Zak Jones
cowboy in doggles.
For the past two years, this is where I’ve taught my tutorials “at” UofT, written essays, recorded lectures, written my doctoral candidacy exam and so on. Creatively, I don’t so much “write” here as transcribe—the journals on the top shelf and behind the laptop are where a lot of my writing originates.
What do you feel is your best piece of work?
My best piece of work is my novel, undoubtedly. So, the thing that has yet to be published and is long in the works. I think that is embarrassing to admit, but on the other hand, I want to look back on this question once it is published and to feel happy with that answer. It is a narrative that exists parallel to me. I hate to be the “guy who talks about writing a novel” but that’s just the case for the time being.
Others would say that my best writing is a poem called “Cornbread” that I’ve read at literary events a thousand times and sent to a thousand magazines, but no one ever seems to want to publish it. My favorite published piece of writing is my story, “Signpost,” in The Puritan. Poetry maybe “Just Saw the Truck” in Acta Victoriana. It’s a pretty poem and kind of corny in a pleasing way.
What music have you been listening to lately?
Classic country. George Jones, Conway Twitty, those types of guys. I don’t care how hokey it gets, really. I have a few tapes in my truck that are country compilations and some songs are terrible, but it is as close as I can get to the feeling of tuning into country radio in the south, driving and feeling without thinking too much.
Who is the last character you related to and why?
Nico Walker’s narrator in Cherry. Not Nico, himself, per se, but the character. I was a medic in the army, and when I was reading the part of that book about medic training in Ft. Sam Houston (just outside of San Antonio, Texas) in the 2000s—man, I was taken back there. At one point the narrator intrudes after a lengthy description of a stupid platoon ritual that is interspersed with pushups and lots of shouting from the drill sergeants, and he says “So, yeah, don’t ever join the fucking army,” and it was as though the narrator said what I was thinking.
Do you like to write in the morning or at night?
At night when I’m exhausted. I do a lot of “thinking” during the day, which looks a lot like puttering around my garden or sitting around scowling. Once everyone else is in bed or busy in bars I can usually sit down and produce.
When did you first receive praise for your writing?
I don’t know. The first praise I took seriously was when Al Moritz gave me some really encouraging feedback in my first creative writing workshop as an undergrad. It wasn’t just friends and family. It was a real writer!
Have you ever failed at something you care about?
Of course. If you haven’t, you’re a coward. I’ve tried all sorts of things and been good at only very few. I don’t think that is important. What is important to me, in my life, is that I’ve failed to love people as much as they deserve. I’ve let a lot of people down and failed, at times, to make people feel seen and heard. About all I care about is people—other people. You’ve got to be aware of these failures to grow and do better. I guess that’s pretty general it’s the most sincere answer I have. Not much else matters. If you’re reading this and I’ve failed you, call me and let me make it right.
Latest book you’ve read or favourite book ever?
I’m reading Don DeLillo’s Libra now and it is wild. My close friends will know that I pitch my interest in Lee Harvey Oswald as a kind of semi-sincere joke, but when I start thinking about the concept of authorship and authority, both of which come from the same Latin stem, auctōritās (“invention, advice, opinion, influence, command”), or auctor (“master, leader, author”) I start thinking about the ways that the US, as the world hegemon, is perhaps the greatest author of all time with the greatest authority.
The narrative that the United States produces, its history, its propaganda, its journalism, is, right now, the central story of the world. It amazes me that DeLillo takes Oswald, this disruptive figure, and re-writes America’s narrative concerning his role (and the role of the state) in the undeniable crux of the Cold War. It’s not quite fanfic because I don’t know if the Kennedy assassination has any “fans.” But it’s a challenge to the metanarrative; a direct challenge to authority. I like that.
I guess I understand, in some ways, that literature often doesn’t *do* anything, but I think it’s brave to insert art into the most tenuous and disputed episode in the history of the 20th century.
Anything you’d like to promote?
Yes! I’ll be delivering a lecture on plane hijackings and romance (totally normal topic) at Trampoline Hall, a really great lecture series. The show is at the Garrison on Dundas, April 18th. You can get tickets here.
Zak Jones is a writer, scholar, and US Army veteran living in toronto. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Trampoline Hall, PRISM International, The Puritan Magazine, Bad Nudes, Palimpsest (Yale University), Half a Grapefruit Magazine, Milkweed Zine, Hart House Review (UofT), Acta Victoriana and elsewhere. He holds an MA in creative writing from the University of Toronto. Currently, Jones is a PhD candidate at the University of Toronto studying American narratives of propaganda veteran homecomings in the postwar era.
