I have a confession to make: the smell of maple syrup (the real kind tapped straight from a tree, not the fake store-bought kind) makes me feel queasy. Does that make me a bad Canadian? I don’t think so. What might make me a bad Canadian was the review I just posted about a book about writing by a Canadian literary icon and how I went from pondering the Canadian-ness of my writing to surprisingly not being the first to think of moose-inspired erotica. Behold this beauty:
Despite my blasphemy, it is something to think about. In our globalized world, how important is cultural identity in our literature? For some work, it’s integral, of course. Imagine dinosaur erotica set outside prehistoric times…with humans. That’s preposterous! But for other work, like my sci fi romance stories, they’re set in outer space. There are so many different species intermingling, and so far, none are Canadian. Then again, I haven’t even decided if the humanoids are earthlings, so nevermind that comparison. It’s inevitable that a least a little bit of my background will show in my writing. Even my spelling gives me away. I consider it the Canadian flavour that drives Americans wild when they see extra u’s all over the place. I’m not sure where I’m going with this whole thing. I think I’m mostly disappointed to not be the first person to think about moose porn, and that was apparently written by an American! Geez. I’m slacking.
Ok, enough procrastination. It’s time to hit the hay and maybe have lumberjack dreams!
WordacCountability Tally March 30:
Short Stories: 0
Grand Total: 26,550