Meet the team: Genevieve Rushton-Givens

Genevieve

 Hello, Miracle readers!

 Prepare to meet another member of the Miracle Team: Assistant Editor Genevieve Rushton-Givens.

Interview

Questions by Elizabeth Gibson

EG: Could you introduce yourself?

GR-G: My name is Genny Rushton-Givens. I am from Milton, Ontario, Canada (fastest-growing community in Canada).

Milton, Ontario: Photo from Wikipedia

I grew up in Mississauga, Ontario. I studied music (voice) at Wilfrid Laurier University in Waterloo but after I graduated I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be a musician or have a career in music. Right now I am focusing on self-discovery and finding out what I want to do with my life. I currently work as a cashier and as a part time reporter for a local events magazine, the Milton Villager. I also worked for the Ontario Provincial Election and I’ll be working for the town’s Municipal Election in a few months.

EG: What sort of writing do you do?

GR-G: I’ve probably written in just about every genre (except for screenplay, but I really want to hang out at a Starbucks and try that some time). My favourite genre would have to be poetry because it can be interpreted in so many ways and it’s great for expressing complex feelings. Another genre I like is fan fiction because it’s really fun to do and I feel like there’s a lot less pressure to be good at writing; people just want interesting scenarios. All the same, I’ve seen a lot of creativity in that genre and surprisingly good writing.

EG: What does writing mean to you?

GR-G: It’s communication... and fantasy. It’s so many things. An essential skill, an escape, a way to explain things, a method of communication far less scary than talking for introverts like me... And it’s timeless; writing will stay around long after the writer is dead. I guess writing to me is mostly hope and play; hope (that I can use it in a career) and play because it’s enjoyable and relaxing.

EG: How did you get into writing?

GR-G: I got into writing when I was a child. I loved playing with Barbies and playing make-believe with the neighbourhood kids so that was probably when I started using the skills you need for writing, namely imagination. I also liked writing diaries, especially on family cross-Canada trips. 

I did a lot of creative writing in school and it was one of the few tasks that didn’t feel like homework. I remember writing a bunch of Dungeons and Dragons short stories for fun; those were probably the first long pieces of writing I created outside of school. I also took a creative writing course in high school and that made me enjoy writing even more. Now it’s one of my favourite hobbies.

EG: Who or what inspires you?

GR-G: My biggest inspiration would probably be music. I play it almost constantly, especially when I’m writing. I love to listen to songs and fantasize about scenarios or stories that make sense with the music and the lyrics. Some of my writing is actually based on songs. 

A person that inspires me is my little brother Nick who aspires to be a professional musician. He doesn’t always receive positive feedback on his music (I admit I don’t always like the songs he makes) but is always playing an instrument or writing a song and never leaves the house without his laptop or an instrument. He can receive the most brutal criticism and be unmoved, simply not caring about what the person thinks. 

My favourite musicians and bands also inspire me: Imogen Heap, The Tragically Hip, Little Miss Higgins, Owen Pallett, Owl City, Billy Talent and many others. The Sound of Rum (Kate Tempest) is another inspiring artist for me as she is not only one of the few successful female rappers, but her music and poetry are utterly amazing. One more thing that inspires me are endlessly interesting cities, like Toronto, London and Amsterdam.

EG: What are your current projects?

GR-G: I’m working off-and-on in occasional bursts on a fan fiction novella that I’ve been working on for a long time based on Atlantis: The Lost Empire. I’m always coming up with interesting ideas for stories but I often procrastinate in actually turning them into writing. I’m also working on a few poems on various topics. I’m often working on local interest stories for the Milton Villager as well.

EG: What are your plans for the future?

GR-G: First and foremost, to be independent and financially stable. And secondly, to find a career that I love, maybe in writing, maybe in music, maybe in something else, but definitely something I enjoy doing. I don’t know what my future will be exactly, but I’m excited to find out.

EG: What advice do you have for writers?

GR-G: Whether you think it will be a career or not, write anyway. If you aren’t doing it because you enjoy it, why are you writing? Also, never be too discouraged by criticism (something I need to work on myself). One person’s trash is another person’s treasure. Another thing is to focus on is writing clearly so that you get your message across.

EG: What do you look for in submissions?

GR-G: I always look for writing that has relatively good spelling and grammar and writing that is clear and coherent. I can’t stress learning good spelling and grammar enough. However, what is most important is writing that is unique and gripping. What really impresses me is a story that constantly makes me ask “and then what happened?”  

I like writing that is out there, different or that has never been done before but I can also appreciate stories that tackle familiar subject matter in a really skillful way. I especially like writing that truly transports its audience to a different world.

A sample of Genny's work

Wallflower

Little wallflower at the back of the room Sitting pretty, waiting to bloom Watching the others in their gaiety Dreaming of tiny steps to spontaneity

If you have something to say, say it But even when you do, you delay it Sitting in the back all alone Where have you hidden your backbone?

You wait it out until that perfect silence The challenge, the defiance Of delivering the right answer When everyone else just stands there

But it seems it will never come You’d rather they think you were dumb Instead of watching the heads turn And feeling your throat burn

And it has to be something meaningful Something wise, beneficial Because this is the leaf upturned This is the incense finally burned

You must be wise and reveal a profound truth Or the silent one will be seen as the dumb mute But not too weird and different either Or you might as well be having a seizure

As you speak there is such an unjust silence And as you finish an applause and laughter like raw violence For despite your careful wording They will never pay attention to anything but asserting

Asserting, asserting is gold Asserting yourself and being bold Being confident, being nude Being exposed, being rude

Even if you proved the professor wrong Even if in three seconds you wrote a song Even if you recited a hundred digits of Pi All they care about is that you are speaking and that you were once shy

And that my friends is a spectacle

Beer

Cat call in the distance at three am Someone far away is hot And someone far away is horny Decisions made with beer goggles As you half-sleep in a bubbly, pleasant haze There’s more evidence for evolution Than skeletons and theories I think as I hear a college girl Shriek just like a chimpanzee Below on Spruce Street Far away noises sound so close They are inside my tiny flat Invading

How frightening it would be to venture outside so late On a saturday night And soak up the stupidity Violence at the slightest provocation Passive-aggressive friendliness Walk past a bar Would I make it home alive?

The city lights cast a morning glow on the trees and the now-grey sky It looks as if the sun is rising

But, no, I’m still here in my warm, fluffy bed Half-asleep, half-awake like most nights When will I escape this vampire’s schedule? I long for the early mornings of my youth Seven am, the darkness lingering Birds chirping, parents yelling, Reading on the school bus Innocence, naïveté, thinking life was so difficult then But it wasn’t That was just the beginning

The jock population skyrockets after two am Because nothing good happens then Birds, maybe robins, singing at four am Everything is backwards at this hour And so much more frightening Terrified of even leaving my room Down the dark, empty hallway

Maybe I’m just jealous I wish I had some friends to be stupid and drunk with Some men and boys too Even just some alcohol A cold glass of beer To help me sleep To taste So bubbly and bittersweet Pop with a punch I must imagine my glass of water as a mug of beer And hope...

Green and White Snake:

Words were never spoken or exchanged. "The GO Train is here." The only five words anyone there ever thought they needed to hear besides they weren't words they were mentality the briefcases purses newspapers click-a-clacks of heels rustling of zippers and keys scrapings of sandals rollings of bags sharp noses blank eyes all pointed at their exact target click clack click clack a steady stream of everyone and anyone men with full black business suits girls in Gouci and jeans ladies in Reitmans men in checkered shirts and khaki shorts like ants they piled into the green and white snake dreading the fatal announcement "last call! Last call!" they accelerated full grown men and women whipping and thudding and click-a-clacking the wind pushed them back to their cars the ground screamed "Stop!" but they didn't listen a woman all in blue who could raise the dead with her clacking daintily ran as fast as she could "DOORS SHUT!" the conductor's voice was muffled and he followed through in a spurt of perseverance soundlessly the doors closed At least the adults knew one thing no amount of noise could open them so they didn't try the blue-clad woman slowed to a stop the GO train had gone she slumped in the middle of the station the wind urged her but suddenly the train came again always there always gone CLICK CLACK the heels revived click clack click clack clack

Victoria’s London

Take me back to when top hats were like business suits When the white moths had become black with filth When the Thames was brown like the rotted teeth of beggars And not just because of the mud When the Irish and the Slavic were exotic When London was Birmingham When Birmingham was Liverpool When Liverpool was a country village When there were millions And yet they were still so innocently oblivious Take me to the city clothed in black For there was always a funeral somewhere London The noisy factories And crowded slums The fear that the cold brings The pain that disease brings The real London The honest London The dark, deadly London of my nightmares Every narrow, dimly-lit alleyway dripping with piss and blood Full of criminals and drunks Ominous dark brown bricks The suffocating stink that follows you wherever you go

Cursing, begging Lifting, cuffing, gaffing, looting, nicking, pinching, swiping, thieving, pilfering, pillaging Hundreds of words for stealing

Where the poor are painfully poor Where every woman that smiles at you is a prostitute Corpses lying in the streets Next to gas lamps The only beacons of light People packed into bedrooms like chickens Sleeping on the string

Highly disturbing But it’s best not to interfere For someone else will deal with it Industry and decency will save us all

There is no trace of that now Except the noble stone buildings Commissioned by the corrupt

This is my fear and obsession