There was a new review of the Hard Ol' Spot anthology of Atlantic Canadian fiction in the Southern Gazette today, written by Harold Walters.
He's not the first one to take a shine to Winnie in "Hold Out". That's nice because I've already written forty pages of a new novella for Winnie as she takes on the world in my post-apocalyptic tale, "All That Remains" (tentative title). I wrote it about three years ago, right after I finished "Hold Out," simply because I felt that Winnie wasn't finished yet. I hope to finish that one soon. Winnie's been beckoning lately.
Anyway, here's the review. There are thirteen (I think) other talented writers included in Hard Ol' Spot, so I'm very flattered when I even get mentioned. It makes me hopeful that Moonlight Sketches will be well-received when it appears next Spring.
http://www.southerngazette.ca/index.cfm?sid=321248&sc=385
GC
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Halifax Chronicle-Herald Review
A review from the Sunday December 22, 2009 Chronicle Herald (Halifax). I previously listed the link, but that link is now broken. So here's what reviewer Judith Meyrick had to say about Hard Ol' Spot. It truly is an honour to be singled out among such talented writers.
Hard Ol’ Spot short fiction at its best
JUDITH MEYRICK BOOKS & BITS
Sun. Dec 20 - 4:46 AM
Hard Ol’ Spot — An Anthology of Atlantic Canadian Fiction selected by Mike Heffernan (Killick Press, $19.95)
Selecting short stories for an anthology is a challenge. The content, the varying styles of the authors, it all must somehow "hang together" — make a whole. Mike Heffernan has walked this fine line well, and his new anthology, Hard Ol’ Spot, brings together a collection of stories that represents the best of Atlantic authors. Darren Whalen gives each story "a visual signature," his illustrations heading each story, sketching their essence.
These are stories about growing up and learning the hard way, about taking stands, and the Ocean Ranger. There is a quality to these stories that is uniquely Atlantic Canadian. They tell of the harshness of living in outport Newfoundland. They talk of resilience, and joy and dying, and throughout them, the Atlantic Ocean roars and simmers.
In six short pages, At Sea tells of a sailor suffering the deep misery of seasickness in raging seas. Don Roy somehow holds out hope, that a lifetime of poor choices and missed opportunities may still be redeemed.
Michael Crummey’s ability to place his readers inside his stories is remarkable. The Night Watchman tells of a company man, hired to walk the streets of Black Rock, to keep his employers informed of happenings in the night. And of Ellen, "although it’s only in (his) head that she’s part of the story at all."
But it is Winnie in Gerard Collins' "Hold Out" who speaks loudest by saying very little at all. The town is beyond dying, and residents are being offered $50,000 to leave. Only trouble is, it’s all or nothing. And Winnie won’t leave her home and her memories behind.
A good anthology is a cause for excitement among lovers of short stories and Hard Ol’ Spot — An Anthology of Atlantic Canadian Fiction is no exception. Heffernan’s collection showcases Atlantic short fiction at its best.
Mike Heffernan is the author of Rig: An Oral History of the Ocean Ranger Disaster. He lives in St. John’s.
Darren Whalen is a visual artist from Newfoundland. He lives in St. John’s.
Hard Ol’ Spot short fiction at its best
JUDITH MEYRICK BOOKS & BITS
Sun. Dec 20 - 4:46 AM
Hard Ol’ Spot — An Anthology of Atlantic Canadian Fiction selected by Mike Heffernan (Killick Press, $19.95)
Selecting short stories for an anthology is a challenge. The content, the varying styles of the authors, it all must somehow "hang together" — make a whole. Mike Heffernan has walked this fine line well, and his new anthology, Hard Ol’ Spot, brings together a collection of stories that represents the best of Atlantic authors. Darren Whalen gives each story "a visual signature," his illustrations heading each story, sketching their essence.
These are stories about growing up and learning the hard way, about taking stands, and the Ocean Ranger. There is a quality to these stories that is uniquely Atlantic Canadian. They tell of the harshness of living in outport Newfoundland. They talk of resilience, and joy and dying, and throughout them, the Atlantic Ocean roars and simmers.
In six short pages, At Sea tells of a sailor suffering the deep misery of seasickness in raging seas. Don Roy somehow holds out hope, that a lifetime of poor choices and missed opportunities may still be redeemed.
Michael Crummey’s ability to place his readers inside his stories is remarkable. The Night Watchman tells of a company man, hired to walk the streets of Black Rock, to keep his employers informed of happenings in the night. And of Ellen, "although it’s only in (his) head that she’s part of the story at all."
But it is Winnie in Gerard Collins' "Hold Out" who speaks loudest by saying very little at all. The town is beyond dying, and residents are being offered $50,000 to leave. Only trouble is, it’s all or nothing. And Winnie won’t leave her home and her memories behind.
A good anthology is a cause for excitement among lovers of short stories and Hard Ol’ Spot — An Anthology of Atlantic Canadian Fiction is no exception. Heffernan’s collection showcases Atlantic short fiction at its best.
Mike Heffernan is the author of Rig: An Oral History of the Ocean Ranger Disaster. He lives in St. John’s.
Darren Whalen is a visual artist from Newfoundland. He lives in St. John’s.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Once
Sometimes you see a movie that just hits you where you live. I just watched the movie “Once” and absolutely loved every single, quirky, music-loving, self-consciously shy and joyful moment of it.
A few years ago, not so many really, I took my guitar to a music studio downtown. I’d scrounged a few hundred dollars I really didn’t have and poured it into a couple of days at the studio, setting down tracks with just me and my guitar, singing a half dozen songs I’d written and thought were pretty good—mostly because friends, family, sometimes audience members, and the occasional music industry person told me were pretty good.
My songs were the only good thing about my music career really. I was a so-so singer with not much of a lower register and a higher register that was nobody’s darling, I’m sure. I was a good middle-range singer and a self-taught guitar player who should have taken some lessons.
But the songs. Ah, the songs. You could give me a topic, a word, a thought, a picture, and I’d write you a a strong melody, with a hook, and handsome lyrics at the drop of a loonie. Okay, no loonies involved, necessarily. Although, like the guy in “Once” who busks and sings his own songs only in the night time, I once played on a street corner in downtown St. John’s just so I’d know what it would feel like. F**ckin’ hard work. Constantly entertaining—or trying to. Constantly playing. Fingers getting sore. Strumming and singing against the wind. Nobody listening, not really. Sure, I made maybe fifty bucks or something like that for a morning’s work. I never did it again. But I learned a lifetime of lessons.
For a few years after that, I made my living with my guitar, singing with various bands, strumming to keep up, but the songs…ah, the songs. I wrote ‘em, I sang ‘em, and people would say, “Did you write that?” It was the moment I lived for.
That was the thing about the movie that got me: I remembered—no, felt and re-lived in my mind—that moment when the song was everything—that sense of urgency, of having to lay it down, get it out, get it right, and never think for a moment that no one would care about it or that it would never be recorded or nurtured or anything else. You only cared to sing the right note, to say the right word, to be brilliant in that very moment. To sound like music.
That’s creation at its finest, at least for an artist.
It’s a feeling I lived for. I still do that with my writing. I feel fortunate to have a book that’s coming out next year that someone actually wants to publish. Maybe someone will even read it.
But there’s nothing like that feeling of having to get it out, knowing it’s important because it matters to you and only you.
With music, every time you sing the song, there’s the chance for brilliance—for a moment that makes sense of the world even if all around you is chaotic shite. If you sing with someone else, all the better. The smile spreads slowly across the hard-lined face of the songwriter who hears his words on the lips of someone who gets it, who knows what it means, more or less, and who wants to sing it with you.
I miss that feeling. I crave it sometimes. There are times when I just know I’m going to pick up that guitar again soon and head down to a St. John’s recording studio, this time maybe with some real money in my pocket, and a band to back me up—a band who’s practiced and professional, who knows what you need and that what you need is for them to be in the moment, to love the song every bit as much as you do, except you know that they couldn’t possibly.
Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Not for fame or fortune. I’ve never done anything for those reasons. But for love. The pure joy of creating something from nothing and from seeing something through to the end.
Now that’s a movie.
GC
A few years ago, not so many really, I took my guitar to a music studio downtown. I’d scrounged a few hundred dollars I really didn’t have and poured it into a couple of days at the studio, setting down tracks with just me and my guitar, singing a half dozen songs I’d written and thought were pretty good—mostly because friends, family, sometimes audience members, and the occasional music industry person told me were pretty good.
My songs were the only good thing about my music career really. I was a so-so singer with not much of a lower register and a higher register that was nobody’s darling, I’m sure. I was a good middle-range singer and a self-taught guitar player who should have taken some lessons.
But the songs. Ah, the songs. You could give me a topic, a word, a thought, a picture, and I’d write you a a strong melody, with a hook, and handsome lyrics at the drop of a loonie. Okay, no loonies involved, necessarily. Although, like the guy in “Once” who busks and sings his own songs only in the night time, I once played on a street corner in downtown St. John’s just so I’d know what it would feel like. F**ckin’ hard work. Constantly entertaining—or trying to. Constantly playing. Fingers getting sore. Strumming and singing against the wind. Nobody listening, not really. Sure, I made maybe fifty bucks or something like that for a morning’s work. I never did it again. But I learned a lifetime of lessons.
For a few years after that, I made my living with my guitar, singing with various bands, strumming to keep up, but the songs…ah, the songs. I wrote ‘em, I sang ‘em, and people would say, “Did you write that?” It was the moment I lived for.
That was the thing about the movie that got me: I remembered—no, felt and re-lived in my mind—that moment when the song was everything—that sense of urgency, of having to lay it down, get it out, get it right, and never think for a moment that no one would care about it or that it would never be recorded or nurtured or anything else. You only cared to sing the right note, to say the right word, to be brilliant in that very moment. To sound like music.
That’s creation at its finest, at least for an artist.
It’s a feeling I lived for. I still do that with my writing. I feel fortunate to have a book that’s coming out next year that someone actually wants to publish. Maybe someone will even read it.
But there’s nothing like that feeling of having to get it out, knowing it’s important because it matters to you and only you.
With music, every time you sing the song, there’s the chance for brilliance—for a moment that makes sense of the world even if all around you is chaotic shite. If you sing with someone else, all the better. The smile spreads slowly across the hard-lined face of the songwriter who hears his words on the lips of someone who gets it, who knows what it means, more or less, and who wants to sing it with you.
I miss that feeling. I crave it sometimes. There are times when I just know I’m going to pick up that guitar again soon and head down to a St. John’s recording studio, this time maybe with some real money in my pocket, and a band to back me up—a band who’s practiced and professional, who knows what you need and that what you need is for them to be in the moment, to love the song every bit as much as you do, except you know that they couldn’t possibly.
Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Not for fame or fortune. I’ve never done anything for those reasons. But for love. The pure joy of creating something from nothing and from seeing something through to the end.
Now that’s a movie.
GC
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Making it Big on the set of Doyle
So I made my big break on the new t.v. show The Republic of Doyle last night. You might have missed me, though, if you didn't know what to look for. Heck, I'm sure my own my mother didn't recognize me in that big penitentiary guard hat and fog-gray uniform.
I enjoyed the show and early reviews were fantastic, from the Globe and Mail and from family and friends. I hope the show gets picked up for another season because it means millions of dollars into the local economy and a lot of actors, background actors (like me!), technicians, make-up people, and tons of other people get some work they can depend on for a while.
St. John's has never looked more beautiful, except maybe on a sunny day in autumn, and I love that they imported sunshine from the mainland, much as they did with most of the primary actors who were posing as local. They did a great job, mind you--can't fault them on that. And it was good to see a lot of local people playing minor roles--Sean Panting as the lawyer, plus a few other familiar faces, and of course Bell Island's own Allan Hawco in the lead role. For someone who doesn't look or sound like the prototypical lead actor, he's making a fine living for himself, it would seem, just by being a pretty good actor. The writing was actually quite good for a first episode. These things, from what I know, usually take a while to gel, and there were some inspired moments that made me laugh out loud. I'm looking forward to the next episode.
Oh, and as for my small role. If you look real close near the end when Shaun Majumner is entering (leaving?) a cell to meet with his father, the guard who lets him in (out?) is me. At first, you just see an extreme close-up of my cheek bone as I close the cell door. A few seconds later, you see me walking away in my over-sized hat that looks like it belongs on the head of an actor with a much larger head (I'm sure there are some).
While the part was small (there might be others as the season go on--it's hard to say how they edit these things), I was grateful to have made it on screen at all. They cut these scenes down to their barest, most essential bones so they only need a glimpse of, say, a guard to suggest the idea of a prison. Plus, there were nearly a dozen of us there that day as background actors and only two of us actually made it into the first episode. Hopefully, some of them will be seen throughout the season. They're good people who put in a long day's work that day. The whole thing was an enlightening and joyful experience that I hope to repeat many times, if the show gets picked up again. I kept having to turn them down over the past few months because of my teaching schedule. But if they shoot again this summer, I hope to be there.
Besides, a writer needs his experiences. I've already found the whole thing useful in writing my new novel called "Two Sisters" (almost finished).
Back to work.
Gerard
I enjoyed the show and early reviews were fantastic, from the Globe and Mail and from family and friends. I hope the show gets picked up for another season because it means millions of dollars into the local economy and a lot of actors, background actors (like me!), technicians, make-up people, and tons of other people get some work they can depend on for a while.
St. John's has never looked more beautiful, except maybe on a sunny day in autumn, and I love that they imported sunshine from the mainland, much as they did with most of the primary actors who were posing as local. They did a great job, mind you--can't fault them on that. And it was good to see a lot of local people playing minor roles--Sean Panting as the lawyer, plus a few other familiar faces, and of course Bell Island's own Allan Hawco in the lead role. For someone who doesn't look or sound like the prototypical lead actor, he's making a fine living for himself, it would seem, just by being a pretty good actor. The writing was actually quite good for a first episode. These things, from what I know, usually take a while to gel, and there were some inspired moments that made me laugh out loud. I'm looking forward to the next episode.
Oh, and as for my small role. If you look real close near the end when Shaun Majumner is entering (leaving?) a cell to meet with his father, the guard who lets him in (out?) is me. At first, you just see an extreme close-up of my cheek bone as I close the cell door. A few seconds later, you see me walking away in my over-sized hat that looks like it belongs on the head of an actor with a much larger head (I'm sure there are some).
While the part was small (there might be others as the season go on--it's hard to say how they edit these things), I was grateful to have made it on screen at all. They cut these scenes down to their barest, most essential bones so they only need a glimpse of, say, a guard to suggest the idea of a prison. Plus, there were nearly a dozen of us there that day as background actors and only two of us actually made it into the first episode. Hopefully, some of them will be seen throughout the season. They're good people who put in a long day's work that day. The whole thing was an enlightening and joyful experience that I hope to repeat many times, if the show gets picked up again. I kept having to turn them down over the past few months because of my teaching schedule. But if they shoot again this summer, I hope to be there.
Besides, a writer needs his experiences. I've already found the whole thing useful in writing my new novel called "Two Sisters" (almost finished).
Back to work.
Gerard
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Feeling Seasonal
It's Christmas Eve, and my wife and I are having some family over today, and we'll be spending time with them tomorrow as well.
While I can feel a sense of anticipation (of something, not sure what), I can't say I'm feeling Christmas yet. I love this time of year, and this year is no different. There's a little snow, a lot of rushing around, and everything's decorated with festive lights and colors. And yet there's something missing. Usually, I'll fumble around a bit until I can put a name on it, but that's not happening this time, I don't think. There's nothing missing in my life. I have everything I need. But somehow, it's not here yet, whatever it is.
Later this evening, after everyone has gone home and I reflect, consciously or not, on how nice it was to see everyone and spend time in the glow of the Christmas tree lights, eating food, and laughing (there'll be plenty of laughter, for sure), I will probably, suddenly get that feeling. You know: that feeling. The one that tells you you've spent all day not feeling like it's Christmas Eve and then...wham!...it's a little bit before midnight and it's almost Christmas Day. Tomorrow morning, you'll wake up sleepily, stuff yourself gradually with food and drink, basking in the coziness of an early winter morning, and then spend an hour or so opening presents. The rest of the day will be a blur of time with family, eating more food and drinking more wine, watching Albert Finney's Scrooge, and trying to ward off the feelings of sleepiness.
It is the time of year when want is most keenly felt and abundance rejoices, Charles Dickens famously wrote in A Christmas Carol. How true those words are. It's the time when if you are without anything--money, food, family, friends, a certain person, direction in your life--you truly feel it more deeply, closer to the bone. But if you have plenty of those things, you'll realize just how fortunate you are.
For most of us, though, it's both: we have much, but we lack something. Both are fairly pronounced by the holiday season.
I have much good in my life--blessings which I'll count in private, I'm sure. I am even going into the holidays this year with my first book deal, which makes it even more special, particularly in dreaming of what great things will follow. Again, I don't mean money. I mean the sense of well-being that comes from having dreamt of something and worked extremely hard for it for a lot of years. I never thought those years, those minutes, those days, would be wasted, but it sure is nice to know it for sure, to have proof of something that--until now--I only believed in and that some others believed in.
I guess it's sort of like faith. I used to think that that was something that was missing from my life and, certainly, it was. But this year, it's different. I realize that I've gone into Christmas for many years now with a sense of lack, a feeling of having been left in the cold and not being allowed to sit at the big, fancy table. This year, I don't have that feeling. I have other feelings--more positive feelings--to replace them. Strange, but in those other years, I never had any trouble mustering that special feeling of Christmas. Maybe there's a reason for that. Maybe the feeling of want was keen, and that somehow I either identified it with Christmas, or compensated for it with Christmas.
Either way, I now know what's missing and why, feeling it or not, it's Christmas. The thing is to realize it, I suppose. The feeling will surely come, just like family will enter later this afternoon.
Be good to one another, but especially to yourself.
GC
While I can feel a sense of anticipation (of something, not sure what), I can't say I'm feeling Christmas yet. I love this time of year, and this year is no different. There's a little snow, a lot of rushing around, and everything's decorated with festive lights and colors. And yet there's something missing. Usually, I'll fumble around a bit until I can put a name on it, but that's not happening this time, I don't think. There's nothing missing in my life. I have everything I need. But somehow, it's not here yet, whatever it is.
Later this evening, after everyone has gone home and I reflect, consciously or not, on how nice it was to see everyone and spend time in the glow of the Christmas tree lights, eating food, and laughing (there'll be plenty of laughter, for sure), I will probably, suddenly get that feeling. You know: that feeling. The one that tells you you've spent all day not feeling like it's Christmas Eve and then...wham!...it's a little bit before midnight and it's almost Christmas Day. Tomorrow morning, you'll wake up sleepily, stuff yourself gradually with food and drink, basking in the coziness of an early winter morning, and then spend an hour or so opening presents. The rest of the day will be a blur of time with family, eating more food and drinking more wine, watching Albert Finney's Scrooge, and trying to ward off the feelings of sleepiness.
It is the time of year when want is most keenly felt and abundance rejoices, Charles Dickens famously wrote in A Christmas Carol. How true those words are. It's the time when if you are without anything--money, food, family, friends, a certain person, direction in your life--you truly feel it more deeply, closer to the bone. But if you have plenty of those things, you'll realize just how fortunate you are.
For most of us, though, it's both: we have much, but we lack something. Both are fairly pronounced by the holiday season.
I have much good in my life--blessings which I'll count in private, I'm sure. I am even going into the holidays this year with my first book deal, which makes it even more special, particularly in dreaming of what great things will follow. Again, I don't mean money. I mean the sense of well-being that comes from having dreamt of something and worked extremely hard for it for a lot of years. I never thought those years, those minutes, those days, would be wasted, but it sure is nice to know it for sure, to have proof of something that--until now--I only believed in and that some others believed in.
I guess it's sort of like faith. I used to think that that was something that was missing from my life and, certainly, it was. But this year, it's different. I realize that I've gone into Christmas for many years now with a sense of lack, a feeling of having been left in the cold and not being allowed to sit at the big, fancy table. This year, I don't have that feeling. I have other feelings--more positive feelings--to replace them. Strange, but in those other years, I never had any trouble mustering that special feeling of Christmas. Maybe there's a reason for that. Maybe the feeling of want was keen, and that somehow I either identified it with Christmas, or compensated for it with Christmas.
Either way, I now know what's missing and why, feeling it or not, it's Christmas. The thing is to realize it, I suppose. The feeling will surely come, just like family will enter later this afternoon.
Be good to one another, but especially to yourself.
GC
Monday, December 21, 2009
First review for Hard Ol' Spot
Just saw the first review for the Hard Ol' Spot anthology, this one coming from the Halifax Chronicle-Herald:
http://thechronicleherald.ca/Books/1158553.html
Nice start.
http://thechronicleherald.ca/Books/1158553.html
Nice start.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
My shortlisted entry to the Cuffer Prize '09 is published in The Telegram today, in case anyone's interested in a sample of my writing. The challenge was to write a 1200-word short story. Most of my stories are between 4,000 and 5,000 words, so it really was a challenge. This one, called "Treed," very much reflects my philosophy of life and the way in which I sometimes find myself at odds with a materialistic society. Plus, it was fun to write about a man who just wants to climb trees.
Hope you enjoy it.
GC
Hope you enjoy it.
GC
Friday, December 11, 2009
Early Christmas Present
When I started writing this blog a couple of weeks ago, my intention was to write about the world of a would-be writer, someone who's been working hard for many years to fulfill the dream of being a published author. While I'd published some stories and won some awards, the publication of a full-length book of fiction had so far eluded me. There were times, I admit, when I'd considered giving up. Not many, but there was some dark nights of the soul when I wondered if this was ever going to happen for me.
Well, today it did happen. This afternoon at around 3:15 p.m., I signed a contract with Killick Press (an imprint of Creative Publishing) to publish my short story collection, Moonlight Sketches.
This changes everything, of course. I'm sleeping little enough as it is, but now I'll be kept up at night thinking about cover art, book launches, signings, and of course revisions and edits. There'll be all that and more.
But it feels good. Here I am, on the 11th day of December, perched on the precipice of a new beginning. My stories have been given a home.
Just wanted to share that. There can only be one first book for a writer, and Moonlight Sketches is mine.
So now this blog takes a new twist as I'll be writing about the whole process of getting this book from idea to page and into publication, with all that that involves.
This isn't the end, by any means. I've got novels to publish and others to write. And the road will be long.
Guess I'm on it now.
GC
Well, today it did happen. This afternoon at around 3:15 p.m., I signed a contract with Killick Press (an imprint of Creative Publishing) to publish my short story collection, Moonlight Sketches.
This changes everything, of course. I'm sleeping little enough as it is, but now I'll be kept up at night thinking about cover art, book launches, signings, and of course revisions and edits. There'll be all that and more.
But it feels good. Here I am, on the 11th day of December, perched on the precipice of a new beginning. My stories have been given a home.
Just wanted to share that. There can only be one first book for a writer, and Moonlight Sketches is mine.
So now this blog takes a new twist as I'll be writing about the whole process of getting this book from idea to page and into publication, with all that that involves.
This isn't the end, by any means. I've got novels to publish and others to write. And the road will be long.
Guess I'm on it now.
GC
Monday, December 7, 2009
The Cuffer Anthology
I recently attended the launch of The Cuffer Anthology (2009), a collection of Cuffer Prize entries from the first annual competition run by The Telegram. It's the newspaper's attempt to support and, as far as I can tell, even discover and develop writing talent in Newfoundland. The anthology, published by Creative Publishers, contains the top twenty entries to last year's contest, selected by editor Pam Frampton from nearly two hundred entries. The adjudicators were Kathleen Winter, Russell Wangersky, and Joan Sullivan, all noted and respected writers in their own right.
At the same launch, the Cuffer Prize people announced the winners of this year's competition, with Chad Pelley taking top prize after placing third last year. Last year's winner, Josh Pennell, finished 3rd this year, and Jillian Butler took 2nd place. My own story, "Treed," was shortlisted (top 10) out of 160 entries or so, and I feel honoured that it did because I honestly didn't expect it to finish anywhere near that high. Winning wasn't even a possibility. I knew that on the night of the competition and even before. The writing talent in this place is just way too good for me to win a short story contest with a story I came up with in an hour a day or so before the deadline. The winners are deserving, no matter how long their stories took to tell. They wrote their hearts on that particular day when they composed those entries and are obviously talented. Congrats to all three of them.
I've won my share of arts and letters awards and that sort of thing, and I really don't understand why so-called "losers" get their noses out of joint. It just comes down to so many factors: who the judges are, what kind of writing the judges like, what the dynamics of the judges are (sometimes they don't get along so well together, which truly can decide the outcome), what kind of story you wrote, and whether you wrote your absolutely best story.
But even if you write your best story and the judges are amenable to your writing style, that still guarantees nothing because there are SO many fantastic writers out there. It's impossible to take it personally, and yet a lot of writers do. They start crying "Foul!", saying how the judging was biased and they all knew each other or recognized their buddy's writing style. I guess it could happen, but I really think it's rare. In fact, I know it does. I know for sure it's never happened in my favor. When I won the Percy Janes First Novel award (for a still-unpublished manuscipt called Finton Moon), the anonymous adjudicator was a well-known Canadian author who had no clue who I was. But it amazes me how many people, to this day, assumed he must have somehow known me and my writing style and that's the only way I could possibly have won.
Newsflash: If you're going to enter your stories and poems and novels in these contests, you need to assume the best in people and their intentions. Otherwise, don't send it. Keep it. Send it to a publisher. But then, some people have similar problems with publishers as they do with literary competitions. The world might be a little crooked, sure, but I truly believe most of it's pretty straight-up. I think talent eventually wins out. Not always, but usually.
So people keep saying, "Jeez, too bad you didn't win the Cuffer." To which I say, It would have been great to win. I mean, really, that's why I entered. That, and to challenge myself and to give myself a deadline for writing a new story. (Truthfully, that's always my main goal in entering any competition.) But am I surprised when I don't win? Sometimes. But not always. Sometimes, I've written what I absolutely know is a great story and it goes nowhere, for whatever reason. Usually, you know when you've got something good though. And those are the times when you can't be denied. But the "X" factor, again, is all that other talent out there. You don't have to go around thinking you're the best. You just have to know that you're good. If you're not a good writer, then I'm not sure why you'd enter such a competition or try to publish your drivel. But if you know you're good, then what's the problem? Isn't that enough to let you say what you want with your writing and then hope for the best? The odds are always against you. Write a good story, and the odds are considerably better in your favour.
I don't understand the need to be the "best" at all times--to be better than the next person who also happens to be pretty damn good--and I don't get the need to disparage winners and pity so-called "losers".
It was a good game. There's another game next year. And we all had fun.
There was free food, too. Great launch! And a hearty congrats to the winners. May you all pen great works and bestsellers, or at least write whatever makes you happy for the rest of your days.
GC
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Naked Launch
The launch was a blast. I hope this book does well because it's full of amazing writers and good solid stories with a tinge of darkness, which is the kind of writing I like mostly. Someone asked me why that is recently, and all I could think of was that stories of loss, even if there is redemption, are just more interesting. I'm not sure that would hold up under scrutiny, but there ya go.I did my reading last Tuesday night and it seemed to go over well. There were plenty of compliments on it, but I don't think anyone would actually come out and say it was a bad reading. It was a strange experience, though. There were a few friends there from MUN and a few people I knew from the writing community--Michael Crummey, Michelle Butler Hallet, Leslie Vryenhoek, to name a few. And I also glimpsed Chad Pelley, who recently won the Cuffer Prize for 2009. Of course, editor and now friend Mike Heffernan was there, along with the illustrator Darren Whalen, whose work is phenomenally good.
The great thing about the launch was the feeling that next day that I was sort of floating--and not just because I was tired. And it's not like it was my first public reading of my work. People kept telling me how much they enjoyed it or that they heard it was good. And, of course, The Telegram published a pretty nice photo the next day. I'm not a fan of having my picture taken, but that one came out better than most (it's not the one above, btw. I don't have a link to the one taken by Joe Gibbons at the newspaper.
I did feel a little naked up there. But it was fun reading an excerpt from my story, "Hold Out". Whenever people pay attention to you as a writer, that's a good thing. For the next few days, I've been feeling very creative, like I could write anything I put my mind to. Even came up with an ending for the novel I've been labouring on these many months. Can't wait for Christmas break. It could be epic. Funny how acting like a writer can make you feel like one. Huh.
GC
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