B: No. Light and dark²some characters do survivH VRPH GRQ¶W Lucky, of course, gets away. He leaves his buddy to take the bullets and he escapes. *DEH¶V IDWH RQ WKH RWKHU KDQG LV OHVV FHUWDLQ O: +D KD \HV WKDW¶V /XFN\ $K RND\ VR WKH ILUVW SXEOLFDWLRQ RI \RXUV that I read was that first book of poetry that was published a few years ago, redirection. How many of the poems from when you first started writing made it into that compilation? All of them or just a few? B: Oh, I have easily DQRWKHU WZR ERRNV¶ ZRUWK WKDW JRW ZHDQHd out. At this point I have enough for another book, I think. Even with the prose projects, I am writing poems all the time. O: Is it too soon to ask after the prospective title of the next book? I really liked that redirection was based on that central poem... B: No, no title yet. I have a number of elegies, though, so maybe something playful with that. And actually, I have a collection of short stories also, many based on the Bay of Quinte. O: Beautiful bay²very mysterious, too. B <HV OLWHUDOO\ EHDXW\ 7KH &D\XJD FDOOHG LW ³EHDXW\ ´ Ya yo da do kenthe ZKLFK PHDQV EHDXW\ 1RW ³LW LV EHDXWLIXO´ EXW WKDW LW LV EHDXW\ LWVHOI DQWKURSRPRUSKL]HG LQ VWURQJ &DQadian fashion as beauty and by the Cayuga Nation, probably, before European time began. So if you want to encounter beauty, this is the place you come. O: Well, I like the naming of the body of water out here²\RX¶YH spoken before about the Moira River, too. And I think that it makes an appearance in some of your writing as well. B: Yes, it does. The Moira flows continually through my writing like blood in the veins. It flows through Thornton, the central city in The Prince of Leroy; which LV DOO WKH WRZQV ,¶YH HYHU OLYHG LQ EDVLFDOO\ It is a town of thorns with SLHFHV RI HYHU\SODFH LQ LW 7KDW¶V DOVR D PHWDSKRU for writing²LW¶V ZKDW \RX DUH KRZ \RX¶UH FRQVWUXFWHG ULJKW" 7LPH DQG SODFH is what sticks with you, sticks into you. ,W¶V WKH PRWKHU-source.
Beauty, aka The Bay of Quinte
O ,W¶V ZKDW PDNHV Whe novel, I think, so compelling. Shows us a real possibility of time-travel! B: Indeed! Time and place are always imaginary constructs, summoned like a djinn at the caress of a lamp, the spark of a neuron. Past and present events lay over the crafted ground we inhabit like the snow. And we are but the phantoms of the present. Our writings, a wintry palimpsest. Poetic, yes! O: So, speaking of which, tell me a bit about your inspiration for the historical prime PLQLVWHUV¶ VHFWLRQ RI \RXU SRHWU\ ERRN B: Well, I had played around with the idea²I had taught the sonnet many times. Obviously
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