That’s not how we read: a conversation with author Ali Bryan

“Relationships are messy, twisty and wild. In life and in fiction, I’m drawn to the outliers and the outrageous.”

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The promotional life of a book is generally short: a year of sporadic reviews and interviews, maybe a festival appearance, with the possibility of a brief extension if the book gets nominated for a prize. After that, in book-marketing world, it’s over; we’ve moved on to the next shiny new book.

But that’s not how book lovers read. Sure, we read new books. But just as often, we’re discovering and delighting in books that have been out for years. In this segment, I want to celebrate books the way we, the book lovers, actually read them: on our own schedules. Because great books deserve more airtime.

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This month I’m delighted to chat with the amazing Ali Bryan, a Calgary author who has published six novels and has several more coming out over the next few years. She writes across genres, interspersing award-winning and hilarious adult novels with young adult novels, creative nonfiction pieces and short stories.

Ali’s fourth novel, Coq, came out in 2024; a follow-up to her award-winning debut novel, Roost, Coq was a finalist for the Stephen Leacock Memorial Medal for Humour and won the 2024 BPAA Trade Fiction Book of the Year. Find out all about her incredible writing adventures here.

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LG: Ali, I’m so glad to get to hang out with you here. Last month I talked with Astrid Blodgett about revisiting characters we’d created, in subsequent stories, because we missed them or thought they had more to say or do. You’ve done this very specifically, writing Roost, and then, several years later, its sequel, Coq. How does it feel to revisit these characters after a span of years? Does it feel like a family reunion?

AB: A ‘family reunion’ is a great analogy. In a sense, revisiting Claudia and co. felt very much like a homecoming. Similar to how it is, in real life, when you return to your childhood home. You know exactly what step is going to creak, which window will never fully close and how the front door will only open if you jimmy the handle slightly to the left before turning it. The whole experience felt familiar and fun.

I never intended to write a follow-up to Roost. I was quite happy to leave those characters behind as I moved on to other stories.  And then one day I got a random social media message from a stranger who loved the book and thanked me for making her day. Something about the tone and surprise of that email triggered something in my brain because the plot for Coq almost immediately formed in my head. This was both a strange and serendipitous experience because I never think or write in ‘plot.’ I pitched the novel on spec and wrote it furiously in less than six months.

LG: I love this. I think many nonwriters would be amazed to learn how we actually come up with story ideas. We talk about this later on – how we get ideas and aren’t writing from our own lives – but it’s true for me, too: I’ll hear or see something that my brain immediately responds to, and suddenly there’s the story. Which happens about as often as the opposite, where I collect threads of ideas for years without knowing what I’ll do with them creatively.

AB: Which reminds me of another truth: there is no singular way, how or why to any of this (this being storytelling!)

LG: Do readers ever have different ideas about what your characters have been up to in the intervening years, and express surprise at where you took them next?

AB: Probably? I don’t spend a ton of time reading reviews (where a reader might pen their expectations) and I would especially steer clear if I knew I was writing a series (which in this case was not my intention). I was lucky that ten years had passed since I wrote Roost. To my knowledge, there were no expectations and even if there was, I would’ve ignored them. I do remember one review of Coq, where the reader expressed disdain because Claudia was re-engaging with her ex, Glen, from Roost. The reviewer saw this as a weakness, a ‘how-dare-you’ anti-feminist character flaw, but I just shrugged.

LG: This reviewer’s response makes me laugh, but it’s also frustrating. In the real world, I’d love for people to never hurt each other, and always take the high road, and make smart, kind choices. But that makes for truly boring books. Similarly, I don’t think any intelligent reader wants to read a story in which one side is pure-hearted while the other is evilly twirling their moustaches. I sure don’t.

AB: Precisely! Relationships are messy, twisty and wild. In life and in fiction, I’m drawn to the outliers and the outrageous. People who take the alternate route, who know they’ll be judged but say ‘fuck it’ and do it anyways. We know from the field of neuroscience that fiction allows readers to try on different lives, and different scenarios from the safety of the page. How boring if all characters took the road that was most expected of them. We get enough of that in the real world, which is probably why most people are miserable. There’s a reason the global wellness industry is projected to reach 9 trillion dollars by 2028.

LG: If only all the people spending all that money on mantras and manifestation courses knew – all they need is to pick up a stack of novels and settle into a comfy chair.

Let’s talk about writing humour. For me, I never start out intending to write funny, but I have a dark sense of humour, and a deep love for smart-ass characters who speak in sharp ways – and then I’m often pleasantly surprised to get laughs when I do readings. For you, humour is central to Coq, and to all your novels. How do you go about it, when you’re writing joyous slapstick scenes with multiple moving parts? It feels like chaos to the reader, and all the while you, the writer, are creating a finely tuned dance.

AB: Humour is the part of my writing that comes most naturally and unconsciously. Maybe because I’m Gen X, like you, and humour is how we survived because we didn’t have therapy or Tik Tik or work-life balance, but it’s always been my go-to, my mechanism for processing everything from grief to disappointment to the total absurdity of being human. I will say that as soon I try to be funny, I’m not funny. Also, it’s easy to overwrite humour. Honestly, it takes much more out of me to write dramatically. I still have to ‘think’ through more serious scenes because I find those harder to nail. Like, how do you make crying feel fresh and different?

I can find humour in almost anything (I’m a huge fan of Oliver Burkeman’s “negative path to happiness” as outlined in his book The Antidote: Happiness for People Who Can’t Stand Positive Thinking), which is why human suffering (from the loss of a loved one to the horror of having to hit up the grocery store at 5 o’clock) is front and centre in most of my work. I also love humour smashed up with something more poignant. It hits differently, oftentimes it hits better.

LG: I’m with you there. I know a darkly funny story in which someone is infuriated beyond reason with the way their dying mother dramatizes her death isn’t everyone’s cup of tea (my short story “Exit Interview”). But it’s my cup of tea, and I love that it’s yours, too. And when you invited me to contribute to Whatever, the Gen X anthology you’re putting together, my brain instantly went to a particular bizarre and terrible moment in the mid-80s, and the ways in which I wanted my characters to process it through dark humour.

AB: I loved “Exit Interview” for that very reason. It’s bold and gutsy and provocative. Also “infuriated” is a response and isn’t that the hope for any writer – to get a response? I would rather have someone feel something (even if it’s anger) than to feel meh. I like writing that presents the world as it is in all its beauty and horror (as opposed to writing that is aspirational or sanitized). Having said that, there’s nothing wrong with aspirational if that’s the goal. All stories can exist.

And of course every reader brings their own lived experience to the text. I once attended a book club and one of the guests hated The Figgs so bad she was seething. Later she admitted that she was in a similar situation as the protagonist (a custody/adoption scenario) and had limited access to her grandchild as a result. She was devastated and I got it. (In the same book club another guest didn’t like the book because it had a gay character).

LG: PS: I’ve just put a hold on The Antidote: Happiness for People Who Can’t Stand Positive Thinking at my library! I already love it, based on the title alone. Maybe it’s our writer instinct to take the sadness, the failures, the shitty events, and turn them over in our hands and think about what they mean, how they can be used. Throughout my communications career, I distinctly recall a number of project conversations with people who mis-used Appreciative Inquiry as a cudgel to keep anyone from speaking negatively. I’d be sitting there screaming inside, trying to calmly explain that criticism – examining how and why something failed – is crucial for learning and improvement.

AB: Yes, we’ve been living in this weird period of censorship and radical positivity or maybe it’s radical avoidance? Like, don’t talk about uncomfortable things! For a period, it seemed we couldn’t tell the difference between offending someone and harming someone. No matter what end of the political or ideological spectrum, we all lose when we can’t talk about complicated and complex things.

LG: Is there a question no interviewer has asked you about your writing that you’ve always wanted to answer? I’ve always been disappointed that no one wrote about or asked me, really, about my story “Uterus/Utherthem,” with its appalling premise of women getting pregnant specifically in order to have protest abortions, to defend a woman’s right to control her own body. I thought I’d get outrage or laughter or … something … I was dying to talk about the lengths people will go to if they feel deeply threatened or backed into a corner, but no one wanted to dig into that story.

AB: This is crazy. I suspect people didn’t dare venture here because it made them uncomfortable – it made them feel something. Duh. That was the point!

Not a question, but I’m bothered by the assumption that all fiction is somehow auto-fiction or autobiographical. I’ve heard writers assert this all the time, like it’s truth. I’ve written six books. Can you imagine if they were all auto-fiction? Boring. Also, as someone who writes creative nonfiction, I’ll save the best ‘life writing’ for that form. The very idea of fiction is to explore ideas, lives, ideologies, thoughts and viewpoints that both align with and completely deviate from our own. I’m not talking about abject appropriation, I just mean writing outside our inner selves. Please don’t make me only write about myself or my experiences. Sometimes I spend hours playing a game on my phone where I fill bottles with different colour liquids until the bottles are all sorted. No one wants to read about that.

LG: Um, Ali, people might not want to read about that, but you and I are definitely going to discuss it in detail the next time we have a beer together.

Related question, do you have a million ideas in your head and have to decide which ones to commit to, or does it take you a long time to germinate a novel-length idea? Or something in between? I drive Blaine crazy sometimes because I’m always coming up with great new ideas, then waffling back and forth about what to focus on next. (And yes, I’m aware that while I like to think of this as evidence of my brilliance, therapists might flag it as a procrastination strategy. Can’t we both be right?)

AB: Haha! As for choosing the project that gets my time, it’s a balance between actual deadlines (grant, manuscript delivery on a contracted work) and what’s working. Usually the ‘right’ project is the one that flows with the least amount of resistance.

LG: Have you ever gone into a bookstore where they didn’t know you, and faced your book or added it to a display table?

AB: I’ve definitely faced my books in larger bookstores, but get the biggest kick facing my books when I find them at Value Village or Goodwill (going back to that dark humour mechanism …). Once when I was in Montreal, I did move copies of Coq onto a book table themed “books set in Paris” during the summer Olympics (which were being held in Paris). I normally would not do such a thing, but in this case not a single one of the books on the table were Canadian. Not one. So, I fixed that and then I tagged the store and thanked them. (I don’t blame the store; there are zillions of books on the shelves and as we know, Canadian representation hovers around 5% of books sold in Canada).

LG: I love that you then tagged them and thanked them – that’s hilarious. Do you enjoy doing readings, bringing your humour off the page and delivering it into a reader’s ear?

AB: I do love reading, but like anything involved in writing and publishing I have very low expectations. Audiences vary and so do their reactions. I’ve read parts of my book that I don’t think are funny and have to stop because people are laughing uncontrollably and I’m actually left thinking dude, that wasn’t even funny. In other situations, I’ve paused at a part that I think is funny or that people laughed at during a previous reading only to hear crickets. I remember reading from The Figgs in Halifax and no one laughed, or tittered. No one even smiled. You’d’ve thought I was reading an eviction notice. Once I wasn’t really prepared for an event and I randomly chose a particularly crude scene from the perspective of a horny prison inmate and my mom was in the front row. I do love choosing scenes that are deliberately uncomfortable or darkly humorous. The kind of humour people probably shouldn’t laugh at but do when they’re reading privately and then here we are in a public setting and they try not to laugh but they can’t help it and things just get ridiculous and messy. That’s amusing and fun for me.

LG: I do love that, as well. But enough about what we have in common, let’s talk about our differences.

You’re one of those writers who many of your peers feel in awe of, in terms of your work ethic, productivity, and energy. You write a lot, and you’ve had instances when you had several new books come out in the same year. I mean, I know there can be a lag of years between finishing a book and it hitting bookstores, so it’s not necessarily that you were actively working on three novels at the same time, but still – you work so hard, so committedly! As a lazier writer who doesn’t hit my desk every morning for hours, rain or shine, I’d love to hear about your writing habits. I won’t put any shame I feel back on you, I promise.

AB: Haha. Well, it’s become increasingly hard now that I’ve been working full time. Really, I’ve always leaned on my discipline (a lot of what I attribute to being a Maritimer and also for the decade I spent in the fitness industry as a personal trainer and as a lover of sport/competitor). When you’re training for sport, you can’t pick and choose the time to be inspired. You simply do the work. I don’t love writing in a velodrome as I did yesterday while my daughter was doing athletic testing but the reality is I have to make use of the time that’s available to me. For years I got up to write at 5 a.m. Then I got two needy dogs and a job and I pushed that to 4:30 a.m. That wasn’t sustainable, so now I’ve had to shift to evenings and weekends (I particularly block huge chunks of time on weekends). Right now, I have three consecutive books coming out in 2027, 2028 and 2029. I am literally using timers to get through my days. Even this interview I am doing in increments. Answer one question, set a timer and do 15 minutes of house work. Answer a question, then finish up a short story that’s due for an anthology today. Answer a question, do 20 minutes of strength training. Answer a question, register kid for football camp. This will be what it’s like for the next three years until these projects clear. Overall, it’s a mix of habit/discipline, being flexible and adapting my routine as needed and ultimately valuing my writing (and writing time) because if I don’t no one else will.

LG: I hadn’t thought about writing routines in these terms, exactly – as being an outcome of learned habits from childhood athletics. It makes perfect sense – you’ve been organizing your life into slices for a very long time. I, on the other hand, remember joining Brownies when I was in grade three, and then dropping out after two meetings because I couldn’t believe all the work they expected us to do – sewing buttons and baking? I already had my hands full after school, reading books, playing outside and mediating fights between my sisters (though I guess that would’ve got me a helper badge). This explains everything about my own writing habits to this day.

AB: OMG, I would never have survived in Brownies. I’m a classic third-born, hyperactive over-achiever. I would’ve killed myself trying to GET ALL THE BADGES. I would have more badges than everyone else. I would be still getting badges today.

LG: I’ve honestly never loved you more.

How do you read, Ali? Within your area, outside, both? And what are you reading these days?

AB: I read all over the place. Probably more nonfiction than anyone would guess, particularly in the areas of history/war and philosophy. When I need a break from Canadian fiction, I read American and watch TV. I feel that TV writers especially are taking bigger risks (Succession, White Lotus, Adolescence).

Canadian books that recently blew my mind because they felt fresh and different (structure, style, theme etc.) include Julius Julius, by Aurora Stewart de Pena, The Reeds by Arjun Basu, and Maria Reva’s Endling. I’ve also loved curating my upcoming Gen X anthology Whatever with co-editor Emily Weedon. Other than being so totally “Gen X” the stories are scathing, brave, funny and dark in the best possible way.

Another book I just started and am loving is Lost Lambs by American author Madeline Cash. Recent short fiction that I’ve read and have found memorable include Stephen Graham Jones’ short story Father, Son, Holy Rabbit, the short story Contrition: An Isekai by Andre Alexis and Judith Pond’s collection: That’s Where you Were, Then.

LG: I am currently #91 on my library’s wait list for Lost Lambs. And I loved Endling – the way she combined mail order brides with the war in Ukraine with snail extinction – it was strange and utterly amazing. I care about snails now! I truly can’t wait to read my fellow contributors in Whatever – your invitation to submit was so funny and flippant and smart, all in such perfect measure, I felt like I’d found my people before even knowing the contents.

AB: It is such a great book. Gen X often defines itself by who it is not (i.e. boomers or millennials). These stories somehow manage to define who Gen X is.

LG: Do you think the world is ridiculous?

AB: The world is absolutely bonkers. The only way forward is forward. For me that’s carrying on, living life like the world’s not on fire because if it ceases to exist one day in the near future, I’d rather go out with a glorious reckless bang than in a blaze of finger-pointing rage, fear and righteousness. Maybe that sounds apathetic, but there are a multitude of ways to make the world better and for me that’s finding ways to connect with people in the physical realm.

LG: Agreed. In some ways I’m relieved about how social media has fractured. We all got on there years ago, had a good time, and now we’re slowly moving away again – at least, I am – from the toxicity, from giving billionaires our information so they can afford to buy more elections, and from the lies and slop – and rededicating some of those energies to nurturing and deepening IRL connections.

AB: The online anger is real and warranted but I’ve had enough of it. The best I can do is care for myself, and the people around me. Support my kids so they can handle the shit-world they’re about to inherit. Looking for ways to be kind even when I don’t want to, especially when I don’t want to. Write. Stay fit. Be healthy. I’m tired of the rage, the division, the polarization, the screaming into the echo chamber. I want beautiful sentences, whale sightings, comfortable sneakers and, sadly, more protein.

LG: Ali! After my divorce from my first husband, when I began writing in earnest, I put a big note on my fridge, a quote from a Christopher Marlowe play that said, “These are not men for me. I must have wanton poets, pleasant wits, musicians.”

Now I’m going to add your words to this mantra: “I want beautiful sentences, whale sightings, comfortable sneakers.” (I already get lots of protein.)

Tell me, what are you working on now?

AB: I am finalizing the aforementioned Gen X short fiction collection Whatever, working on a contemporary novel called Some Sunny Day (the title comes from a line from the famous WWII Vera Lynn song “We’ll Meet Again”). The story takes place both on earth and in the afterlife. A contemporary sport-lit YA book called Pick 6 (flag football + romance + dysfunctional family), which is coming out in 2028 to coincide with flag football’s Olympic debut and Husbandry, the third (and dare I say) final book in the Roost-Coq series.

LG: And so we circle back to Roost and Coq with this breaking news of a third in the series – thank you for letting my newsletter readers hear it here first! I’m looking forward to all your next books, and to an incredible series of Gen X parties in 2027 when Whatever comes out.

AB: There will 100% be Kraft Dinner at the Gen X parties.

LG: I’m so glad you could hang out with me here and talk all things writing, Ali. And I’m glad you stopped for strength training in the middle: if you were thinking of me and our conversation while doing weights, in a way, I was working out, too.

Find Ali’s books and learn more about her here.