Photo by Christopher De Rosa
Get to know writer Christine Ottoni, whose story “Plastic” is published in our Winter issue (58.2). Pick up a copy to read her story and consider subscribing to PRISM so you’ll never miss an issue!
Why do you live where you live?
I’ve lived in Toronto since 2008. I originally came here for school, and moved pretty much every year. For the first half of my time in the city, I felt restless, like I didn’t have a space that was mine. In 2015 I moved to High Park with my partner and dog, and we’ve lived in the same place ever since. Our apartment feels like home and it’s been a productive space for me. We only have 600 square feet but we’ve prioritized room to work (my partner is a painter, photographer, and filmmaker). My desk faces a window and I have a view of the park. I also have a corner dedicated to reading, plus plenty of wall space to tape cue cards up on the wall when I’m working through a tricky plot movement.
Is there a public space you’re fond of? Describe it.
I recently got an annual pass to the Art Gallery of Ontario so I’ve been going there a lot. My favourite room is the Galleria Italia up on the second floor. It runs the length of the museum and looks out over Dundas Street West. The wall facing the street is made of curved wood and glass. It always makes me feel like I’m inside the hull of a massive glass ship.
Do you have any “vices”? What’s the relationship between your vices and your writing?
Can routine be a vice? I think it is for me. I’m probably happiest when I wake up and do the same thing every day, go for a jog, eat the same kinds of food, get some words down, but I’m also aware that being a type-A writing recluse has its downside. Isolation, for one, which breeds loneliness, and getting stuck—narratively, stylistically, and in the same ways of thinking. Trying to do the same thing over and over and wondering why it’s not working. It’s been important for me to learn to identify when my routine is impeding my work, and try some spontaneity.
What’s the last thing you wrote that surprised you?
I wrote a story a couple months back in response to the violation of reproductive rights happening in the US. A lot of my recent short fiction has been in the speculative realm and I wanted to create a new birthing system that would place absolute control of embryonic tissue in the hands of people with wombs. I was challenging myself to write something that resisted the traditional conflict you might see over an issue like “pro-life” versus pro-choice. I didn’t want the narrative to turn on a legal battle or protest or the introduction or some law; I wanted my womb-bearers to resist not only the patriarchal medical establishment but also the physical limitations of the way pregnancy and birth currently operates. It’s still on my rewrite docket. I’m trying to get that kind of resistance narrative right without it feeling fake or forced. It’s important to me that the emotion of the story feels authentic, even while I’m bending the rules of biology.
What’s the first story or poem you remember writing, and how does it relate to your current work?
I started writing stories about fairies and magic in elementary school, and loved to put my work into book form. I’d draw pictures and three-hole-punch the pages, tying the whole thing together with ribbon to present to my teacher or mom after school. Most of all I was looking for approval in those days. I loved to read, and I wanted other people to love reading my work too.
Seeking and craving approval is something I’ve had to work on. I’ve learned I don’t make good work when I’m trying to please someone else, whether it’s the reader or a colleague I admire. Ultimately, if I’m not writing for myself, things tend to not work out. Like lots of writers, I’ve struggled with the idea that I might not ever make something as good or successful as the books I admire. But I have to write. For me, it’s part compulsion, part pleasure. I’ve tried to create a new idea, my own idea, of what success in writing looks like.
In your wildest dreams, what does your life look like?
I’d like to live somewhere a bit secluded. If I was shooting for the stars, a bungalow in the desert would probably do the trick, like a slightly modernized version of Georgia O’Keeffe’s Ghost Ranch. Somewhere that could be a community hub, where artists and writers could visit and get their work done during the day and come together for meals and conversation in the evenings.
I’d write books that people loved to read—that’s always been really important to me. I want to challenge the reader and maybe show them something they hadn’t considered before, but ultimately I believe reading fiction should be about momentum, about wanting to turn the page and see what comes next. That’s the kind of writer I want to be.
I’d also like to teach other writers in their late teens and early twenties. When I talk to people of that age, there’s something so sharp about the way they look at the world. I think that’s a great time of life to start taking writing seriously, to learn about your lens and how your observations, your voice, are totally unlike anyone else’s.
Is there a question you wish you were asked more? What is it, and what would your answer be?
I really like when people ask how I create characters. For some writers, character is purely functional, almost mechanical in fulfilling a narrative need. But for me, character is highly personal. I’m obsessed with the mistakes we keep making in our lives, over and over, and our inability to see what’s right in front of us, what everyone else can see. I’m drawn to the things that make us vulnerable and nuanced. Most of my characters end up being amalgamations of people I’ve known, noticed, or read. Then, I refine my idea of them by writing about them. That for me is always the most important learning, and requires gut instinct, actually putting a character in a complicated spot, and seeing what they do or how they change.
What are you most proud of?
Definitely the rewrites for my first book, Cracker Jacks for Misfits (Exile Editions, 2019). It’s a series of interconnected short stories, a style of narrative I chose kind of by accident. In 2013 and 2014, the same four characters kept recurring in my work and I decided I wanted to spend a good chunk of time with them. I finished the manuscript in 2016, but had some major cleaning up to do in terms of timelines and points of intersection and overlap between characters. I went to work rewriting through 2017 and took the project to Banff Centre at the beginning of 2018 after Exile had said yes to the manuscript. So much of the whole book changed the more I rewrote it, in the best kind of way. I got to go much deeper with a lot of the characters and concepts, and I’d also grown up a fair bit since I started writing the stories. I’d always been terrified of the idea of tearing a book apart and putting it back together. Now that I’ve done it, I’ve learned how important that stage of the process can be.
Christine Ottoni lives in High Park, Toronto with her partner and a bichon-poodle named June. Her short fiction has appeared in the pages of untethered, The Nashwaak Review, Alaska Quarterly Review, Riddle Fence, and Exile Literary Quarterly. She was shortlisted for PEN Canada’s nomination to the 2016 PEN International New Voices Award, and was a featured emerging writer at the 2017 Eden Mills Writers’ Festival. Her short story collection Cracker Jacks for Misfits was published in 2019 with Exile Editions. It was written with support from the Toronto Arts Council and the Ontario Arts Council.
Christine is currently an MFA candidate at the University of Guelph where she is developing her first novel. You can find her on Twitter @chrissiottoni and Instagram /chrissiottoni. She is releasing original book trailers for Cracker Jacks for Misfits in collaboration with filmmaker Christopher De Rosa. You can watch them at www.christineottoni.com/blog.