Fiction in The Entroper

I recently found out about The Entroper from one of my writing calls & contests sources. Still in its genesis, The Entroper is a new online literary journal looking to publish ‘fresh’ and ‘surreal’ works of fiction, poetry, art and photography. I know there are a lot of quality online literary journals and zines out there, so it can be hard to choose what ones might be the best fit for your work, and vice versa, when you’re looking to submit. The thing that intrigued me about The Entroper was its interest in ‘works that play in the in-betweens’. The concept of ‘the in-betweens’ is something I’ve always been fascinated by, and eager to explore, so I’m looking forward to seeing what works The Entroper will showcase in the future.

For now, I’m pleased that they’re featuring my short prose piece ‘Broken Teeth‘, a brief contemplation of dreams, on the website now. I’m among good company over there; go check it out!

‘Job’s Evil Dreams’ – photographic reproduction of a William Blake engraving

Thoughts I’ve Had This Week on Books and Related Things


Sometimes I wonder if the importance I place on literature and its role in society is unmerited, or at least exaggerated. I love books and I love the art of writing, yet when I think about the people and organisations in this world doing truly incredible things–exploring outer space, fighting poverty, curing disease–the bundles of paper and ink I hold in such high regard seem somewhat less dazzling.

However, something I’ve become aware of in the last year is the wickedness of comparison. I’ve done my fair share of “contrasting and comparing” in my academic essay-writing life, and I think it’s time to leave it there. “Comparison is the death of joy,” said someone once (I think it really was Mark Twain, but I’ve learned to never trust quotes on the Internet). Regardless, it’s true. It’s not my role to decide what’s great and important; it’s my role to do the best with what I’ve been given, even if the skill of forging a splendid sentence doesn’t seem that spectacular sometimes.

As is the way life works, just as I was having these doubts, I came across this piece by writer Alberto Manguel in Canadian Magazine Geist, titled Power to the Reader. It’s a well-crafted reflective essay on the power of literature and is definitely worth a read.

In at least one sense, however, all literature is civic action—because it is memory. All literature preserves something that otherwise would die away with the flesh and bones of the writer. Reading is reclaiming the right to this human immortality, because the memory of writing is all-encompassing and limitless.


I came across another quote in my reading this week that made me nod. I was loaned this book, Bachelor Brothers’ Bed & Breakfast, by someone who lives in the Canadian Gulf Islands, and immediately understood why she would find it such a fun read. It follows the events in and around a fictional bed and breakfast on “one of the islands that populate the Strait of Georgia”, and stars a number of eccentric characters and dozens of literary references. After finding an old shopping list in a used book, one of the establishment’s book-loving owners narrates;

It pleases me so much to find odds and sods that have been left behind in books. This is evidence that books–even bad books–are organic: not just static and moribund repositories for calcifying ruminations. They grow and change as they pass from hand to hand. Here is a sign that readers, as well as writers, share the human need to leave some sign or symbol that we have passed this way. Nothing is more telling of this urge than marginalia: that cramped and often lunatic scribbling that some contentious soul has squeezed up against the sanctioned text.

I loved this musing because, although I don’t have a particularly harsh aversion towards e-readers and e-books, I will always feel a personal loyalty to the physical book, and this is one of the reasons. Just the other night, I found a 2004 receipt for a bag of sugar in my secondhand copy of The Unicorn, by Iris Murdoch. Not an exactly inspiring find, but a little piece of history nonetheless. Sugar was much cheaper eight years ago, would you believe it?

On a sidenote, when I was looking up further information on Bachelor Brothers, I found this cute Fodor’s article on literary-minded hotels, B&Bs and inns.


Contradictory to this loyalty I feel to the physical book, I do have to give a brief congratulations to the humble audiobook. In all my seventeen years of reading, I hadn’t listened to an audiobook until two months ago. I’d been reading a lot of contemporary literary fiction, and had recently committed myself to a Classics book club, so I decided I wanted to find a good hefty fantasy to read on the side for a bit of a breather. A friend had been recommending Patrick Rothfuss’s The Name of the Wind to me for a long time, so I got myself a copy of the audiobook to put on my phone. Since the beginning of September, it has been keeping me company on my 20-minute walk each morning and afternoon along West 18th Avenue to and from my bus stop.

I didn’t realise how much listening to a story makes you feel more absorbed than reading one until this morning. I was in the middle of a particularly exciting scene in The Name of the Wind, but it’s Saturday and I don’t have to walk to to the bus stop. So I decided to pick up the physical copy of the book I have and take off my reading from there. It immediately felt like I had gone from being within the story, to being above it; from being inside, to looking inside.

I wouldn’t recommend going the audiobook route with just any kind of story, but a first-person narrated adventure like The Name of the Wind lends itself perfectly to such a format. And as fantasy goes, it’s pretty impressive, as big names in the genre such as George R.R. Martin, Ursula K. Le Guin and Orson Scott Card can testify.

Until my next round of things-I-feel-the-Internet-might-want-to-hear-about,


Fiction in Issue #8 of splinterswerve

A new issue of Canadian ezine splinterswerve has launched, featuring a piece of flash fiction I wrote.

splinterswerve describes itself as an e-zine of the arts and encourages work that “gets under the skin of its audience and its creators”. Its name and manifesto are inspired by the Emily Dickinson lines:

The Brain, within its Groove
Runs evenly—and true—
But let a Splinter swerve

The zine has an edgy experimental feel, which isn’t often what I choose to write or read. Composing my flash fiction piece, Oh, Ephemerality, therefore involved playing around with the unfamiliar, in terms of both style and content, and I’m very pleased that the splinterswerve team chose to feature it. It may not be entirely indicative of what I want to do as a writer, but it can be fun to wander down strange paths every now and then and see if we end up liking them.

Check out the issue–there’s a pretty cool collection of creative non-fiction, fiction, poetry, photography and sound up there, and it’s always great to support independent collectives.