TAC Says No, WOTS Says Yes, Neil Says Let's Dance

I am 0 for 2 in the arts council grants department. A few years ago the Ontario Arts Council turned me down, and last week the Toronto Arts Council said no dice. So while I didn't score any taxpayer-funded largesse from TAC, I'm pleased to say Steve Thornton, A.M. Matte and Rob Brunet did. All of them are associated with the Toronto Writers Co-op, which has to be the best writing group in Hogtown: Thank you founder, promoter and eminence grise John
Miller.

And the same week that I missed out on some TAC coin, the Word on the Street moved to its new digs at Harbourfront. I've already said I was none too keen on the idea. That's because I predicted that it won't be long before WOTS is charging for some of its talks, panel discussions and so on. I still think that, and I still don't like the idea, but the switch to Harbourfront was nothing less than remarkable. The exhibitor layout was easy - or at least easier - to follow; I didn't see or smell any food trucks selling their deep fried gut plugs; there was more space to move around; there was a clear separation of the kids' and adults' sections; the sun shone; the ducks on the lake quacked. Of course, I had some quibbles: I only saw one coffee shop and its lineup was long and discouraging; there were far too few places to lock up a bike; and fortunately I didn't need a Fraser Nash, as Cockney rhyming slang has it, so I didn't have to visit no doubt oversubscribed washrooms.

I made first for the Quattro Books tent, yakked it up with Luciano Iacobelli, one of the gang of four that runs Quattro, scanned their table and found Terminal Grill, a 2013 book by Rosemary Aubert, one of this country's finest crime writers. I'm already reading it and Rosemary had me hooked from the first page, which is exceptionally well done, as is her portrait of the down and out poet we meet on that page. He's unnamed but can only be the late Milton Acorn. A few pages later we learn that the antagonist Matthew claims to be Neil Young's pianist and is back in Hogtown to shoot a music video. Great crime writing and Neil Young. I mean, how good can it get? All the more so because Neil's wonderful and delicate country gem, Harvest Moon, is the song this week at Choir! Choir! Choir! II which I belong to along with lots of other untrained songsters. Clinton's on Wednesday at 7:30pm. Five bucks gets you in and a song sheet with the lyrics and an arrangement from Daveed Goldman and Nobu Adilman, who run the choir and the event.

So no TAC cheque, but WOTS @ Harbourfront was a winner, I get to warble a classic tune on Wednesday,  and there's a spate of launches up ahead and the promise of some interesting reading. Not bad.   

  

Bill Clark for President

Multiple pats on the back and sincere congratulations to Bill Clark, stalwart of the Toronto Writers Co-operative, for placing third in the national short story contest sponsored by Your McMurray Magazine, a journal published out of Alberta's oil patch. Bill's story, Even Again, means I'll never consider paper clips in quite the same way. Bill's on a roll. This spring he won TWC's Nine Pints Short Story contest, which came about thanks to my mouthing off about how much I dislike sci-fi or speculative fiction or whatever it's called these days. Of course, I was, well, let's say persuaded that the topic of the inaugural Nine Pints contest would be a sci-fi themed Space Faring Unicorns. I am, not so coincidentally, off unicorns for ever - but not free drinks. Bill generously shared his win on Friday night by buying a round.

The winner of the Your McMurray Magazine contest was Mel Campbell for her story Hook, Line and Sinker (which reminds me of Len Deighton's excellent trilogy of the same name, all featuring spy master Bernard Sampson), and Phyllis Humby's Whiskey Nights. Congratulations to both.  All three stories can be read at www.yourmcmurraymagazine.com    

The Winning Unicorn and Nine Pints of Beer

I don't care if a real unicorn is discovered living in a rain forest in Borneo. I don't care if this real unicorn speaks excellent English and has a doctorate in advanced alchemy from Inter Galactic U. I just don't care. No more unicorns. 

Why? Because I've just spent the last month judging a short story writing contest sponsored by the Toronto Writers' Co-op on behalf of its members. The subject was Space Faring Unicorns, and for a first time event the submission count wasn't bad - eleven - and there would have been two or three more if life had co-operated just a bit.

Bill Clark won the contest with his allegorical tale that used unicorns aboard a damaged spaceship to represent the terrible way we treat each other here on Earth, and how abusers and abused, whether aboard a spaceship or on our own piece of rock, will suffer together. The two runners-up were Kris Westerlaken and John Warren. All eleven entries were judged blind; I didn't know the name of the winner until it was announced. First prize was nine pints of beer and $20, and Bill generously shared his win with Kris and John, John Miller, who runs TWC, and yours truly. I hope the winner and the two runners-up will be posted on the TWC website in the next short while.

There's talk of expanding the contest next year to include all of Hogtown's writing groups. The rules will be the same: a complete short story of no more than 1500 words on a topic suggested by a TWC member, although you can bet it won't unicorns. 

TWC Welcomes Space Faring Unicorns

The tiny handful of people who read this blog (Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!) know I'm not a fan of literary competitions, but the Space Faring Unicorns Short Story contest is different. How different? It was my big mouth that got it started. A couple of months ago I was outside the Toronto Reference Library holding forth to Bill and his wife Angela about my loathing of science fiction. Who cares about unicorns speeding through the universe, I said. Well, Bill, Angela and Kris, all valuable contributors to the Toronto Writers Co-op, obviously do. So Bill and Kris decided a contest for TWC members was in order. The contest's subject would be Space Faring Unicorns. And since I was the instigator because of my initial yapping about sci-fi, I'd have to set the rules and judge the entries.

TWC workshops are held every Sunday at TRL. There might be as few as eight people show up some days, but at other times there could be thirty. I didn't know how many entries to expect - anywhere from none to a few. Well, at deadline yesterday TWC founder John Miller told me he'd received eleven submissions. Eleven! I was gobsmacked. And pleased more than I can say. Not because my name is somehow attached to the contest, but because it got people writing.

John, who does sterling work for TWC, will give each submission just a number so the judging will be blind. The winner gets $20 from TWC for a meal and nine pints of beer (or reasonable substitute, although can anything actually replace Keith's India Pale Ale?) to wash it down. Why nine pints? Because Bill asked me what the winner will get and I said I'd buy him/her a drink. How many? Oh, more than one but fewer than ten, I said, not thinking. Good, Bill shot back. Nine pints it is.

There's talk that the contest may become an annual affair. I hope so. Good luck to everyone who's entered.    

A Reading: Don't Be Caught Napping

A writer I know says he's had some of his best naps at poetry readings so when he decided to start an annual prose and poetry event by members of the Toronto Writers' Co-op he added music to the mix. So Jan. 24 at 8:00pm at Hogtown's AlleyCatz (Yonge & Eglinton) readings will be eclectic - prose, poetry and who knows what else - and the accompanying music will be wildly improvised. I'm reading to the sound of bebop some already discarded bits from the noir crime manuscript I'm working on to see if I should have discarded those bits quite so quickly. There's no comparable gauge of what you've written like the instant feedback of a live audience. I can't decide if the night will be cool or chaotic. Some of both is my guess. There's no cover.