Literary Gut Punch: from Kevin Hardcastle's Montana Border

As you know by now, I love a sentence that whomps the reader in the gut. So I've slowly started compiling my favourite Literary Gut Punches (LGPs.). How appropriate that my most recent example actually describes a character getting punched in the face! 

Kevin Hardcastle's Montana Border appears in the June issue of The Walrus. (You can also read it online here.) I swear my testosterone quadrupled after reading it. 

"In the fight he got hit so hard that his molars sang."


Image credit: Alain Delmas (France) (Own work), via Wikimedia Commons

"Torch Something Big": Andrew MacDonald on productivity

Andrew stopped writing long enough to take this photo.

Andrew stopped writing long enough to take this photo.

You know how people will cross the street to avoid anything that is even mildly uncomfortable? The stories I like best are the ones where the characters don't cross the street. Where they —due to pride, naiveté, panache, etc. — stay on course, and I get to experience the trouble from the safety of my couch. That's how I felt when I read Four Minutes by Andrew MacDonald. (The story went on to be long-listed for the Journey Prize.)

I became social media friendly with Andrew shortly after reading Four Minutes and was immediately struck by his productivity. He's finishing a novel. He's writing screenplays. Plural. And of course, he's got his short stories. He has so many balls in the air. He even has two homes: Toronto and New England. And he seems to be okay with it all. Enjoying it, even. And since I feel like each of my own story/script/novel ideas are impatient hamsters who won't stop fighting with each other and competing for carrots (resources), I asked Andrew to sprinkle some of his sagacity on the rest of us. And the guy said yes. What follows is a special communique from Andrew to you, dear writer. Enjoy! 

 

I have a picture of Kiss Me, Deadly, a really masculine pulp novel by Mickey Spillane, that I keep by my desk. The novel’s alright, if you like woman-slapping detectives and hilarious anti-pinko sentiment. But it’s there because I’m in awe of Spillane’s output (just like I’m in awe of the output of Joyce Carol Oates, another hero I admire primarily because of how much she’s able to accomplish). 

Shannon seems to think I’m really productive. I’m not sure I am, but looking at my creative plate, I guess one could construe it as pretty full: I’ve got the novel to get ready for editors, a short screenplay draft for a production company I’m working with, a short story for a journal that reached out to me for a submission, an article on mental illness for The Rumpus, a two-book review for another publication, plus a trashy feature comedy screenplay to hammer out with a pal. Plus I have two cats who won’t stop walking all over my laptop (THE NERVE).

When Shannon asked me to write about how I stay productive, I thought of how a lot of the strategies I use come from my days as a wrestler (and my embarrassing obsession with self-help literature). They've become more habit than anything else. Maybe they’ll be useful to people, maybe they won’t. But crafting a writing practice around routine has made it a lot easier for me to focus on the fun part of writing – the chaos of creation – more effectively.

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Lists

I’m a big believer in routines and to-do lists. Every night before bed I write a list of things I want to accomplish. In writing terms, I’m usually juggling a number of projects, so I make sure number one on my list is the most important thing, which is usually the thing I least want to do. 

Word Count Goals

I can’t survive without a word count I need to hit. I get it – talking about things like goals takes all the fun out of writing. Besides, you’re not that kind of writer. You heed inspiration. Right? I don’t buy that, and I don’t really buy that some people ‘just aren’t wired to write X number of words a day.’ I remember having a lot of trouble hitting a 250 word count goal. After about six months I got it up to 500 words. It just takes practice, and an ability to shut off what Anne Lamott calls Radio Station KFKD – the part of your brain that can only settle for perfection.

One trick I used to get better at shutting off that voice is writing in ‘white font,’ which meant I couldn’t actually review in real-time what I was writing. I also wrote a lot in hand and on a typewriter so that I couldn’t stop and edit as I went along.

Torch Something Big

One of the best things I ever did was write a novel in two months with the explicit intention to throw it in the garbage. It’s only purpose was to go from blank page to 70,000 words. I divided the word count I was aiming for by the number of days – sixty, in this case – and just puked up the words for the day. I had a vague outline (which I recommend, but I know everyone’s process is different and I hate people who argue for one side of the ‘plan’ versus ‘not plan’ debate). I followed said outline, knowing I was just using it to hit my word count for the day and not much else.

Once I hit ‘the end,’ I closed the file on my computer and never looked at it again. I had never finished a novel before and I wanted to prove to myself that I was actually capable of writing one. 

Sets and Reps

I can’t actually concentrate for a long period of time, so one of the things I need to do is split my writing time up into ‘sets.’ Usually I complete around three writing sessions a day – one big session and a couple smaller session (so three ‘sets’). I like to group these sessions around . . . 

Peak Time / Pocket Time

I’m a morning person, so I know I can get the bulk of my writing for the day done before I become a regular human. It’s my peak time. But I also make sure to identify pocket times every day – briefer free moments when I can pull out my laptop and hammer out a hundred words or so. If I write 500 words during peak time, and have a few brief pocket-time writing sessions (lunch break, before bed, etc), it’s usually easier to hit my 1,000 word count goal.

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All of that probably sounds overly pedantic, or too prescriptive, or the opposite of creativity, but I would argue that being disciplined in how you structure your writing life actually enables the mental (and logistical) freedom to write freely. I know that when I sit down during my peak time that it’s my time, or that I’ve already written, and cheerfully trashed, a novel, and over the course of that novel’s writing can feel more comfortable in my process. 


A bit about Andrew: Andrew MacDonald won a Western Magazine Award for Fiction, is currently shortlisted for a National Magazine Award for Fiction, and has been a finalist for the Journey Prize on several occasions. His stories appear on both sides of the border. The Windsor Review selected him for their Best Under 35 issue, while The Masters Review published a story of his in their annual anthology of the best writing to come out of American MFA programs for the year. 

Toronto launch for Neil Smith's "Boo"

I went to Neil Smith's book launch for "Boo" at Type Books in Toronto on Monday. If it sounds like I'm bragging, it's because I am. I felt damn lucky to be there, and surrounded by so many other wonderful writers too.

I've seen Neil interviewed several times (most recently for a master class in Sarah Selecky's Intensive) and I can't get over how unflinchingly sweet he is. That sweetness really pops and sparkles in his writing, which makes me all the more thrilled to spend some time in Oliver Dalrymple's head.

Literary Gut Punch: from Margaret Atwood's True Trash

A = Margaret Atwood, B = readers.

A = Margaret Atwood, B = readers.

As I mentioned a couple weeks ago, I love a sentence that's delivered like a swift, unapologetic punch to the gut. I've started compiling my favourite Literary Gut Punches (LGPs). Today's is courtesy of the Mother of [Canadian] Dragons— the Canuck Khaleesi, if you will— the one and only: Margaret Atwood.  

The line comes from Atwood's story True Trash which you can find in her collection Wilderness Tips (1991):

"He has a leathery, handsome face, the grey, tailored hair of a Bay Street lawyer, and the eyes of a hawk: he sees all, but pounces only sometimes."

Image credit: Alain Delmas (France) (Own work) [CC BY-SA 2.5 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5)], via Wikimedia Commons

My online cotillion and thoughts on professional sassing...

It's a weird thing to be building an online presence for yourself. It's like an extended opportunity to make a good (or extra bad) first impression. And because I'm a bit of a perfectionist (on the Friends spectrum, I'm about as 'Monica' as they come) I've bumped up against the usual barrage of self-critiques when making the tiniest of decisions. Is this pink too pink? Am I unconsciously infantilizing myself? Is that picture too showy or not showy enough? Is this bio wholly representative of the very essence of me? Am I trying too hard? Or trying to not try too hard, too much?

I'd say it's a lot like a first date, but I don't really know how those go because all my first dates tended to roll right over into second dates (breakfast) and third dates (lunch), and then relationships, and marriage proposals and Viking River Cruises. You know how it goes. 

Rather, I imagine this is the way rich girls feel picking out a dress for their cotillion balls, only with more PNG resizing and looking up if 'ubertalented' needs a hyphen, and less crying because your wild-card Dad got laid out by a business client, and now the whole fucking evening is ruined. YES I WATCHED THE O.C. WANNA MAKE SOMETHING OF IT?

In truth, I'm staking a claim on this little piece of virtual earth because I want a home-base, where I can get excited about stuff, share work with people who may be interested, and be opinionated in a way that's more respected (Insider's Tip: people accept more sass from you if you have your own URL, because then you are a professional, who by giving Squarespace money, now has an inalienable right to manufacture cheekiness.)

You can expect those kinds of insights and oh-so-much-more if you come on this journey with me. I'm even saving you a seat.

Yours,
Shannon