On Writing #55
There’s a point at which, when you’re funny, you think about stand-up. I mean, not me. Not seriously. Not for real.
This isn’t totally related, but there was a time in high school when the fourth or fifth person after antics or goofiness of mine said I should try out for the school play that I did. You had to sing. That was one thing. I had no imagination: all my troubles seemed so far away. Then you did a monologue. That was another. True, true, very nervous I have been and am. But why will you say I am mad?
» Read more (Ottawa Poetry)
My brother’s middle school English teacher edited an anthology of contemporary Canadian poetry meant for use in schools called Mirrors. It had a purple cover with a kaleidoscopic image. My mum bought a copy, got the teacher to sign it for my brother. “With all good wishes to Ian.” I don’t think Ian touched it. But I did. I read it over and over.
» Read more (Brickbooks)
Why I Love the Ukulele, Part 3
originally ran in The New Quarterly’s Extra supplement
Novels are for Children
an essay on losing—and regaining—my belief in fiction
originally ran in Event Magazine