I
spend three quarters of my writing time making poems and a quarter reviewing
theatre for Mooney
on Theatre. Rotating between literary and journalistic pursuits is
how I keep things fresh for myself.
If
it’s poetry, I need to be working toward some larger-scale project, or at the
very least have an idea with a discernible shape, to feel motivated to sit down
and put the time in. Typically two two-hour sessions with a smoke break in
between. I’m not the kind to pour feelings out; I need to know exactly what I’m
doing. Right now, this involves a Google Doc where I’ve been storing writing I
would have otherwise called a false start and deleted. It contains north of
four years worth of material, which I’m revisiting systematically. I find it’s
easier to get something onto the page with a simple generative process to
follow. In this case, I copy 4-6 random chunks out of the file, paste them into
a fresh document, and make a new poem out of it.
I
find it freeing that the poem is, in a sense, already in front of me, and it’s
my job to chisel away until it’s all that’s left. This way, there’s no need to
come up with an idea to get going, and I can just play with the words,, tinker
until something interesting happens. It’s been rewarding to give a new lease on
life to so much crappy writing.
If
I’m reviewing theatre, the process is faster pace and noticeably more grueling,
which is probably half the reason why I do it. My turnaround is under 24 hours
and the pressure to produce is a welcomed rush, a creative workout that carries
me through the week. Writing starts as soon as I get home from the show, and
usually stops around 2 or 3 am, knowing I’ll have to be happy with wherever I’m
at before leaving for work in the afternoon. I feel grateful to participate in
the long tradition of sweating over deadlines for pieces you believe in, ones
that treat art with the respect and thoroughness it deserves regardless of
quality.
My
approach to criticism has an academic bent. Statements have to be qualified
with evidence. There has to be a thesis and proof for it set forth. I never shy
away from delving into minutiae so long as it ties back to the play’s grander
themes. It may result in heavier reads, but it also helps to stand out among
critics more concerned with digestibility than content.
To get in
the right headspace to grapple with language, I require only two essential
elements. Ideal caffeination, approximately a third of the way into my second
cup, and music. Here’s a handful of recent finds to give you an idea of the
vibe: Mick Jenkins-Jazz; Isaiah Rashad-Nelly; Janelle Monáe-Take a Byte; Lake
Street Dive-Use Me Up; D’Angelo-Sugah Daddy.
Trevor Abes is an artist
from Toronto with a fondness for writing essays and poetry. He was part of the
winning ensemble at the 2015 SLAMtario Spoken Word Festival, and competed in
both the National Poetry Slam and the Canadian Festival of Spoken Word as part
of the Toronto Poetry Slam team. His work has appeared in Torontoist, (parenthetical),
untethered magazine, Spacing Magazine, Descant Magazine, The Rusty
Toque, The Theatre Reader, Mooney on Theatre, The Toronto Review of
Books, Hart House Review, and Sequential: Canadian Comics News &
Culture, among others. Reach him on Instagram @TrevorAbes.
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