Excerpt 1, from Michelle Kay:

For this piece, we really focused on adding dialogue. Just like fiction, dialogue can really make creative non-fiction that much better. It adds life to your piece, and to your characters. As readers, we get to see how they interact with each other, and the world around them. In draft one, a story about the writer becoming vegetarian in a Chinese-Catholic family, we didn’t get much sense of who the writer’s mother was, though she played a large part in the story. Adding some dialogue also showed us we were also missing out on some seriously funny stuff.

So this:

When I was 15, I told my Chinese-Catholic mother I was becoming a vegetarian. She was not happy.

Chinese food is not just meat-heavy—it is vegetable-heavy too—but more importantly, it is flavour-heavy, whether that flavour comes from a cow or a root vegetable or a sea creature.

Became:

When I was 15, I told my Chinese-Catholic mother I was becoming a vegetarian. She was not happy.

“What do you mean, you don’t want to eat meat?” she said to me in Cantonese. She glanced up from the chopping board where she was mincing beef, looking especially menacing holding the silver cleaver. She often used that rectangular-shaped clever to tenderize meat, skillfully mashing it into submission.

“What don’t you understand?” I countered, noticing a new patch of white in her hair.  “I just don’t want to eat meat anymore. There is no reason other than I don’t want to.”

“What about chicken?”

“Mom, chicken is meat.”

Excerpt 2, from Rob Thomas:

For this piece, we worked on making characters come to life. Often, when we write creative nonfiction, we are writing about people we know: our mom, our dad, our children, best friends, husbands, wives. We know these people intimately, and it’s easy to write this way. It’s important to remember, though, that our readers don’t. As writers, it’s our job to make these people—that are so intimate in our lives—real to others who don’t know them. We don’t have to go overkill on this. This writer’s first draft, a story about his dad, didn’t tell the reader what his dad looked like, how old he was, how he talked, etc. He was able to do so in subsequent drafts with just a bit of detail.

So this:

There is a photograph of my father on our fridge. He sits in the bow of a rowboat. He wears a green shirt and a white fishing hat. A shoreline of evergreens cut across the photograph directly behind his head. My father holds a large bass that his brother Gerry just caught. He holds the fish is very close to the camera, exaggerating its size. My father’s smiles broadly. There is a note, addressed to my son, on the back:

Became:

There is a photograph of my father on our fridge. He sits in the bow of a rowboat. He wears a green shirt and a white fishing hat. A shoreline of evergreens cut across the photograph directly behind his head. My father holds a large bass that his younger brother Gerry just caught. He holds the fish very close to the camera, exaggerating its size. My father is a wiry man. His remaining hair is gray and cut very short but his skin is smooth and youthful. He is probably 68-years-old in the picture but could be mistaken for ten years younger, or more.  His smile is broad and toothy. There is a note, addressed to my son, on the back:

“I couldn’t find a postcard in Mattawa showing me with Uncle Gerry’s bass so I’m sending this picture instead. Weather prevented flying 50km to Hamel Lake most of the day but we flew in for 30 minutes fishing. I caught four perch, one small bass and Gerry caught this one. We missed several more as the bass were just starting to bite as we had to fly out before dark.”

It is a photo of my dad posing, very proudly, with someone else’s fish.

Excerpt 3, from Lissa Robinson:

For this piece, we worked on what can, sometimes, feel like the biggest writing obstacle when it comes to using the “I” voice: focus. The narrative that goes on in our head—that “I” voice—can sometimes be confusing for people who aren’t, well, us. Sometimes we tell too much, or not enough. This writer had lovely detail in her first draft, a memoir about her dad. But she also chose to tell his story, and her own, in a complex way: by relating it to her favourite childhood classic, Wizard of Oz. As we workshopped this piece, the writer was encouraged to tether everything back to that central theme.

So this:

Fairytales are fraught with darkness, violence and death, but there is always some shimmer of hope or a character’s emergence into a state of grace. Or, for that poor wicked witch of the east, a finale, her  monumental fall from grace. Of course, this is a religious interpretation, but it’s worthy of closer inspection because it continues to be one of the mass psychological affects of our time. Although I was raised Presbyterian, religion wasn’t a daily or even weekly ritual in our household, but it still permeated the air. A moral miasma that seemed to infect the very core of my being and was reflected back to me in the mirrored eyes of people lining up for their daily bread. I am not a religion hater, but I have struggled with its purpose and meaning, and have been deeply troubled by the mass shame and violence it has perpetuated in its people.

And so the story begins.

Like the witch, my father had his own fall from grace. But that will come later.

Became:

Fairytales are fraught with darkness, violence and death. In the end, though, there is that shimmer of hope that the good ones will rise above, unscathed, and that we’ll see them emerge into a state of pardon or grace. Where good triumphs, evil fails. For that poor Wicked Witch of the East (and West), the finale is a fatal blow dropped from the heavenly sky.

Like the witch, my father had his own fall from grace.

Sleeping pills and a bottle of rye. A suicide—even a failed one—is an act of lonely despair. A twisted kind of hope at ending the shame and finding redemption. Just imagine, white and black striped legs, crumpled above the knee and splayed out for all the world to see. Oh, the sin.

Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch!
    Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead.

My dad was a creature of habit and he liked his home to be arranged in a certain way and with a particular kind of discipline and order. Early on, I think that’s what kept his own internal wickedness at bay. We were taught to never speak out of turn, but to be stoic and fearless, and to eat all of our peas.

Thanks to everybody who participated! You were all awesome.

Also, don’t forget to enter our Lit Hunt; the deadline is July 31, 2012. We’re also running an online creative non-fiction workshop (free!) for writers who want to learn how to nail their “I” voice. Whether you need mega or minor advice, or just want a second set of expert eyes, this workshop is for you. Click here for more details.

Kyle Dupont: You decided to add a new category in the mix this year for the Great Canadian Literary Hunt with creative non-fiction, I’m sure I’m not alone when I ask what on earth does that even mean?

Lauren McKeon: You’re not—in fact, you could probably ask about 10 different people to define creative non-fiction and get just about as many answers. To confuse matters even more, many use the terms creative non-fiction, literary journalism, narrative non-fiction, and new journalism interchangeably. Having said all that, there are some basic principals of creative non-fiction: the stories are true; they use elements of literature, essay-writing, and even poetry, in their scenes, dialogues, rhythm, and description; many use the “I” voice. In the words of Lee Gutkind, editor of the wonderful journal Creative Nonfiction: “Creative nonfiction heightens the whole concept and idea of essay writing. It allows a writer to employ the diligence of a reporter, the shifting voices and viewpoints of a novelist, the refined wordplay of a poet and the analytical modes of the essayist.”

KD: What are some good resources out there to help me better understand the genre?


LM: You should definitely check out Creative Nonfiction’s website or grab a copy of the journal itself. Try also, The Art of Fact: A Historical Anthology of Literary Journalism, The New Journalism, The New, New Journalism, The New Kings of Nonfiction. There are the genre pioneers: most anything Joan Didion, Hunter S. Thompson, Truman Capote, John McPhee, Norman Mailer, Tom Wolfe, Gay Talese, and on. New iterations of the craft: Susan Orlean, Chuck Klosterman, Malcom Gladwell, Jon Krakauer, William Langewiesche, Tom Junod, and more. Browse your bookstores and the web—creative non-fiction covers so many approaches and genres, you can find it, or elements of it, almost anywhere these days.

KD: When did creative non-fiction really come to life?


LM: Many people will point you to the pioneers I just mentioned—those journalists that really began pushing storytelling and reporting in a new, interesting, and then-unconventional direction. Pretty soon, the mash of journalism and novel-esque narrative technique became the bread-and-butter of many magazines, such as Esquire and Rolling Stone. The new journalism of the ’60s and ’70s has since morphed into what some call the new, new journalism—and all the nuances of creative nonfiction found in publications across the world today.

KD: Has This ever published any creative non-fiction and are you planning on adding it into the magazine on a regular basis?

LM: This has certainly published its share of creative non-fiction in our 46 years. We sure love us a good essay! Many of our best stories also have elements of creative nonfiction: descriptive writing, dialogue, personal insight, etc. And, of course, we would like to publish more. We have a history at the magazine of pushing boundaries, highlighting new writers, and publishing stories you wouldn’t find anywhere else—some of the things creative non-fiction does best. Please send us your pitches, and enter the Lit Hunt.

KD: Is there usually a specific topic people write on like politics or some other type of news worthy beat?

LM: The beautiful thing about creative fiction is that it can, really, be about anything. It includes everything from memoir writing to travel writing, and food writing to sports writing. There are essays, “I”-voice writing, political writing, and music writing. I’ve read creative nonfiction about prison food, a beautiful essay about mayonnaise (by Pulitzer Prize winner Rick Bragg), and stuff about playing poker. Really, as long as it’s done well, the possibilities are limitless.

Send us a full story, or an excerpt, of up to 750 words. We’ll randomly pick three pieces from all the submissions. This Magazine editor Lauren McKeon will then workshop each of our picks with the author. After, we’ll post before and after excerpts online, with tips, for everybody to learn from, discuss, and read.

Send your workshop submission to [email protected] by June 25, 10 a.m. EST. DEADLINE HAS BEEN EXTENDED TO MIDNIGHT. Yey!

Interested in creative non-fiction, but what to know more about what it is? Check out our most recent Lit Hunt Q&A.

And, of course, don’t forget to enter our annual Great Canadian Literary Hunt. For more details, see here.