Council member Jan Lehman clarifies myths. AUSU council member Jan Lehman invites students for a conversation. Jan indicates several myths. For instance, unlike popular belief, it isn’t the case that any student can join a student union and impact change, as constraints include “team dynamics, resourcefulness, internal or external pressures, procedural complications, and time limitations.” Jan also indicates that students do not receive information about current issues and tend to become aware of problems once they are impacted. Jan also says that AUSU runs The Voice Magazine, not the students.

Reddit:

Excel or go fast at AU? A student inherits a business and wants an AU Bachelor of Management degree. The goals for this student are to learn skills and get a credential for future career opportunities. The student asks whether the goal should be to get the best possible grades or speed through the program with passing grades. A range of student responses include:

• C’s get degrees,
• the highest possible mark leads to “great distinction” at convocation,
• the classes most vital to one’s career should be prioritized,
• a goal of 70% leads to pleasant surprises when achieving a 4.0 and
• The goal should be to get the best possible grade and GPA.

Twitter:

2024 Olympic reads include AU’s Angie Abdou’s The Bone Cage.  @Athabascau writes, “If you’re inspired by the 2024 Paris Olympic Games, check out one of these great Canadian reads. AU’s Creative Writing professor Dr. Angie Abdou’s novel The Bone Cage was featured on the list.  #Paris24 #ParisOlympics2024 https://www.cbc.ca/books/15-canadian-books-to-read-to-get-into-the-olympic-spirit-1.6109630.”

How to share library sources with others. @aulibraryarchives writes, “Ever want to share the library sources you find with others? Learn how to find the persistent link: https://ift.tt/8FyXSlx #AULibrary.”

Recommended apps for taking notes. A student requests advice on what app will work seamlessly on a computer and tablet. Most students respond with Microsoft OneNote, which is accessible to Windows laptops, iPads, iPhones, Samsung phones, and Samsung tablets. A student, on occasion, uses multiple devices simultaneously for the same note. Another student uses the AU cloud account to save the files. The Remnotes app is also recommended.

Reddit:

AI for Comp Sci? A student asks if using ChatGPT for COMP courses is OK, citing GPT-Zero. Other students suggest that AI may be OK if there is no violation of academic integrity, including plagiarism, cheating, or generating papers. A student indicates that the AU Provost believed that AI is a tool, not the author. The students say using AI to produce the assignments may fail, primarily if the marker uses a program to detect AI plagiarism.

Twitter:

Graduate Student Research Conference/ @Athabascau writes, “The Graduate Student Research Conference, happening Oct. 25-27, is now accepting abstracts! Have you conducted research for your studies? Take advantage of this opportunity to showcase your work and gain valuable presentation experience!  #GSRC2024 https://athau.ca/3QcDPXK.”

Indigiqueerness. @Athabascau writes, “Congratulations to Joshua Whitehead, AU’s 20-21 Writer-in-Residence, on his 2024 Alberta Book Publishing Awards (@ABbookpub) nomination! Whitehead’s book “Indigiqueerness: in dialogue with Angie Abdou” was nominated for Trade Non-Fiction Book of the Year. https://athau.ca/3LbnpLZ.”

Keep going, you’re getting there.  A recent AU grad shares her experience and provides encouragement to students still working on their degrees; great to see these success stories!

Discord

Suddenly everyone wants to study.  Conversation in the #general channel is dominated by the myAU outage; students swap updates and work-arounds until myAU access was restored.

Twitter

@austudentsunion tweets:  “Applications for several  @austudentsunion awards and bursaries, including the Academic Achievement Award, New Student Bursary, and the Student Volunteer Award, are NOW OPEN. #AthabascaU undergraduate students, don’t miss this opportunity to apply https://bit.ly/1GlWJhi #Igo2AU.” (Hurry! Deadline April 30.)

Youtube

AU posts the 12-minute Why write: Athabasca University professors and authors discuss ethics and boundaries in writing, featuring profs Dr Angie Abdou and Dr Reinekke Lengelle.

If you haven’t yet read our honourable mention or our runner up for the fiction contest, you really should check them out as well, but this week, I’m very proud to be presenting our Fiction Voice Writing Contest Winner.  “Stray Dogs” by Catherine Moise.  After reading it, I have to agree with our judges, it absolutely deserves to be here.

Dr. Angie Abdou was one of the judges of our contest, an Associate Professor of Creative Writing at Athabasca University who has published eight books including her most recent memoir, This One Wild Life, which debuted on the Canadian Best Sellers List.  You can find out more about her, and all our judges, in our announcement article “And the Winner Is…”, but she also provided us some commentary on the winning entry:

“‘Stray Dogs’ is a contemporary Western skillfully woven in tight, rich, and evocative prose. With a soft touch and keen power of observation, the author explores human isolation and human connection. There is not a speck of sentimentality or cliche in this original mother-son story. “Stray Dogs” is a rare and mesmerizing treasure. Readers will find something new to admire each time they return.”

And you know what?  She’s right.  I’ve read through this thing several times already and keep picking out different pieces that capture my attention.  So, please enjoy Catherine Moise’s entry, the fiction winner of The Voice Writing Contest:

Stray Dogs

The blade gnaws back and forth on the leather.  Seven notches.  I’m keeping count.  I carved the first notch with baby fat still clinging to my legs.  I wore my toy spurs and cowboy hat.  The gunslinger in me wondered how I won the gun fight.  Better gun?  Quicker draw?  We forgot the hat in a ditch in Horsefly, B.C.  when we stopped so I could take a leak.  I cried about them all the way through Alberta—stopped crying when Mitch the Moron gave me something to cry about.  The spurs are planted in the prairies.  Buried in wheat taller than me.  Muscles pitched them when a late-night binge ended with the sharp edge of a spur planted in his foot.

Sheila keeps count of her exes by carving out their eyes.  Not quite as gruesome as you’d think.  She snaps a polaroid shot first thing.  She waits for failure like some people wait for a train or a bus.  Then Sheila white-knuckles the knife and carves a jagged rectangle around the polaroid eyes.  She keeps the eyes in a tin can.  Nights when the owls hoot outside the car window and there’re no stray dogs in sight, Sheila takes them out.  She arranges them chronologically—plays nostalgia.

I rub my thumb along the rough edge of the notched leather.  It’s a piece of leather from my holster—the only thing left of my gunslinger days.  I keep it in the trunk of the old car, tucked in behind the broken taillight; sucking gasoline fumes.

The first few weeks with one of Sheila’s stray dogs nauseates; like too much candy right before bed.  Sunshine and sweet talk—hugs and hangovers.

“Don’t ya just love him bud?” Sheila prods.  “Hey bud, got a hug for Joe Blow?” Or whatever name sits in the driver’s seat at that point.

The warm, hazy, lovey-dovey bullshit always ends; right around that time Sheila starts to sharpen the knife.  She turns into a blowfish when things get ugly.  Ingests huge quantities of liquor.  I watch her face puff up and her body inflate.  That’s when the aquarium gets tight and I realize there’s not much room left for me.

On the west coast of B.C., near Vancouver, Sheila took me to Wreck Beach.  She said it was a clothing optional beach.  I didn’t get it.  I grabbed my beach bucket and swim trunks.

“Hey bud,” Sheila said, “You don’t need your trunks – leave ‘em here.”

Naked bodies speckled the beach.  I didn’t want to take my clothes off but Sheila said it’d be rude not to join in.  So there I stood with willy wafting in the breeze – beach balls bouncing.  Sheila taught me to make sand angels.

“You’re my little angel,” she said, smiling and playing with my hair.

I still called her Mom back then.  Mom and her little angel.  Wreck Beach is where Sheila picked up Muscles.  Later I stood in the mirror flexing my little boy biceps and practicing a deep, “Hey beautiful.” Muscles didn’t last long.  I had him figured for a long shot anyhow.

Donuts showed up in Manitoba.  Donuts liked to play whack a mole with Sheila’s ass.  We met him at a Dunkin’ Donuts drive—through in Flin Flon, Manitoba.  We made a stop at every donut shop along the road.  One day he tried to play whack a mole with my ass.  Sheila punched him.  Just like that—right when I thought she had nothing left to give me.  Sure do miss the donuts though.

Sheila’s lips either pucker or pout—always ready for action.  Unless she’s eating.  Then they smack open and shut like she’s chewing gum rather than food.  When I was a boy, in that gray area before the dawn of manhood, Sheila told me, “Remember bud, girls like respect.  Send ‘em flowers.  Treat ‘em special.” Back then I hung on her every word—a spider baby hanging from her web.

Took us a long time to scout through Ontario.  By the time we reached T.O.  I had a fine-tuned swagger.  Took it for a walk down Yonge Street.  Sheila with her sashay and me with my swag—both on the hunt.

When Muscles sent those spurs flying through the air back in the prairies I learned something.

The way they flew?  Propelled by anger?  I got to thinking how anger could stir the pot.  Anger bubbled and boiled and people got burnt.  I started messing around.  A snatched wallet from a guy Sheila picked up in T.O.  Whiskey poured down the drain.  A hole cut in a favourite pair of jeans.  Then I just sat back and watched the action.  No flowers for Sheila.

We had jerked our way through Quebec, and Sheila had picked up T just past the Ontario border.  Monsieur Francais.  Theophile Talbot from Temiscaming.  We call him T.  I like the way he talks.  His words reach his eyes in a way that makes me think he really sees me.  I try to behave; shackle the saboteur.  T teaches me to fish.  I learn to skewer fat, juicy worms onto hooks.  I start to think things might stick this time.  Fish fries and campfires dull the ache in my gut.  I start seeing sunsets, beg for cigarettes and let them dangle at the corner of my mouth the way T does.  Then T slaps Sheila.

In the morning I splash a little antifreeze in his coffee.  We drop his dizzy, slurred, nauseated ass at the emergency room doors.  Sheila always perches, ready for flight, in case her feathers get ruffled.  So, we hit the road.  I put another notch in the old holster leather and I sit in the back seat staring at the trees flying by, the cars whizzing past.  Nothing worth counting except those damn notches.

Our old tin-can car wheezes and heaves along the highway.  We slip out of Quebec, slide through New Brunswick and settle into Nova Scotia.  By then Sheila’s voice has reached a new low.  I recognize the husky hiss— her own unique mating call.  She parks in the middle of two parking spots right outside The Tipsy Turtle Bar and Restaurant.  A band in the corner cranks out Elvis whining about tender love.  Sheila yanks me onto the dance floor.

“C’mon bud, dance with your Mama.”

My arms and legs jump and jerk like a spider curling into a death dance.  Sheila slips drinks my way.

“Loosen up bud.  C’mon.”

My legs slither across the floor and my arms snake through the air.  I am a snake.  My body curls and jerks.

The night is filled with hoots and spilled beer—slow dances and sloppy kisses.  Sheila’s long arms wrap each man in a syrupy embrace.  I eye each one and make a silent bet.  Which one wants to play Daddy?

At midnight, Sheila stumbles into a chair.  She lights a cigarette, and the smell of singed hair reaches my nostrils.  Her lips spread, teasing her face into a smile.  I rub my hand across the top of my mouth – feel the fuzz festering on my upper lip.  I wonder what she has poured into me.  What mix of beer-soaked logic?  What concoction of winding roads and unknown terrain will plot my future maps.  And what of the men’s eyes trapped forever in a tin can?

I stand and lean over Sheila.  I whisper in her ear.

“C’mon Mom.  Let’s get out of here.”

Her eyes widen in surprise as she acknowledges my slip of tongue.  I lift her body and she reaches up to wrap her arms around my neck.  Faded.  Sour.  This is how she smells.  This is how she has always smelled.

“I’m tired bud,” she says.

I turn and begin to direct her body to the door.  She wobbles and weaves.  I tuck her into the back of the old car.  Her eyes slip shut.

“Bud?” she says, “I think I’m tired of all those stray dogs.”

I pull an old blanket up to her chin.  My hand smashes a mosquito against the car window.  I open the trunk and pull the old bit of leather from behind the taillight.  I slide into the front seat and stare up over the steering wheel into the night sky.  I count the notches.  Fifteen.  And I think to myself, Sheila, we are the stray dogs.

Surprisingly, the Voice Magazine doesn’t get much in the way of fiction submissions.  This one was the result of us running a contest looking for creative writing from the AU community.  Being as it won the contest, including it as part of our Best Of 2021 edition is simply a no-brainer.  It already got declared “Best of” back in mid-May.

You gotta kick your own ass.  A student struggling with an individualized-study course format seeks help, and the community responds with advice and tools for staying on track.

Discord

Student housing in an insane real estate market.  A thread in the #coffee-shop-lounge spotlights the dismal options facing students who need housing in other cities (like Toronto, yikes!)

Twitter

@austudentsunion tweets:  “AUSU values your opinions! Between Nov 1-22, tell us how we can best serve our student members to support your positive student experience while studying at AU. We are giving away over $2500 in prizes to members who complete our survey. https://bit.ly/3nMdAYI.”

Youtube

Two writers for the price of one.  Sneak a peek at AU’s new Writer-in-Residence, featuring AU WiR committee chair Dr Angie Abdou, In conversation with author and AU Writer in Resident Michael Winter.

Seasonal surge.  September brings several posts from new students, trying to navigate their way through course selection, time management, and textbooks.  Plenty of responses with great tips.

Discord

Isn’t anyone studying?  Several non-academic conversation threads, including housing prices and mortgages, exercise bikes, video doorbells, and iOS 15.  Now, back to the books!

Twitter

@AthabascaU tweets:  “Where do I begin when it comes to an online course? How can I excel with #AthabascaU? http://bit.ly/2ZddH6V #OnlineEducation #OnlineEd #DistanceEducation #EdTech.”

Youtube

Writers talking.  AU posts Why write: AU professors and authors discuss Angie Abdou’s This One Wild Life.

If you haven’t yet read our honourable mention or our runner up for the fiction contest, you really should check them out as well, but this week, I’m very proud to be presenting our Fiction Voice Writing Contest Winner.  “Stray Dogs” by Catherine Moise.  After reading it, I have to agree with our judges, it absolutely deserves to be here.

Dr. Angie Abdou was one of the judges of our contest, an Associate Professor of Creative Writing at Athabasca University who has published eight books including her most recent memoir, This One Wild Life, which debuted on the Canadian Best Sellers List.  You can find out more about her, and all our judges, in our announcement article “And the Winner Is…”, but she also provided us some commentary on the winning entry:

“‘Stray Dogs’ is a contemporary Western skillfully woven in tight, rich, and evocative prose. With a soft touch and keen power of observation, the author explores human isolation and human connection. There is not a speck of sentimentality or cliche in this original mother-son story. “Stray Dogs” is a rare and mesmerizing treasure. Readers will find something new to admire each time they return.”

And you know what?  She’s right.  I’ve read through this thing several times already and keep picking out different pieces that capture my attention.  So, please enjoy Catherine Moise’s entry, the fiction winner of The Voice Writing Contest:

Stray Dogs

The blade gnaws back and forth on the leather.  Seven notches.  I’m keeping count.  I carved the first notch with baby fat still clinging to my legs.  I wore my toy spurs and cowboy hat.  The gunslinger in me wondered how I won the gun fight.  Better gun?  Quicker draw?  We forgot the hat in a ditch in Horsefly, B.C.  when we stopped so I could take a leak.  I cried about them all the way through Alberta—stopped crying when Mitch the Moron gave me something to cry about.  The spurs are planted in the prairies.  Buried in wheat taller than me.  Muscles pitched them when a late-night binge ended with the sharp edge of a spur planted in his foot.

Sheila keeps count of her exes by carving out their eyes.  Not quite as gruesome as you’d think.  She snaps a polaroid shot first thing.  She waits for failure like some people wait for a train or a bus.  Then Sheila white-knuckles the knife and carves a jagged rectangle around the polaroid eyes.  She keeps the eyes in a tin can.  Nights when the owls hoot outside the car window and there’re no stray dogs in sight, Sheila takes them out.  She arranges them chronologically—plays nostalgia.

I rub my thumb along the rough edge of the notched leather.  It’s a piece of leather from my holster—the only thing left of my gunslinger days.  I keep it in the trunk of the old car, tucked in behind the broken taillight; sucking gasoline fumes.

The first few weeks with one of Sheila’s stray dogs nauseates; like too much candy right before bed.  Sunshine and sweet talk—hugs and hangovers.

“Don’t ya just love him bud?” Sheila prods.  “Hey bud, got a hug for Joe Blow?” Or whatever name sits in the driver’s seat at that point.

The warm, hazy, lovey-dovey bullshit always ends; right around that time Sheila starts to sharpen the knife.  She turns into a blowfish when things get ugly.  Ingests huge quantities of liquor.  I watch her face puff up and her body inflate.  That’s when the aquarium gets tight and I realize there’s not much room left for me.

On the west coast of B.C., near Vancouver, Sheila took me to Wreck Beach.  She said it was a clothing optional beach.  I didn’t get it.  I grabbed my beach bucket and swim trunks.

“Hey bud,” Sheila said, “You don’t need your trunks – leave ‘em here.”

Naked bodies speckled the beach.  I didn’t want to take my clothes off but Sheila said it’d be rude not to join in.  So there I stood with willy wafting in the breeze – beach balls bouncing.  Sheila taught me to make sand angels.

“You’re my little angel,” she said, smiling and playing with my hair.

I still called her Mom back then.  Mom and her little angel.  Wreck Beach is where Sheila picked up Muscles.  Later I stood in the mirror flexing my little boy biceps and practicing a deep, “Hey beautiful.” Muscles didn’t last long.  I had him figured for a long shot anyhow.

Donuts showed up in Manitoba.  Donuts liked to play whack a mole with Sheila’s ass.  We met him at a Dunkin’ Donuts drive—through in Flin Flon, Manitoba.  We made a stop at every donut shop along the road.  One day he tried to play whack a mole with my ass.  Sheila punched him.  Just like that—right when I thought she had nothing left to give me.  Sure do miss the donuts though.

Sheila’s lips either pucker or pout—always ready for action.  Unless she’s eating.  Then they smack open and shut like she’s chewing gum rather than food.  When I was a boy, in that gray area before the dawn of manhood, Sheila told me, “Remember bud, girls like respect.  Send ‘em flowers.  Treat ‘em special.” Back then I hung on her every word—a spider baby hanging from her web.

Took us a long time to scout through Ontario.  By the time we reached T.O.  I had a fine-tuned swagger.  Took it for a walk down Yonge Street.  Sheila with her sashay and me with my swag—both on the hunt.

When Muscles sent those spurs flying through the air back in the prairies I learned something.

The way they flew?  Propelled by anger?  I got to thinking how anger could stir the pot.  Anger bubbled and boiled and people got burnt.  I started messing around.  A snatched wallet from a guy Sheila picked up in T.O.  Whiskey poured down the drain.  A hole cut in a favourite pair of jeans.  Then I just sat back and watched the action.  No flowers for Sheila.

We had jerked our way through Quebec, and Sheila had picked up T just past the Ontario border.  Monsieur Francais.  Theophile Talbot from Temiscaming.  We call him T.  I like the way he talks.  His words reach his eyes in a way that makes me think he really sees me.  I try to behave; shackle the saboteur.  T teaches me to fish.  I learn to skewer fat, juicy worms onto hooks.  I start to think things might stick this time.  Fish fries and campfires dull the ache in my gut.  I start seeing sunsets, beg for cigarettes and let them dangle at the corner of my mouth the way T does.  Then T slaps Sheila.

In the morning I splash a little antifreeze in his coffee.  We drop his dizzy, slurred, nauseated ass at the emergency room doors.  Sheila always perches, ready for flight, in case her feathers get ruffled.  So, we hit the road.  I put another notch in the old holster leather and I sit in the back seat staring at the trees flying by, the cars whizzing past.  Nothing worth counting except those damn notches.

Our old tin-can car wheezes and heaves along the highway.  We slip out of Quebec, slide through New Brunswick and settle into Nova Scotia.  By then Sheila’s voice has reached a new low.  I recognize the husky hiss— her own unique mating call.  She parks in the middle of two parking spots right outside The Tipsy Turtle Bar and Restaurant.  A band in the corner cranks out Elvis whining about tender love.  Sheila yanks me onto the dance floor.

“C’mon bud, dance with your Mama.”

My arms and legs jump and jerk like a spider curling into a death dance.  Sheila slips drinks my way.

“Loosen up bud.  C’mon.”

My legs slither across the floor and my arms snake through the air.  I am a snake.  My body curls and jerks.

The night is filled with hoots and spilled beer—slow dances and sloppy kisses.  Sheila’s long arms wrap each man in a syrupy embrace.  I eye each one and make a silent bet.  Which one wants to play Daddy?

At midnight, Sheila stumbles into a chair.  She lights a cigarette, and the smell of singed hair reaches my nostrils.  Her lips spread, teasing her face into a smile.  I rub my hand across the top of my mouth – feel the fuzz festering on my upper lip.  I wonder what she has poured into me.  What mix of beer-soaked logic?  What concoction of winding roads and unknown terrain will plot my future maps.  And what of the men’s eyes trapped forever in a tin can?

I stand and lean over Sheila.  I whisper in her ear.

“C’mon Mom.  Let’s get out of here.”

Her eyes widen in surprise as she acknowledges my slip of tongue.  I lift her body and she reaches up to wrap her arms around my neck.  Faded.  Sour.  This is how she smells.  This is how she has always smelled.

“I’m tired bud,” she says.

I turn and begin to direct her body to the door.  She wobbles and weaves.  I tuck her into the back of the old car.  Her eyes slip shut.

“Bud?” she says, “I think I’m tired of all those stray dogs.”

I pull an old blanket up to her chin.  My hand smashes a mosquito against the car window.  I open the trunk and pull the old bit of leather from behind the taillight.  I slide into the front seat and stare up over the steering wheel into the night sky.  I count the notches.  Fifteen.  And I think to myself, Sheila, we are the stray dogs.

But before I do, I’d like you to meet our fiction judging panel, and give to them the thanks and kudos they deserve for being willing to spend some of their time helping out the Voice and AU students.

The Fiction side of the contest received over 30 entries, and reading carefully through all of them were Dr. Angie Abdou, Ms. Heather von Stackelberg, and Ms. Barbara Lehtiniemi.

Dr. Abdou is Associate Professor of Creative Writing at Athabasca University. She has published eight books (short fiction, novels, academic work, and creative nonfiction). Her first novel The Bone Cage was a finalist on Canada Reads. Her most recent book, a memoir called This One Wild Life, just debuted on the Canadian bestsellers list.  And if you follow book news at all, you’ll see that This One Wild Life is getting great reviews from all over the place.  If the name sounds familiar it’s because we reviewed her previous book, Home Ice, here at The Voice Magazine, and the take-away from that is it’s definitely a book worth getting.  Personally, I couldn’t be more proud that she agreed to do us the honour of looking through AU student writings.

Our second judge, Heather von Stackelberg makes her living teaching about Artificial Intelligence. She has also taught about the barriers to creative expression, and she won the Journal of Integrated Studies 10th anniversary fiction contest, which was published earlier this year.  In addition to that, she has her BSc in Botany, a BPA in Communication studies, and, of course, her MA in integrated studies.  A well-rounded background, you must agree, and a huge thank you to her for adding to our judging panel.

Finally, we have our own Barbara Lehtiniemi, a freelance writer and photographer from Ontario. She’s a graduate of Athabasca University, having completed her Bachelor of General Studies degree in 2018. Her articles have appeared in several publications, including The Voice Magazine, The Review newspaper, Macleans, The Ontario Dealer, and, most recently, Chicken Soup for the Soul: Making Me Time.  She also still keeps up to date with what’s going on at AU, and is a great help to me collating our events, scholarships, and other short news things that keep you informed about what’s happening at AU.  I don’t think I can thank her enough for all the things she does for The Voice Magazine, and helping to judge this year’s collection of fiction entries is one more thanks I need to add to the list.

But let’s be honest, you want to hear who the winners are, right?

In first place, and the winner of a $500 Amazon Gift Certificate is Catherine Victoria Moise, with her story Stray Dogs.

And in second place, and the winner of a $250 Amazon Gift Certificate is Blythe Appleby, with her story titled Northern France, 1905.

But that wasn’t all.  The panel noted that they wanted to give an honourable mention to the story In Repair, by Kent Provost.

Congratulations to both the winners and the honourable mention, and we’ll be spotlighting their work as well as the work of a few of the other entrants over the coming weeks!

The Voice Magazine

Whitehead, “an Oji-nêhiyaw, Two-Spirit member of Peguis First Nation” (Treaty 1), is a PhD candidate in Indigenous literatures and cultures and lecturer at the University of Calgary.  He is also author of acclaimed and award winning works, Jonny Appleseed and full-metal indigiqueer, as well as Love after the End: An Anthology of Two-Spirit and Indigiqueer Speculative Fiction.  Currently, he is working on Making Love with the Land, a creative non-fiction, “which explores the intersections of Indigeneity, queerness, and, most prominently, mental health through a nêhiyaw lens.”  Other work can be found in various publications, such as Prairie Fire, Red Rising Magazine, The Fiddlehead, Arc Poetry Magazine, and more.

Can you tell AU students a little about yourself?

“tânsi nitotemak!  I’m currently a Ph.D.  candidate at the University of Calgary (Treaty 7) where I focus on Indigenous literatures and cultures—and within that, primarily Indigenous (nêhiyaw/Cree) genders and sexualities.  I moved to Alberta five years ago from Manitoba where I did my B.A.  in English Honours and my M.A.  in Cultural Studies at the University of Winnipeg (Treaty 1).  I hail from Peguis First Nation and identify as a Two-Spirit person.  I also am very much an Indiginerd, when I’m not studying, reading, or writing, you can usually catch me watching copious amount of horror films (B-grade horror is a must), playing RPGs on my PS4, dabbling in VR, watching Billie Eilish’s music videos, or being the most conscious, and thereby worst, colonizer in a round of Settlers of Catan.  My book of poetry, full-metal indigiqueer, is a cyber/bio-punk foray into decolonial poetics centered around the canon, my novel Jonny Appleseed is, what I call a sibling story to full-metal, a rumination on Two-Spirit sexualities and livelihoods in downtown Winnipeg.  Currently I have an edited anthology entitled Love after the End which details Two-Spirit and Indigiqueer speculative fiction geared towards the utopian.  And currently, I’m working on finishing a creative non-fiction manuscript, Making Love with the Land, which revolves around Indigeneity, queerness, and mental health slated to be released Spring 2022 with Knopf Canada.”

Can you tell us a little about your journey to becoming a writer?

“I have been storytelling since I was a child, my parents have stories and poems saved from when I was five years old—one of which is a short story about my anthropomorphic toys, I’m not sure what came first, mine or Toy Story.  My refuge as a kid, remembering this was when the internet was first being introduced and we played on floppy discs, was the library where I’d go and spend entire weekends reading the likes of Ursula Le Guin, C.S. Lewis, and Shirley Jackson.  I took all of the extra credit English and writing classes in high school and have this horror novella I wrote about the cloning of Christ and the onslaught of an oncoming WW3 saved from when I was a teenager, hah (it’s dreadful).  In my undergrad, I began taking creative writing courses and became fixated on the Beatniks—Kerouac, Ginsberg, and Albert Saijo primarily.  This was also in the time of my coming into my queerness, which is when I learned that stories are always a homecoming.  In my M.A. I encountered Toni Morrison and Beloved, which was one of the first BIPOC texts I had ever been assigned or read really throughout my academic tutelage—it was when I learned what real stories can do, when the body of text is attached to the body of the writer (which it always is, living and writing are wholly political acts).  What I learned here was that I was being taught to write white, and since that realization, I have been actively trying to embody myself, hi/stories, communities, and experiences into the stories I now tell.”

Can you tell us a little about the Writer-in-Residence program? How did you come to AU?

“I was invited by the lovely Angie Abdou to join the AU WiR and I couldn’t be more honoured to be a part of this family for the next little bit—especially in a time where we are all sorely starving for conversation and intimacy under COVID-19.”

What do you hope to accomplish during your residency here at AU?

“I hope to make new kin, have amazingly delightful (and difficult) conversations with the community in Athabasca, learn new ways of being and speaking, and, most importantly, help foster a community in the ways I can virtually.”

If you could give new writers one piece of advice, what would it be?

“Be wary of the ways in which we, as storytellers, archive or note take in our lives as people—don’t consume voraciously, be strategic in how we curate our inspirations and our traumas.  What I’ve been teaching myself is: I need to be a person first, a writer second.  Don’t forgo your relations, prioritize them.”

Which books (fiction/non-fiction) have made the biggest impact on your life and why?

“Kiss of the Fur Queen by Tomson Highway was one of my first forays into Two-Spirit/Indigiqueer literature and it was also based in Winnipeg and Manitoba, it was one of the first times I saw myself in story.

Larissa Lai’s Salt Fish Girl which taught me the fundamental writing truth I hold now: that even in speculative fiction, the noun body is a magnitude, that such a noun holds all of us in relation: bodies of text, physical bodies, bodies of water, land, sky.

Alexander Chee’s How to Write an Autobiographical Novel for his ruminations on Korean-American queerness and the form of both the novel and the essay—in how there are times in which literature becomes a peeking into voyeurism.

Garth Greenwell’s Cleanness because of his propensity for nostalgia and love even as his speakers are transplanted into new regions and places—as well as his ability to write about pain and trauma in ways that are rejuvenative and healing.

Billy-Ray Belcourt’s A History of my Brief Body because of his willingness to find utopia even in dystopic conditionings: such as within parameters of loneliness, in intergenerational trauma, on Grindr, and his skill to eat theory and regurgitate it as prose.”

Which author has had the greatest impact on your life and why?

“Toni Morrison and Eden Robinson will forever be the literary matriarchs to my writing practices for showing me the inherent power within oratory, histories, survival, and taking up space in a world that has continually positioned you on the wayside.”

What advice would you give to students struggling with impostor syndrome/struggling to find their place in writing/publishing/academia, especially underserved and marginalized communities?

“Forget what you were taught about the greats, the masters, the canons—never write to whiten yourself; edge your stories so as to maintain the fluidity of your queerness; cough up a lung of glitter and maintain the femme glimmering.  Your story is valued and valuable.  Conceptualize your elders as theorists, community as canonic, your stories as sorely needed—because they are.  Nourish your body so as to enrich the body that is textual, and never sell or give it away freely for the idiom of success.  Having said that, never consume wholly and freely, be strategic and selective in what you choose to record and narrate—be weary not to become the consuming voyeur, yourself.  Stories are animate kin, those we write and those we are gifted, treat them as such.  Storytell as if our lives depend on it—because they often do, stories are survival mechanisms.  We need you with us, literarily and literally, as we reshape the horizon of this nation’s oral hi/stories.”

In many ways, 2020 has been a culmination of historical (and current) injustices reaching a boiling point.  I would like to focus on the ways various communities, including the Two-Spirit community, are resisting and thriving in beautiful ways as well.  In 2020, what have been some examples of resistance that give you hope for the future?

“I’m thinking right now of having come back from the #ShutDownCanada protest in Calgary this past Saturday which was curated and enacted by the Idle No More Calgary chapter.  It was organized and ran primarily by Two-Spirit and Indigenous youth.  I was filled with hope and strength from their stories, songs, chants, and protests even as I returned home to sit back in the maw of settler colonialism.  I think too of the national protests that happened that same weekend, the shutting down of Yonge St.  in Toronto by more Indigenous youth—what a time to be witnessing such revolution.  I’m hopeful about the plethora of BIPOC and/or queer writing that is emerging into the Canadian literary landscape and actively changing the parameters of excellence.  I’m inspired by the ongoing work of Wet’su’weten, Land Back Lane, Mi’kma’ki sovereignty, the moose moratoriums with the Anishinaabe, the Kumeyaay activism around the wall in the southern US, the BLM movement across Turtle Island—we are living in a time of unprecedented imperialism but we are also on the cusp of civil, treaty, and humanitarian rights too.”

What work needs to be done? How can AU students get involved?

“My advice would be not to leave the work of social and systemic change simply on those being actively impacted—it’s one thing to share a black square or to a post of “All Eyes on Mi’kma’ki” but its another to actively engage and interrogate one’s self, community, family, and standing in the ongoing colonization and imperialistic killings of BIPOC folk across Turtle Island.  I would encourage folks to follow social media accounts led by front line defense groups, to donate what you can, albeit time, money, or conversation, around issues of decolonization and BLM.”

Submission Guidelines for AU’s Writer-in-Residence Program

Aspiring writers are encouraged to apply to AU’s Writer-in-Residence program.  Submissions should include a brief introduction, previous writing experience, future writing goals, and desired feedback, in under 2,500 word, 12-point font, and double-spaced Word documents.  Further information can be found on AU’s Writer-in-Residence website.

Intermediate Composition is made up of six units, and the marks are based on an expository essay weighing fifteen percent, a critical review worth fifteen percent, a comparison/contrast essay and a persuasive essay each weighing twenty percent, a research essay proposal worth five percent, and, finally, a research essay weighing twenty-five percent.  This course has no final exams.  To receive credit for ENGL 353, students must achieve a minimum grade of fifty percent on each assignment and a composite grade of at least fifty percent on the course.

Students should note that you may rewrite any assignment once and the final grade for the assignment will be the average of the two marks awarded.  Also, this course qualifies for a reduced learning resource fee of $130 which covers the cost of mandatory, Athabasca University-produced learning resources, library services, learning management system support, and learning design and development.  The materials for this course are available entirely online through the English 353 main course page and Digital Reading Room (DRR).

Dr. Angie Abdou has been working at Athabasca for four years and she has been the course coordinator and tutor for ENGL 353 since she started.  She states, “I have a Ph.D. from University of Calgary in Canadian Literature and Creative Writing.  I have published seven books: one collection of short fiction, four novels, one collection of essays about Canadian sport literature, and one memoir.  The memoir was inspired by a creative nonfiction course I teach in AU’s Masters of Interdisciplinary Studies.  After teaching creative nonfiction for a couple of years, I found myself pulled to write my own book-length creative nonfiction.  I tend to want to write what I love to read and that is always changing.  What to tell you about myself personally? My husband Marty and I have two children, a twelve-year-old boy and a ten-year-old girl.  All their sports (hockey, skiing, and gymnastics, swimming) keep us busy.  We recently acquired sister puppies – so the house is full.”

Alongside ENGL 353, she coordinates all of Athabasca University’s creative writing courses, which include ENGL 380 (Writing Poetry), ENGL 381 (Creative Writing in Prose), ENGL 384 (Writing Creative Nonfiction), ENGL 387 (Writing Speculative Fiction), and ENGL 482 (Advanced Fiction Writing).  She explains, “I tutor for all of those except the poetry course.  I also tutor in the independent study courses (ENGL 491 – Directed Studies in Literature and ENGL 492 – Research and Writing Projects in Literature), which allow students to do an independent creative project with my mentorship.  In the graduate program, I regularly teach MAIS 617 (Creative Nonfiction).”

She describes ENGL 353 as “an academic writing course.  Students get a chance to polish up the essay-writing skills that they will need to excel in other university courses.  The course focuses on different essay forms and gives students plenty of opportunities to learn through doing.”

Dr. Abdou explains that “like all of AU’s self-paced courses, ENGL 353 requires a motivated and self-directed student.  The students who work hardest improve the most.  If students learn from the feedback on each assignment and apply it to the next submission, their writing gets better.  If students take time to do many drafts, rather than submitting a first draft, their marks reflect that effort.  A good work ethic is crucial to success in writing, and therefore crucial to success in this course.”

As for advice, she encourages students to not get discouraged if they do poorly on the first assignment.  She states, “If you learn from each assignment, your mark will improve – and there are enough assignments that the first assignment does not determine your final outcome.  Instead of focusing on marks, focus on feedback.  Take time to absorb your tutor’s comments and use those comments to make the next assignment better.  If you need elaboration or clarification on any of those comments—or on anything—do not hesitate to contact your tutor.”

She believes that everyone should take ENGL 353, stating “If you have to write essays in your other courses, and most students do, this course will give you strategies to be successful.” Students will gain “a clearer sense of what is required in university essays and better skills for producing good quality essays.”

When asked which aspects of the course is the most difficult, she explains “Some students do not like to write so that is a hurdle.  Some students do not feel confident in their writing skills.  I hope that taking the course one essay at a time and looking to improve a little with each set of feedback will help students over both of those obstacles.  Also, I strongly encourage students to seek out the tutor’s help along the way for advice as needed.  Do not be shy.  That is what the tutors are there for and we always appreciate hearing from you.”

Whether ENGL 353 (Intermediate Composition) is a degree or program requirement of yours or the topics discussed above are of interest to you, or writing in general is something that you enjoy, this course will surely make you a stronger writer and better prepare you to write at the university-level!