Finnian Burnett

I’m interrupting this space where I usually post “5 Questions With…” to write about a couple of things that happened in my life this week.

First, I was awarded a grant to write my next novel from the Canada Council for the Arts!.

As part of the condition of the grant, I’ll be spending two weeks in England next summer doing research since part of my book takes place there. I’ll also be able to pay fair wages to my beta reader next spring from the grant money. It also means I can take time off next semester to just spend time writing.

Arthur is important to me – those of you who read “The Clothes Make the Man” have reached out to tell me how much you related to him, even if his struggles weren’t identical to yours. In my new novel, I’m reaching deeper into Arthur’s life and digging into his childhood, his lifelong struggles with weight and gender, and the lasting effect of his father’s early death. This grant gives me the freedom to explore this story by offering me a gift I never seem to have enough of – time. It feels huge. It feels momentous. It feels mostly like a validation – maybe people really do want to read about a trans masculine person in a fat, female body. I love writing stories of queer discovery and in this book, I’m also going to be writing about queer joy.

I most gratefully acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts. canadacouncil.ca

With the excitement and joy comes anxiety and trepidation. Will I be able to finish the book? Will it be as good as I want it to be? Will I justify the faith the committee had in me that allowed them to award me such a significant sum of money? Importantly, I think, the continuous question – am I worth it?

On the heels of the grant, I learned I made the CBC nonfiction contest longlist and then, a week later, the shortlist. The winner is still to be announced later this week, but for me, making the longlist is probably the biggest thing that I’ve ever done, writing-wise.

Of course with a major win like this comes a lot of doubt. I don’t know about the rest of you, but sometimes, when I write a particularly powerful story, I think, “That’s it. That’s probably the last great thing I’ll write in my life.” And sometimes, for a while I don’t write anything at all, emotionally drained possibly from reaching deep into the subjects I can tackle that resonate with people.

The week between the longlist and the shortlist was fraught with anxiety, not because of worry about making the shortlist because, after all, making the longlist of this contest is a huge win, but because the celebrations, the social media accolades, the private messages, emails, phone calls, everything felt both amazing and overwhelming.

And in the middle of all this celebration, our elderly car, Lord Gordo the Magnificent, took a downward turn in his fight against several illness and we had to make the painful decision to put him to rest.

Gordo chose me back in October, 2014 at the Capital Area Human Society. I had just bought my first house and was scrolling through the CAHS Facebook page, randomly thinking about adopting a cat. I saw a cat named Toby who reminded me very much of a cat I had for 21 years named Frank.

When I got to the Humane Society, I sat on the floor in the cat room and tried to get Toby’s attention. He was singularly uninterested in me, but a different cat, one named, at the time, Foster, was quite convinced I was meant to be his. He climbed into my lap and purred. I pet him for a while, then set him aside to try with Toby again. Toby, again, had no interest in me, but Foster climbed back into my lap and stared up at me with love in his bright green eyes. I put my hand on his head and he leaned into me, purring so loudly, you could have heard it across the room.

I took Foster home that day and he soon became Gordo, then Lord Gordo the Magnificent, but also Senor Gordo, Gordon McFluffybutt, Mr. Pooper Pants, Monster Man, Mr. Banini Boy, and Bub, Bubba, Bubby, and Bubble.

Gordo did not have any trouble relaxing into his new home, nor taking command of said home from Brutus, my 60 pound rescue dog.

When we lost Brutus two years ago, Gordo became our whole world, pet-wise, and we vowed not to take in another animal until Gordo was gone because we wanted the time with him. We got two more years with Gordo after Brutus died – just a month shy of nine years all told.

My wife and I have a Gordo size hole in our hearts and so this week has been a roller coaster of huge ups and the lowest of lows. I’m trying to be gentle with myself, to not shame myself for falling behind with my grading, for not getting a short story into a call I’d been wanting to make, for not returning every phone call, or answering every text. In the words of my dear friend, Kimberly Cooper Griffin, this week, I’m just giving it my some.

And maybe it’s important for me to remember that I’ve always taken breaks from writing, that I’ve often gone into creative hibernation to emerge again when I’m able, that sometimes a long fallow period leads to better work in the end, and certainly leads to a better, or at least emotionally healthier, me.