 |
| 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
