by Evan J
photo by Evan J
I’ve lived in big cities, hustling the emerging writer’s hustle, and I’ve lived in a small town without a literary event for 400 kilometres. Through these experiences, I’ve learned a few truths. I’ve learned that the term “literary hub” is appropriate, that literary opportunities (jobs, editor positions, conferences, festivals, secret holiday parties in the Coach House attic) most often occur in the city. I’ve learned that urban literary culture can be dangerous to your mental health if you’re not careful; the inundated event schedules, the literati’s ostensible snobbery, the lack of jobs and overall lack of pay, the expensive cost of living, and the critics have spoiled more than one passionate young writer. I’ve learned that the stress of the urban literary culture, as well as the overall stress of urban life, dwindles when you leave the city. But I’ve also learned that literary opportunities dwindle the further a writer is distanced from an urban centre.
If you’re trying to learn about the industry, maybe by getting an editing job to help hone your editing skills, or by searching for a mentor, then the bustle of an urban literary community offers the best chances. Though it is possible to achieve these goals while living rurally, you’ll probably be making all of your connections online because of a lack of local events (Sioux Lookout had a total of one literary event in 2019). On the other hand, the literary hubs (Toronto, Vancouver, Montreal) offer literary events every night, and before COVID (and hopefully after) this meant endless opportunities for connecting in person with established authors and editors. These gatherings are vital for those writers who need external motivation to write. Presenting your work, talking about literature over a coffee, having friends expect to read/hear your new work—these motivators are essential for many writers, and it can be difficult to create a dynamic community like this if you’re the only serious writer in your little remote town.
On the other hand, if you’re looking to cull life’s distraction and maximize your writing time, a rural life might help. Rural lifestyles have less audible and visual noise, and although these noises can sometimes be useful (I once won a literary award for a poem about the noise of a Toronto subway station), escaping them can be therapeutic. There is also a chance that if you live rurally your cost of living will be less expensive, which might free up some writing time (cheaper mortgage = less money needed = employment less necessary = more free time = more writing). But the stresses of household chores, familial obligations, and commutes exist everywhere. It doesn’t matter if you’re living rurally or in an urban location, it’s up to you to carve the necessary time into your day to write. The location of the writer doesn’t matter.
Will living rurally help you become a better writer? Probably not, though it might offer a little less stress. Will living in an urban literary hub help you become a better writer? Probably yes, as long as you’re careful and take advantage of the opportunities.