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dossier: Jess Taylor for The EW Reading Series

Today’s entry in the dossier series sees it branching away from the overwhelming majority of posts focused on theatre creators (you’d think I’m in theatre or something) and brings it into the territory of those artists most people don’t think would get up on stage to perform their art. The EW Reading Series was introduced to me by my then-roommate, and poet, Matthew Walsh as a poetry jam. I showed up, unsure of what to expect. It was my first time attending a poetry jam. I thought everyone would be drinking wine and I’d be expected to snap after each poem. 

This wasn’t the case. And I was surprised to learn it wasn’t just a poetry jam, but a laid-back, party-esque event that celebrated writers of all forms.

What’s funny is that, although it was Matthew who introduced me to this event and to Jess, a few months later Jess independently moved into the same house we lived in (and I still live in). Just a couple floors up.

So, even though one roommate moved away, he, this event and Jess remain relatively, and literally, close to me. 

Enough said.

I’d like you to meet my upstairs neighbour.

dossier #23:

Jess Taylor

Who are we talking to?

I’m Jess Taylor! Hello. I’m a Toronto-based writer and events promoter. I also do art, play music, and teach the youth.

What gets you going in the morning?

I like being busy and keep my life jam-packed. So usually before I open my eyes, I already am thinking about everything I’m going to do that day. I wake up full of anticipation. I make coffee, I hug my cat, and then I get to work. It makes me incredibly happy most of the time.

What is your earliest memory of realizing, yep, I need to write?

I’ve always been a storyteller, but I first started writing things down in grades two and three. I began with poetry, then started writing stories in grade four. Before that, I told stories through pictures and art. I did the usual nerdy writer-kid stuff – like start a poetry club in grade six, start writing weird novels about mice and parallel universes, and made zines in high school. I spent a lot of high school as part of gigging band, The Big Man Himself, but I still saw writing lyrics and the management of the band as contributing to a writing career somehow. I went to high school at Mayfield School of the Arts with a focus in Visual Arts, but I also brought text (either poetry or prose I had written) into my visual work. It all fit together for me.

Why The EW Reading Series?

When I moved to Toronto, I was really shocked by the literary scene here. It was part of the reason I moved. I’d started at U of T for their English in the Field of Creative Writing MA and was automatically included in a community of current students and alumni. I’d been missing that in Burlington, where I’d been living before, and at York University in their undergraduate creative writing program. I wanted to get involved any way I could. My first idea was to use my management and publication background (making zines and working for Existere Magazine at York) to start a micropress for work by emerging writers.

I’ve always believed in running my writing career like how I ran the band: working extremely hard, putting out a lot of content (but content I’m proud of), putting on shows, and – if something isn’t getting done – just doing it myself. So I thought I’d make chapbooks and then sell them at shows to make back the production costs (not really thinking about doing a special “launch” but just running a show every so often). I never got funding for my second year of the MA and was really poor, so getting a press started would be difficult and I gave up on the idea (for the meantime at least).

But I still wanted to do shows. No one knew who I was in Toronto. More accurately, I was a young young emerging emerging writer… I was no one. Nobody was going to ask me to read at their series or even really cared what I was working on. At the time, it seemed that series with curated programming tended to be reserved for more established writers, and younger writers were expected to scope out open mics, stay home and work on their craft instead of seeing performance as part of their craft.

So I decided to start a series. I went and talked to a couple venues. Duffy’s Tavern was really close to my house and was free. I had read there as part of a variety show, and the sound system was decent. I gave myself two months to plan the first show, booking it in January with the first show running March 2012. After that it took off. I now book up months in advance and have a submissions process.

Since I started the series, other series have popped up that feature emerging writers. Some of these series started before my series, but I wasn’t aware of them before I was running mine. I think having so many series in the city really enriches the community. There’s enough crowd to go around, and they are events people want to attend.

I named my series The Emerging Writers Reading Series to make it clear what the series was all about. I call it by its short form “EW” because I think it’s funny. It gets across the sense of play that I look for when curating. I want writers who have a good time writing and will have a good time performing.

What can someone expect when going to EW? What kind of atmosphere do you wish to create?

I found a lot of reading series around the city to be really serious, very quiet. I liked it when I was in the mood for that atmosphere, but I knew for a reading series geared towards emerging writers the atmosphere needed to be different. I drew a lot of inspiration from Pivot, where people could sit with people they didn’t know and make new friends and connections. I wanted to have that sense of inclusiveness, but have even more hype, even more of a raucous environment.

At the beginning, I did this a few ways. I would say hello to everyone who came, introducing myself to people who I hadn’t met before. I would try to introduce people to each other on break and before and after the show. I made a long break between the first half and the second half of the show to encourage people to start conversations. I hosted with a high energy style that tried to show that I cared about each of my readers, that I cared about them as people and as writers, and that I had a great respect for their work, even though they were at the early stages of their careers. The readers and I used to take a shot of tequila either after the show or on break as a bonding experience.

My hosting style has more or less stayed the same, and I think the atmosphere is the same too. The one thing that has changed is that the audience has developed a life of its own. People introduce me to newcomers now. There are too many people for me to introduce myself to everybody, and while there is a steady group of regulars, I get new faces at every show. And a lot of those faces come back. The venue fills up almost completely, so that people have to stand. That already lends a certain excitement to the show, something that no curating or hosting can control. I don’t do readers’ shots anymore because not everyone drinks alcohol and now I often work the next day. I pay my readers and give them two drink tickets. I also become the “drink ticket fairy” and drop drink tickets on unsuspecting members of the audience, convincing them to stay out later at the show’s after party.

The level of quality has stayed consistent as well. The city has a lot of talented and ambitious young writers in it, and I’m always amazed at how good the sets are. I curate each show, but I now have an assistant fiction curator, Sofia Mostaghimi.

What is your favourite memory from a past EW show?

My first show was probably my favourite because it showed me I wasn’t a complete hack; I could really run a series and I could fill a venue and everything would be ok.

Most recently, we ran BIG on Bloor Emerging Writers Past Readers Showcase, and I was thrilled. No one went over their allotted time, people gave great readings, and it was neat seeing EW at a different time (the daytime!!!) and in a different location. It allowed me to dream about it, wondering how big EW might become and what direction I’ll decide to take it.

Describe The EW Reading Series in three adjectives, a phrase, or with sound.

Our slogan: Read! Listen! Have fun!

Do you have anything else you’d like to share? Photos, videos, links, posters, stories, wishes?

Our website: http://www.ewreading.com

My website: http://www.jesstaywriter.com

I blog for The Town Crier about other people’s reading series: http://town-crier.ca

Come check out our first show of the fall season: September 10th, 2013 at Duffy’s Tavern. 8pm, PWYC. Facebook event: https://www.facebook.com/events/221493711333479/229475087202008/?notif_t=like

I have a wish for all of my past readers: never stop writing or reading your work. I book you because I think you’re fantastic, and I can’t wait to see where we all end up as our careers progress.

EW september

130 Tales: 91 through 100

It was bound to happen. Within such a confined structure, when most of these tales were written on my phone (before I had a smartphone mind you, so the tales were actually texts I’d send to 21212, the phone number for your twitter account if you have no access to the app) during transit, it was inevitable that out of the 130 I’d create, I would draw on the same inspiration and basically repeat one of them… at some point. And point is actually Number 100. Funny. Such an iconic number, the first to break into three digits, the real marker letting you know that you have really come somewhere… and it’s a repeat.

This is what Number 100 was originally: 

She offered him her card, although they’d never met. When he asked, she said, “Call and all your questions will be answered.

Almost an exact repeat of Number 13:

Leaving, I feel a tap on my shoulder. A card pressed in my hands. “Call me later and I’ll explain everything.” What? “Just call.”

I’m happy there was so much space between the original and the repeat (87 original tales until rehashing an old idea is pretty impressive, especially because I wasn’t looking over the archive, aside from just to cut and paste them into a file, while I was still producing the new tales). I can’t, however, let this repetition continue to exist in this project. It feels wrong. Like a little cheat. An unintentional cheat to get to the end. Each tale has to be unique.

So I’ll write a new one.

Number 100 has been changed. I’m excited to mix 2013 Andrew in with the Andrew of 2009 / 2010.  And just a bit nervous. Will anyone be able to tell a difference? Probably not. Or, maybe, because I just spent a whole lot of time talking about how Number 100 is new.

Oh well. Here we go:

~

130 Tales

# 91 through 100

91. The man in brown came every Thursday. He’d open his laptop, order a coffee, then close his eyes. Let his coffee go cold, he would.

92. The snow on her pants didn’t bother her anymore. She’d come to see it as a trophy, a badge of honour she’d wear proudly.

93. She knew it would cause a fuss. That’s why she kept putting it down then picking it up. Now it sits atop her head, ready to fight.

94. She’d never trust her smile with anyone else so she’d pull the scarf above her nose. A mask for his memory.

95. He heard the story about the white stone as a child and thought he’d never forget it. “A lifetime is enough to change any mind.”

96. It hit his eyes first then quickly swam to his mind. His muscles stayed sombre but he felt he could finish the novel in an hour.

97. He thought, This is the only profession where it’s acceptable to be covered in blood and stand out in the streets to have a smoke.

98. Below the third rail lay the charred remnants of a wing. Its bone, stripped, juts towards the rail’s shadow in an innocuous Z.

99. His fingers grabbed the ceiling like a tree frog’s: splayed and flat. He’s tall and wiry, jerking about with the eyes of a gecko.

100. He just couldn’t put it down. It was like that controller was his pair of glasses: a lens to distinguish fantasy and reality.

Past Decades:

Numbers 1 through 10

Numbers 11 through 20

Numbers 21 through 30

Numbers 31 through 40

Numbers 41 through 50

Number 51 through 60

Numbers 61 through 70

Numbers 71 through 80

Numbers 81 through 90

 

130 Tales: 81 through 90

I find it difficult to maintain a positive, creative mood for an extended period of time. Issues of worth are always seeping in; exhaustion is always creeping around the corner of my mind, readying to build it’s walls all around my creativity; that monster Reality is always whispering into my ear that you should set your sights somewhere more realistic, somewhere that is full of job-security and social acceptance and banal conversation. These demons always appear, given time, but I can usually count on them showing up just after I’ve passed that midway hump in whatever project I’m working on. And when they do, cerebrally, it becomes very difficult to continue. What’s the point, is the common refrain at this time; it’s repeated so often it almost becomes a daily maxim.

That’s why it is so refreshing to find commonality in those you admire, those you respect, those that have surpassed the level of creativity you didn’t even know existed. Bill Watterson, of Calvin and Hobbes fame, confirmed this for me recently. Check out the strip here. It is beautiful.

I’m surprised and pleased with the tales in this decade. Probably the strongest decade-as-a-whole so far. Makes me excited for what’s to come.

~

130 Tales

# 81 through 90

81. Her smile becomes permanent, her eyes wide as the actors live their lives for her. She’s fallen in love while they are shopping.

82. His brow wrinkled. His palms glistened as he wrung his hat between them. He never thought he’d be ashamed to come back here.

83. His fingers were red and he smelled of ice. With every breath his eyes lit and his chest wheezed. We drank tea as I told my tale.

84. He put his hand above his eyes to ward off the sun’s attacks. A trail of dust in the distance. No one comes this way, he thought.

85. It’s always surprising to Leonard how easily the earth gives to the force of a hoe, as if it were consciously making life easier.

86. He forgot how much he loved the squeak of his shoes on the court. Finally healed, Neil was prepared to hear it all night long.

87. Her cuffs jumped gently atop her calico gloves. Fingers protected, they attacked the chord then hopped back in caution.

88. She caught the image in her phone. But now she’s seeing everyone’s eyes on her and thinks she needs to get off the streets.

89. It’s like everyone felt for him. When the shelves of oranges fell it was automatic. Now everyone who walks by is picking one up.

90. It was like a rite of passage; like Hamlet being sent overseas, she’s returned home to demand respect and to tell what happened.

Past Decades:

Numbers 1 through 10

Numbers 11 through 20

Numbers 21 through 30

Numbers 31 through 40

Numbers 41 through 50

Number 51 through 60

Numbers 61 through 70

Numbers 71 through 80

130 Tales: 71 through 80

The healing continues. Of both body and mind and the various social areas of my life. A shock like a lightning bolt sent through my entire existence rattled me quite badly and only now is the buzzing diminishing. We struggle against many things in our daily lives while making commitments to remaining constant. The worlds we create, the worlds we float between, from when we wake up, to when we go to work, to when we work and play and find time alone all overlap, like the most complex Venn diagram, and it’s difficult to realize that if one part of it falters, the effects are felt in each area. And on the opposite, if one is happy, if one is healthy, if one is inspired the effects emanate, just like that lightning bolt, from one area to the next. We trick ourselves into thinking we can truly separate areas of our lives from each other.

Re-doing this project makes me aware of this, as I cut and paste and repost these entries without editing and try to remember everything that was happening to me all those years ago when I was writing each entry. I think it’s allowing me to see my current situation / context of living a bit clearer.

Number 73 is one of my favourite entries in this entire project.

130 Tales

# 71 – 80

71. She finds it hard to keep her face straight. It’s as if the muscles grew too large overnight, like gravity doubled its hold.

72. The door swings open, although you wouldn’t notice it. A mystery enters the room, nameless until a hand lights the lamp.

73. He doesn’t know where the day went. All he knows is that it’s night again and he said he wouldn’t do this anymore.

74. She laces her boot on the bench while her friend, hands busy zipping up her winter coat, scans the road, cautious of strange eyes.

75. He was a silhouette against a lit room. Staring at the city with borrowed eyes he took time to personally address his audience.

76. He could see all the stories spilling out of its ripped leather. And as he knelt before the briefcase the world melted away.

77. She could see him. She noticed him but he couldn’t notice her. Where was she?

78. The split wooden staircase climbs the hillside like a crab. They lead to a house holding onto the earth for its life.

79. It was like opening a time capsule, that one you prepared when we were children. I didn’t expect it to be that bright.

80. A haze descends on the city, coating its people’s screams with a deaf cage and an unfriendly cold.

Past Decades:

Numbers 1 through 10

Numbers 11 through 20

Numbers 21 through 30

Numbers 31 through 40

Numbers 41 through 50

Number 51 through 60

Numbers 61 through 70