Saturday, May 01, 2010

Buy My Book! (or the book I have a story in at least)

In April, Writing Without Direction: Ten and a Half Short Stories by Canadian Authors Under Thirty came out from Clark-Nova Books and I have a short story, "Are Ya Havin' Fun" in it. The title pretty much says it all: eleven short stories by Canadian writers under 30 and I haven't seen the book yet (except in a bookstore yesterday), but I can guarantee at least one great story. If you're interested in giving it a look, you can order copies from Clark-Nova Books directly or from Chapters. Below the cut I'm also including a small part from my story, "Are Ya Havin' Fun." It's kind of an anthology piece in and of itself with a series of short sketches of a Saturday night at a college/university bar... here's one section along with the dividing dialogue piece that I use in between each section.


In a dark corner at the back of the bar, the coolest professor on campus holds court with an audience of captivated grad students. A quick post-poetry reading drink has turned into three hours of rampant philosophical discussion on the finer points of Foucault interjected from time to time with a word or two on Hegel, Derrida and, of course, Nietzsche. The students argue while the prof just sits back, smiling and sipping his expensive imported beer, interjecting from time to time with striking words of wisdom that pause everyone.

As the night progresses, he suggests moving things to his place where there is fine whiskey, more beer and, of course, some very good hashish. All are thrilled at the change in venue. Living close is a must if one wants to be the coolest prof on campus, so the walk is short and, soon, the core group of six or seven sit on couches, chairs and the floor, listening to David Bowie’s cover of “Across the Universe.” There’s laughter, discussion and a few moments where things get a little too serious.

One of the grad students begins yelling at the prof in a debate about religion and things get ugly from there, accusations about who’s fucking who thrown about, while everyone else just sits there, trying their best not to get involved. Soon, the angry student leaves, getting a ride from another student and the impromptu party slowly regains its former vigour as everyone forgets what was said, except not really.

“That was due last week?” “Long time no see!” “How’s it hanging?” “It’s not the side effects of the cocaine—I’m thinking that it must be love.” “What?” “Seriously?” “Are we all having fun here?”