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The Lowdown: I’m in the middle of writing my second book of poetry. I wondered how other poets who have finally published their second book approached it and felt about the process, etc. And then there’s all kinds of other quirks related to the writing, publication and reception of their second books that I wondered about. So I asked some poets. Here is one result.

*****

Who: Tracy Hamon was born in Regina, SK and grew up traveling between Regina and her parents’ farm near Edenwold, Saskatchewan. She holds a BA Hon and a MA in English. She is the current Program Officer for the Saskatchewan Writers Guild. Her poetry has appeared in numerous literary magazines, and her first book of poetry This Is Not Eden was released in April 2005. It was a finalist for two Saskatchewan Book Awards. Portions of her recent collection, Interruptions in Glass, won the City of Regina Award in 2005. She currently lives in Regina, Saskatchewan.

First Book: This is Not Eden. Thistledown Press, 2005
Second Book: Interruptions in Glass. Coteau, 2010.

The Interview:

IL: First of all, any second thoughts about your first book?

TH: My first thought was yay, I have another book! because there are no guarantees. Now, after three months, what I think about most is promotion: I worry that I don’t stay active enough talking about the book.

As for second thoughts, I’m not sure what that means. The poems are what they are. I can’t change them now. I can only hope that people will want to read them. Of course, I do hope that I improve in craft, technique, and perhaps even style with every book, though I don’t think I’ll be a good judge of the process. I guess my thoughts are always hopeful that there will be more books, and I can only trust that each book improves from the last.

IL: How important do you think staying with the same publisher is, and why?

TH: Good question. I almost believe that staying with one publisher is a bit of an anomaly these days. I changed publishers due to a variety of factors, but mainly because of communication problems. I find my current publisher Coteau suits me quite well, but I’m also wiser after the publishing experiences of the first book. Although they are a small press, they are generous with their time and assistance, and the communication between us remains good. I don’t think that changing publishers has had, or will have, any negative impact on my career, but what do I know?

IL: Was your approach to the second book different than the first, and if so how?

TH: Not really and yes. Both books are collections of poems though not in a thematic sense the way my third manuscript is, and they weren’t written with any formative topic in mind; however, certain narrative threads did became obvious as I pieced the manuscript together. Writing poetry is an evolving process for me. I have no set routine and find this process changing every year. While I was editing the second book, I was finishing a BA, starting an MA, and writing another manuscript of poems as my thesis. Therefore, the second book took much longer to develop than the first as I continually set the poems aside in favour of writing new poems for the thesis. In addition, my first book seemed to thematically pull together much easier than the second. I think that by taking my time with the second manuscript, it altered in theme and consequently in structure, which in turn took more time. The editing process after acceptance was more intense the second time around, but extremely helpful to the experience of being a writer, and the poems improved because of it. The five-year gap between the first and second books was good for me as a writer; I’ve learned to slow down somewhat, to take a step back and look more cloeley at what I’m doing.

IL: Was your second book easier or harder to write, and why?

TH: Neither. The second book was as easy and as hard as the first book. I believe my second manuscript is stronger than my first and is somewhat riskier, though I took risks in the first book as well. Writing poems is the easy part for me, and editing them to my satisfaction is the hardest part. I think my expectations for myself have increased. I expect more of myself–I want to write better poetry each time. I enjoy the process of writing poems and gain satisfaction from tinkering with language, line breaks, forms of poetry, and it’s satisfying to know that I can write poems, and that one day, they might be published as a book. I want my craft to develop with each book, and I hope that I take nothing about the craft of writing for granted. There’s always something to learn.

Stay tuned… there are a few interviews on their way.

The Lowdown: I’m in the middle of writing my second book of poetry. I wondered how other poets who have finally published their second book approached it and felt about the process, etc. And then there’s all kinds of other quirks related to the writing, publication and reception of their second books. So I asked them. Here is one result.

*****

Who: Zachariah Wells was born and raised on PEI and now lives in Halifax, following sojourns in Ottawa, Halifax, Nunavut, Montreal, Halifax and Vancouver. He is the author of the poetry collections Unsettled (Insomniac Press 2004) and Track & Trace (Biblioasis 2009); the co-author, with Rachel Lebowitz, of the children’s story Anything But Hank! (illustrated by Eric Orchard, Biblioasis 2008) and the editor of Jailbreaks: 99 Canadian Sonnets (Biblioasis 2008) and The Essential Kenneth Leslie (The Porcupine’s Quill, 2010). He has worked as an airline cargo handler/agent, as a railroad service attendant and as a freelance writer and editor. A collection of his critical prose, Career Limiting Moves, is forthcoming from Biblioasis.

The Interview:
IL: First of all, any second thoughts about your first book?

ZW: The publication of Unsettled was something of a fluke. I don’t have the classic story of doggedly shopping around a ms., collecting rejections and cursing philistine editors. I submitted it cold to one publisher—who very sensibly turned it down—and then didn’t bother doing it again. Some time later, to make a long story short, some connections I made on the internet from my work-site in Resolute Bay, NU, led to Paul Vermeersch soliciting and accepting the ms. at Insomniac. Had that not happened, who knows if I’d ever have got around to sending it out again. I wasn’t feeling very motivated to publish.
As is very common, I think, with first books, if I were doing it all again today, I’d change quite a bit. Mostly, I’d delete a number of weaker poems. The book was too long—as I’ve come to believe most poetry collections published today are. That said, there is a core of poems from that book that I’m still quite proud of and that I think stand with the best of anything I’ve done since. But it’s not the sort of book I could ever see myself publishing again; in many ways, it feels like someone else wrote it.

IL: How important do you think staying with the same publisher is, and why?

ZW: That depends on a lot of factors specific to each case, so I can’t comment generally, other than to say you should stay with a publisher if you feel good about it and move on if you don’t. In my case, I changed publishers. Not because I was displeased with Insomniac, but it just wasn’t a terrific fit for me. Biblioasis’ vision of how a book should be made was closer to my own and I liked that they were a small press dedicated exclusively to literary books and to high production values, whereas Insomniac, as a mid-sized publisher, had a lot of other irons in the fire and so, by necessity, no individual author could receive the same kind of attention I could count on from Biblioasis; Insomniac’s production values erred on the utilitarian side, too, which was good in terms of keeping the price of my book down, but made for a less aesthetically pleasing object than I would have liked, ideally. I published two other books with Biblioasis prior to the publication of my second trade poetry collection, so in a way I was staying with my publisher, with whom I’ve developed a terrific professional and personal relationship over the years. (I was on the editorial board of Canadian Notes & Queries, a magazine published by Biblioasis, for a couple of years before I published a book with them.) At this point, it would take something pretty damn tempting to woo me away from Biblioasis.

IL: Was your approach to the second book different than the first, and if so how?

ZW: My first book was a geographically unified collection: all the poems were set in/inspired by the Arctic region I lived and worked in between 1996-2003. During that period, I wrote quite a lot of non-Arctic poems, some of which were collected in a ltd. ed. chapbook, Fool’s Errand, which was published a few months before Unsettled.
So the short answer is that my approach to my second book was already well underway before I published my first book. That said, as per my remarks above, publishing my first book and doing quite a bit of editorial work thereafter led to a heightened awareness of the perils of publishing. I felt that I should have waited longer, refined the book more, and I was determined not to rush a second book into print. My second book could have been published earlier—besides Insomniac, several other publishers had invited me to submit a ms.–and it could have been much longer, but I feel that by waiting and being more selective, I produced a much stronger collection than I would have otherwise. Several readers have said that they’re impressed by how much I improved from one book to the next. I don’t think I’m necessarily that much better a writer—particularly considering that around 1/3 of the poems in T&T predated the publication of Unsettled, in many cases by years—but I’ve become a much better critic of my own work—in part from all the reviewing I’ve done of other people’s books—and generally more conscious of audience and more in control of my material. I think of it in baseball terms: a young pitcher comes up from the minors throwing heat. He might strike out a lot of guys, but he’s wild. More of a thrower than a pitcher. I’ve learned how to pitch better.

IL: Was your second book easier or harder to write, and why?

ZW: As my answer to the previous question implies, I don’t really write books. I write poems and when I have a pile of them I try to figure out which ones fit together in a book-like way. I never have much of a clue what I’m going to write next. I prefer it that way.

It’s called Ulysses Seen. Read it here!

…to this blog: The Second Book project. I’ve been working on my second book of poems now for close to three years and am finding the experience a tough slog. I feel as though the next book has to be much better than the first: I’m trying new forms and new subject matter, and I’m just generally feeling the pressure (however much it is self-inflicted) to be better. I wondered last night about how others who have finally published their second book approached it, felt about the process, and all kinds of other quirks related to the writing, publication and reception of their second books. So I’m going to ask them. I’m developing a set of 3 or 4 questions and will soon send them out to poets who have published their second books. And then I’ll post them here as mini-interviews. Suggestions welcomed. I hope it will be a regular feature. Until, that is, I begin work on a third…

I saw this link posted by Karen Bass on my Facebook newsfeed. The author of the piece, Maureen Johnson, relates how she ended up as a panelist with another author who was obsessed with her brand and obsessed with telling everyone. And she has penned a manifesto against branding. One reason I would hate to brand myself is that one of the job descriptions I live by as a writer is curiosity. If you define yourself too rigidly, then you risk missing out on a lot of what makes life interesting, fascinating and worth living. And if you can’t explore ideas as they cross your path, you also risk sounding like a one-note circus sideshow. And who wants to be a one-hit wonder? Cue Vanilla Ice…

Branding Irons (from Wikipedia)

Well, I haven’t written in this space in a while, but I have moved across the country, so that’s part of the reason. I now call Fredericton, New Brunswick home. Look for more posts soon, really, I promise this time.

I’ve been meaning to start blogging here regularly, but have stalled because I felt like I owed a deep, pensive, serious and meaningful post to make up for all the time I haven’t been regularly posting and to make a dent in my ambition. Not to mention, I bought a Mac on the last day of last year and I’ve needed some time to get used to it. Then today I realized I should just jump in a post something before the first month of the year is gone. So here is the result.

Some things to share. Starting on Jan 1, I began reading the Diary of Samuel Pepys. I’ve been reading his daily entries on the corresponding days 350 years later. I’ll be posting my impressions, observations and some quotations through the year. That was my idea, anyway. Turns out it is a fascinating book so far (I’m reading through the first volume, 1660).

Image from Wikipedia.

In less than a week, I’ll be travelling to St. Peter’s Abbey in Saskatchewan to have a 3-week writing retreat, where I hope to get a lot accomplished. Namely, some poems, a few stories and a few essays. I’ve got a bunch of notes, etc. and I’ve been on a bit of a writing roll lately, so I’m hoping my three weeks are productive.

So long, readers, if you exist. I’ll be much more regular now that I’ve got something committed in virtual ink here.

…is featured over at Branta.

Have a look around the site, too: it’s got lots of fascinating stuff.

Falafels are one of my favourite foods. Because I’m a picky eater on top of being a vegetarian, whenever I travel I always know I can count on finding a falafel. Or at least I hope to. Because I just ate a falafel for supper, here is a list of notable ones I can remember:

4. Nuuk, Greenland. The falafel was by no means mind blowing: this has more to do with the location. I spent two weeks in Greenland’s capital city as my wife attended a conference. One night we decided to go out for pizza (veggie pizza being another staple of my picky vegetarian diet). We went to a place called Drop Inn, with the subtitle, Grill, Pizza & Kabob. Sadly we discovered they could not serve us pizza that night. Apparently they have a rotating menu based on the day you visit, and the day we dropped in, pizza was not on the menu. Sigh. But thankfully they had a decent version of the falafel.

Random fact: in the supermarket there I found jars of tofu floating in water that were imported from France. Reminded me of high school science class. But the tofu was actually organic and of very high quality (I made many meals in our apartment).

3. Paris, France. I’ll always find a way to talk about my favourite city in the world. It was the day we visited the Eiffel Tower due to some weird compulsion I had to get a passerby to take a family shot of us in front of it. After that was accomplished, we wandered, which is a very enjoyable way to spend time in this city, since it is so compact and offers a lot for the casual stroller. Later we found ourselves at the Arc de Triomphe and walking down l’Avenue des Champs Elysees when I spotted a sign that promised falafels. We walked down this narrow alley and into a hole-in-the-wall place, the name of which I cannot remember. We had a tiny travel stroller (our son was 8 months old) and with great difficulty we managed to squeeze in and find seats. The falafel was good. I was so hungry that I don’t remember much about it.

Random Fact: We saw a motorcade that same morning with Canadian flags. Stephen Harper! I controlled my urge to hurl insults at him.

2. Edmonton, Alberta. I discovered a great vegetarian restaurant when I first moved to Alberta that I’ve returned to many times: simple, delicious food and funky atmosphere. It’s called Café Mosaics and it’s on Whyte Avenue. The quality of the food has gone down over the last 5 years, but it is still healthy and tasty food, with many vegan options if you are so oriented, and the walls are always adorned with new, very strange (sometimes perplexing), art.

Random Fact: it is next to a Boston Pizza, which I ate at once when I showed up on a Sunday night not realizing it was closed on Sunday night. Boo.

1. Toronto, Ontario. I hate to have anything on a list ranking anything related to Toronto as the first, but the falafel that I had in Kensington Market at a place called Firewood Grill was simply the best I’ve had to date. Everything on their menu was cooked over a wood stove and the food was delicious. The fresh-squeezed orange juice solidified the place as a must-return-to-some-day kind of restaurant. Those from TO have probably heard of it; those not from the centre of the universe (sorry for the easy joke) should check it out if you find yourself there. After you eat, Kensington Market is a delightful place to walk around.

Random fact: the Maple Leafs will not make the playoffs this year. Sorry, but you know it’s probably true.

If you ever find me in your neck of the woods, and there is a great place to eat falafels, you don’t need to ask me. Let’s go. Or please tell me about these great places in the comments!