaged reading in June, and Anne Fleming came from Victoria just last Saturday night, thrilling audience members and sending us all scurrying to the book table. Each author was able to use the hour to display the range of their work, and we, the lucky listeners, basked.
Readings used to be like this when I started out. It was not strange to have 1.5 hour single-author readings, with a 40-minute essay or story, a break, and then another 40-minute session. Though it can be agony if you’re not keen on someone’s work, it’s a dream come true when you are.
Upcoming authors scheduled so far:
November: Arleen Paré
January: Amber Dawn
March: Maureen Hynes
April: Danny Ramadan
Stay turned for more info! Thanks to co-producer Salt Spring Public Library!
If you were gay, you’d realize that 99.99% of life is compulsory heterosexuality. By this I mean the art is straight, the stores are straight, the conversation in the supermarket is straight, the books on the shelves are straight, and straight people are everywhere you look. Everywhere you look, involved with themselves and not even noticing all the people they leave out. I don’t think straight people have a clue how exhausting their heterosexuality pressing, pressing, pressing against us is.
Next week is Pride week in the pokey little town where I live, and for a few days this year, not everything will be straight. People on the island will see gay people and gay symbols first, almost everywhere they go. We will even, finally, have our first, albeit temporary, pride crosswalk! (HUGE VOTE FOR A PERMANENT ONE. KEEP OUR QUEER CHILDREN SAFE!) Some will be revolted. Some will want to gawk. Some will be loud and proud allies. Loads will ignore the festivities altogether. But there you are. It’s a week of largely volunteer-run activities put on by DAISSI (Diverse and Inclusive Salt Spring Island … more details on FB), and if you live near Salt Spring Island you can join in the fun. We have a queer art show, the launch of a new play, karaoke, a poetry open mic, some religious services, a parade, a party in the park, a dance starring Queer as Funk, a brunch, a hike, a reading by famous author Anne Fleming.
Sept 3-Sept 14, 2019. The parade and dance are Sept 7. Full information on DAISSI’s FB page.
Toni Morrison towered over literature. Though older than me by a generation, her early novels became my lodestones, magnets pointing me toward a new kind of literature. Her writing cracked open a world I hadn’t read on the page before, a vibrant world where Black women were accorded center stage, absent “the white gaze.” I knew how corrosive the white gaze could be from going to school in the Bahamas, and how complete, complex and nuanced were the worlds beyond its acid brow.
“Beloved” eventually became my most cherished title.
I started writing in about 1985 as an out lesbian, using mostly male protagonists. I snuck one story with lesbians into my first collection, a story about two women and their adopted autistic child. My second story collection had lots of queer protagonists, and my second poetry collection was all queer. By the time I wrote those books, I was done pretending just to get published. I understood that I’d been pandering (to use Claire Vaye Watkins’ word), though all the while I had been reaching for something else, the bravery to make up tales my way, from a queer gaze, a non-binary gaze, a disabled gaze, and to insist that mainstream Canada hear me. I honed my skills so that they would have to listen. When they wouldn’t, I submitted to literary awards, and I won contests.
That never translated, for me, into publishing contracts, and so, broken-hearted, I distanced myself. I’m sorry to have to say that we have a long way to go in Canada before parity for queers is reached.
I loved Toni Morrison, and I loved her writing, and the lessons of her writing resound with me even today. I’m grateful her literature is available to us all, and particularly grateful it and she stood as beacon and exemplar for generations of Black womxn. I’m going to be doing what many people around the world are doing now, reading her novels again, reading The Bluest Eye, Jazz, Song of Soloman, letting her literature soak back into me with all its strength and wisdom.
A white person, even one marginalized, cannot begin to understand the meaning of Toni Morrison to Black womxn. Here is a link to a touching and important eulogy by Dr Roxane Gay, NY Times. The Legacy of Toni Morrison.
At Medium, the Zora team has re-printed Toni Morrison: In Her Own Words; Cinderella’s Stepsisters, her commencement address to the Barnard graduating class of ’79.