Writing Space
January 28th, 2010 § Leave a Comment
After a recent incident with a broken/leaking hot water boiler in my furnace room, I took it upon myself to start tidying up the downstairs of my house. The reason for this is threefold:
- I’d been concerned about water damage around the furnace room area of the basement and gutted a couple of the rooms to make way for inspection by myself and a contractor to ensure no serious setbacks;
- the place hasn’t been used much in the last year or so and, as such, has been accumulating clutter and various junk items that need to be removed if I’m ever to have people over in the future; and
- I’ve been crying out for a place where I can go, free of dogs and cats, noises and distractions of all kinds where I can write in what I imagine to be a more effective and productive environment.
- Reading/writing/napping area.
This started me thinking about the type of writing environment I would prefer in contrast to what I currently have. In the past I’ve written in a variety of settings (library, school, behind a cashier’s desk, living room, den, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, campsite, etc.), but most often I find myself in the upstairs den with a cup of tea on the desk and books all around me. Of course, I’m not giving up the tea (that would be crazy talk) or my proximity to the books I love and often use as a source of inspiration, but I’m willing to try an area where I can feel more relaxed and indulge those writer-hermit tendencies.
- The “break” room.
The space I’m looking at takes up 80% of the bottom floor of the house and, in particular, one part of the larger rec room: it’s wide open, has a chesterfield-love seat combo, a bathroom, a bar (indeed!), and comfortable carpeting everywhere except in the bar. With this layout it’s quite possible I can survive down there for days without ever having to leave, much to my wife’s chagrin. Ideally, I will feel particularly at home in this space where there is room for naps, instruments for a distracting musical interlude (I did recently acquire a banjo), and plenty of reading/writing. I’ll also need a place to store important reference material and other quick-access items that’ll come in handy. It’s all still a work in progress, however, but one I’m excited about.
A personal place to write is essential to authors off all genres and styles. It’s quite an engaging topic and one others have taken interest in over the years (I think of Hemingway who would get up at stupid o’clock in the morning and stand at a podium for a couple of hours while he sought that one good page in a hundred). There’s a great blog out there, called Desk Space, that uses creative areas as a starting point for writerly discussion/interview. If you haven’t seen it before it’s worth the click. There are some great authors that lend you a look into their smaller world if you have a chance to check it out.
Burns Night
January 25th, 2010 § Leave a Comment
So it’s that day again when fans of the Scottish bard come together to celebrate his date of birth, but also his verse and legacy. I’ve been scanning a couple of Burns’ poems today as part of my own personal celebration of the man and his work. There are many to love, but at this particular moment, looking at the white coat of winter as the sun sinks below the ground line, this one stands out most for me (courtesy of RPO):
A Winter Night
When biting Boreas, fell and doure,
Sharp shivers thro’ the leafless bow’r;
When Phœbus gies a short-liv’d glow’r,
Far south the lift,
Dim-dark’ning thro’ the flaky show’r,
Or whirling drift:
Ae night the storm the steeples rocked,
Poor Labour sweet in sleep was locked,
While burns, wi’ snawy wreeths upchoked,
Wild-eddying swirl,
Or thro’ the mining outlet bocked,
Down headlong hurl.
List’ning, the doors an’ winnocks rattle,
I thought me on the ourie cattle,
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle
O’ winter war,
And thro’ the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle,
Beneath a scar.
Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing!
That, in the merry months o’ spring,
Delighted me to hear thee sing,
What comes o’ thee?
Whare wilt thou cow’r thy chittering wing
An’ close thy e’e?
Ev’n you on murd’ring errands toil’d,
Lone from your savage homes exil’d,
The blood-stain’d roost, and sheep-cote spoil’d
My heart forgets,
While pityless the tempest wild
Sore on you beats.
Now, I believe I’ll curl up with my volume of Robbie Burns accompanied by a glass of my favourite scotch.
Review in the Winnipeg Free Press
January 23rd, 2010 § Leave a Comment
Never More There has been reviewed briefly in the Winnipeg Free Press this week. Ariel Gordon has some complimentary things to say about the book and that’s a great thing to see, waking up on a cold Saturday in January.
In his first collection, Never More There (Nightwood Editions, 88 pages, $18), Newfoundland’s Stephen Rowe tackles some of life’s largest questions.
This comes in to sharpest focus in the long poem in the book’s first section on Rowe’s father and grandfather.
Rowe is after what it means to be a man — and a bookish male poet, to boot — especially when the grandfather you revere was an über-male: bear-like, equally at home in a wrestling ring or a logging camp.
A few poems further in, facing a landscape named and numbered by his grandfather’s generation, Rowe states his poetic thesis:
“Is there any wonder / I want to give these places names of my own? / Brand them with moments / like memories, but more real: / walk through this place in sunlight, / surefooted, / hands swinging by my side.”
Rowe recasts the small tragedies of his life in Gander as soaring for-the-ages tragedy in what amounts to a memorable debut.
You can check out the other books reviewed in the print edition as well by going here.
