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Waiting for Columbus by Thomas Trofimuk

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He appears out of the sea, washed up naked, in the treacherous Straits of Gibraltar. Seemingly delirious, and claiming to be Christopher Columbus, he is taken to an insane asylum in Seville, where astonishingly he starts to reveal the true story of how he set sail on behalf of the Spanish queen five hundred years ago. Consuela, a nurse at the Institute, is charged with helping him back to reality. She listens to his fantastic tales in the hope of discovering the truth. But as his story unfolds, she finds herself falling for her patient - no longer able to tell where truth ends and fantasy begins. Meanwhile, across the continent, Emile Germain is involved in a different search. He's an Interpol officer on the hunt for a missing person, presumed dangerous. He's a determined man, and when his investigation leads to Spain these two stories collide. Part romance, part mysterious thriller, this is a rich and emotional novel about love, loss, and the fragile beauty of our own life stories.
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Thomas Trofimuk Author Interview

Richard and Judy chat with 'Waiting for Columbus' author Thomas Trofimuk.

"Welcome back to the Richard and Judy Book Club, exclusively at WHSmith. This is a wonderful book, we keep saying that in these broadcasts but really this is a book of huge charm, even the title is charming 'Waiting for Columbus' by Thomas Trofimuk. It's a story about a youngish man who basically appears out of nowhere in modern day Spain, actually he's found in the sea, and he completely believes he's Christopher Columbus..."

Thomas Trofimuk - Biography/Bibliography

Thomas Trofimuk
Thomas Trofimuk is a writer, editor, and communications consultant. He lives in Edmonton, Alberta with his wife and daughter.
Bibliography:
Waiting for Columbus (Picador, London; 2010)
Doubting Yourself to the Bone (Cormorant Books, Ontario; 2005)
The 52nd Poem (Great Plains Publications, Winnipeg; 2002)



Thomas Trofimuk - WHSmith Q & A

Do you allow anyone to read your books before being published other than the publisher and is there a reason behind that?
Three wise women read early editions: my wife, a very close friend, and my agent. I like to let my wife read "nearly-ready" drafts because she's an eclectic reader, and she's not been through university. She's not ruined by what she's "supposed" to think is good, or bad, writing. She loves good stories. If the story works for her, I feel confident the book's in good shape. As much as I really work on the layered nuances of the language and the "beat" of the narrative - and I will sharpen, refine and polish - if the story doesn't work, I've failed. The story has to work above all else. Of course, I want my novel to be much more than "story" but that story tension has to be there first. My wife is my "every-woman" reader. I trust her instincts.

My very close friend is a professor and a refined reader. She reads - lovingly - for the layers, the big picture. She's brilliant at finding unwanted repetitions. She also reminds me of where the book sits in the world. She has that ability to see the connection points. She makes gentle suggestions, nudges really, and her suggestions will change the colour of the novel. The tone of the book will shift ever so slightly and it will be better.
My agent sees the draft before the book goes to the publishers. She will make suggestions too. And I listen to her. She knows the editors to whom she's sending the manuscript and so her suggestions are focused on that small group of important readers.
I know. My first readers are all women. I don't know what that says about me.
What literary inspirations do you draw from?
Ernest Hemingway. Kurt Vonnegut. Michael Ondaatje. Wallace Stegner. Carol Shields. Alice Munro. Al Purdy. Mordecai Richler. John Irving. Rumi. Mavis Gallant. Tobias Wolff. Lawrence Durrell. Trevanian. Paul Bowles. Mark Twain. Tom Stoppard. Italo Calvino. Billy Collins. Paul Bowles.

All these writers have fine, strong voices that are distinct, and they are incredible story tellers - masters of story and dialogue and playfulness. You'll notice a few poets on my list; also good story tellers. It took me a good long time to extricate myself from Hemingway. I read him and find myself - unconsciously - trying to write like him. And, of course, nobody writes like Hemingway.
What is the best book you have ever read and how did you come to that conclusion?
This is an impossible question for a book lover, and I am a book lover. Right now, at this age, the best book I've ever read is The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway. Next year, the best book I've ever read might be Angle of Repose, or Crossing to Safety by Wallace Stegner. Last year, it was Under the Volcano by Malcolm Lowry. When I was 30 years old, it was Setting Free the Bears by John Irving. When I was 35, it was In the Skin of a Lion by Michael Ondaatje. There. Proof positive of impossibility of this question.

If you could work with any author who would it be?
I think the very best writers are probably really bad teachers, or at least, they struggle with teaching. I know some fine writers who are also great teachers, but perhaps these are exceptional anomalies.

Could I work with an artist instead of a writer? Could I study with Pablo Picasso? Walk the streets of Cannes and on the beaches, and he would give me lessons on seeing the world. We would meet in the morning, the same time every day, and each day we would start by looking at one particular thing - the waves, the rocks at the edge of the ocean, the clouds, stray dogs. We would study women for an entire month, and then at the end of that month, Picasso will be sitting at a café table, quite blasted on the white wine, flirting with the waitress, and "I think this demands more study," he will say. And that will be it. I won't see him again for three months. He will come back and have produced fifty drawings, and a dozen paintings. The waitress will be gone - used up and thrown away. And then, Picasso will sit down with a grunt, order a bottle of wine, and we will begin again.
If I have to stick with writers, then I would love to sit down with Michael Ondaatje and Tobias Wolff for a couple glasses of wine some afternoon.
How do you manage to get inside the heads of all your different characters in order to portray them truthfully?
This is a brilliant and difficult question. Part of the answer is "I don't know" because there are points in the writing process when my characters will stand up and say: "I'm sorry. I'm not doing that!" They will demand a different course and we will argue. The thing in me that knows what is true for a particular character always wins. They become real.

I start to learn them by taking them shopping. I land on a name and then let that name settle for a while. They don't come fully formed. Then, I literally take my characters shopping. Literally. I will walk up and down the aisle with my characters and a shopping cart and look at everything on the shelf and figure out what they eat. And then I will take them clothes shopping and figure out what they would wear - ("I'm shopping for my wife, honest," I'll say. "Really.") - marching through women's clothing shops trying to decide the physical appearance of a particular character. This gives me a really firm idea of who they are. But then they surprise me. They develop, and then they shock me.
Often, the physical traits and vocal tics, their preferences in music, wine, Scotch, clothes, food and sex will be entry points into the psychic make-up of a character. And I am drawn to the beautifully damaged characters, so sometimes their damage is ultimately defining. Once developed, I deny my conscious self influence on my own characters. It's an exercise in mostly controlled insanity.
Who is your favourite character from any book and why?
Nicolai Hel, the ultimate anti-hero of a book titled Shibumi, by Trevanian, is my favourite. This is a book about finding a graceful peace in an imperfect and violent world. Shibumi follows the story of a retired assassin who is quite literally a man without a country as he is drawn back into the game. Something about Nicolai Hel got in me and stuck. While this is not a deep book, the idea of "shibumi," an understated perfection, and the novel's wonderful backbone of the game of Go, still fascinate me.

How do you decide on the names of your characters?
The name has to match the character. I need to know what a name means, where it came from and any present-day allusions. Sometimes I will ignore all of this if I like the sound of a name. Case in point, I really like the names Moira, Driffa and Mehmet. I'm less concerned with the meanings of these names just because I like the way they roll in the mouth. But I will still know what they mean. I have naming dictionaries. I like several "meaning of the name" websites. Newspapers, telephone books and graveyards are also great sources of names, and name combinations. In the end, the name has to match the character. My characters, once they are established and begin to breathe, will often insist on changing their names.

Do you have any little quirks or funny habits when you are writing?
You mean other than locking myself, naked except for socks, in a room that is empty except for a small desk and a computer and a red book called The Synonym Finder? I don't like on-line dictionaries or thesauruses. It's because of the inadvertent words that I stumble upon while looking up a particular desired word. You know? The word above, or below, or three down, or the one of the opposite page that screams: I'm a great word! Use me! Use me! You don't get this experience on-line. I'm kidding about the naked in a locked room bit. Though it often feels like that when I'm writing.

I will often pour a small portion of pretty good single malt whisky. Ninety per cent of the time, I don't actually drink it. I just like having it there. And I like to play music that matches the mood of the scene I'm writing. I love movie soundtracks (The Moderns, Cinema Paradiso, Russia House), or string quartets, or any one of the dozen or so versions of the Bach cello suites I've collected. Neither of these traits are funny, nor are they quirky.
How long did the book take you to write?
Waiting for Columbus took a long time to be fully born. Columbus, the delusional, wine-loving patient, first knocked on my door about 15 years ago. I was looking for a fictional way to explore the idea of obsession - a story hook. I opened the door of my apartment and there he was - dishevelled, lost, desperate, and most importantly, obsessed. So I let him in. I started to write about this fictitious Columbus. I mean he had to be obsessed, right? All the best minds of his day said it was too far to sail west to Japan and India but he was determined to go anyway. All the experts said he'd die out there. But I want to see what's out there, he replied. His venture was a long shot. If he hadn't accidentally run into the West Indies, we wouldn't know about Columbus - he'd just be a blip on the historical radar. He'd be a guy who got some boats, sailed west, and died somewhere between Spain and Japan. I wound up writing about 30,000 words. I would read the history books on Columbus at night, and then write in the mornings. I began to understand just how many books there were out in the world on Christopher Columbus, and also how many of them disagreed. The scholars can't even agree on where he came from. Was it Italy, Spain, Portugal? To have this sort of myth and mystery around this historical figure is the perfect scenario for a fiction writer - there's a freedom and latitude. And I wanted to make it clear that my Columbus, and what would become the novel Waiting for Columbus, were works of fiction - not history, and not historical fiction. That's why inside the story Columbus tells to Consuela, the twenty-first-century (at the time, twentieth-century) artefacts started showing up in the fifteenth century. Hairdryers, cell phones, cars, handguns all got dropped into the fifteenth century because the history was only the vehicle for the story, a way to unravel the obsession, a love story, and as it turns out, a narrative with a tragedy at its heart. Just past the 30,000-word mark, I hit the wall. I really liked what I'd written but I had no idea what to do with it. There was no narrative arc to it. Not yet. So I created a new folder on my computer, saved the Columbus file, and moved on. About three years ago, I woke up with the story - I knew how to show the Columbus story. Everything was just sitting there ready to be written, and here we are.

What writing plans do you have for next year?
I am writing two novels, simultaneously. Some, including me, would say this is pure stupidity, but it seems to be working - I'll work in one book for a few days and then switch to the other narrative. Back and forth, back and forth . . . They are very different in tone, structure and setting. Working titles: The Healing Waters of Rònaigh and The World is Three Days. Rònaigh is set on a mostly fictitious island off the coast of Scotland and in a bed, in a bedroom, somewhere in the world. Three Days is set in Mexico and Canada.

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Thomas Trofimuk - A to Z

A is for Ass
I know. You barely know me and here I am being all potty mouthed. Sorry about that. This particular ass was sitting four rows behind me at a Lyle Lovett concert a few weeks back. And despite the numerous warnings and pleadings to not take flash pictures, she snapped away willy-nilly throughout the concert. The flash on her camera has a range of about 30 feet. We were a good 120 feet from the stage. She was basically taking pictures of the backs of our heads. One would have hoped that given the ubiquity of digital cameras, that she would have noticed her repeated and somewhat dedicated failures to capture Lyle Lovett on her camera's LCD screen.

B is for Book
A Kindle is not a book. A Sony reader is not a book. A book does not have to be plugged in. A book involves paper and ink - there is a tactile past, present and future in a book. When I am on page 73, I can see the pages I have read, feel them, and smell them if I want - they have a physical presence in my world. I can easily and lovingly grasp the journey I've been on. And the future is there in the following 300 pages. I can see where I'm about to go. The present? Well, that's page 73, about the middle - the section where Sarah decides to leave the Mormon Church and take up drinking whisky - I've got a piece of paper torn from my journal as a book mark. There is pleasure in this "knowing," for me. I find joy in this tactile journey as well as the emotional/cerebral journey hidden in those strung-together words.

Don't get me wrong. I like change. Change is inevitable so why not cosy up. And I think the idea of toting around 1,500 novels in a Kindle or Apple's iTablet (or whatever it will be called) is brilliant but books are the superior media. The fonts are crisp and clean and easy to read, always. Not so for the electronic books. Reading a book is rarely hard on your eyes. Not so for the electronic books. Books are low-maintenance. They do not require plugging in. Books don't have screens that can get scratched. I can read a book in the bathtub without worrying about being zapped. I can read a book in a swimming pool in Mexico or in a hot tub at my sister's house. The printed page continues to be the superior media.
C is for Craig, as in Craig Ferguson
Because he makes me laugh. Because it seems like he's just making it up as he goes along, and still, he makes me laugh. Because it doesn't always work and these occasional failures are so utterly and uncomfortably "real." And, because he uses the word "boobies," often.

D is for denouement
That about wraps it up! (Oh, I'm not done? Really? I have the rest of the alphabet to go? Seriously? I'm going to need coffee, or wine…or a dram of whisky.)

E is for Espresso
I try to have an espresso, in a ceramic demitasse, at least once a day. Espresso in Styrofoam or paper cups is just wrong. I'm going for an espresso now. You should join me. It's snowing so you might want to grab your coat. I'll be across the street in that little Italian café, at the bar. I'm wearing a blue shirt and a black suit coat with a grey-black-white pocket square. Hurry; you're buying.

F is for fishing
Had a long conversation about ice fishing with my brother-in-law. (Admittedly, not everyone is going to know that in Canada, the lakes freeze over in the winter and people go out on the ice, drill holes and fish. They will often drive their cars and trucks out onto the ice. Sometimes, when the ice gets too thin, and people drink too much, cars and trucks will sink into the lake. Funny, actually, as long as it's not your car. Anyway, some Canadians go ice fishing. There.) So, my brother-in law talked. I listened. And I was fascinated. Ice fishing, for him, is a meditation. There is ritual and reverence involved. There is honour and integrity and a profound living in the present moment. I remain astounded. Perhaps Buddha nature is in all of us. Perhaps we are all Buddhas.

G is for "go"
Going to Mexico tomorrow. Mayan Riviera. Really. I am. I'll be back in a week. Meet me down on the beach. I'll be there at noon holding a copy of Durrell's Alexandria Quartet and wearing a straw, stingy-brimmed hat that my wife hates. I'll buy you a drink. Well, all the drinks are free so maybe you can buy?

H is for Hoyo de Monterrey (Short Corona)
The thing I love about smoking a cigar every now and then is that you basically have to tell the world to go to hell while you do it. It's almost impossible to do something other than smoke the cigar. You have to stop. This nice little Cuban cigar (5 inch, 42 gauge) is a recent find. It's a subtle, gentle smoke - complex flavours - but not pushy. This cigar is like the "pinot noir" of the Cuban cigars, for me. I had been gravitating to this cigar's flashier cousin, the Romeo Y Julieta Escudos but the Hoyo de Monterrey has won me over.

I is for Irshad, as in Irshad Manji
Ms. Manji wrote "The Trouble With Islam Today: A Muslim's Call for Reform in Her Faith". This book is in my top three reads from last year. A devastatingly articulate and well argued glimpse of modern-day Islam - and more. Courageous. Unnerving. Insightful.

J is for Jean Pierre Lépine fountain pens
Apparently, Jean Pierre Lépine is a direct descendant of several generations of manufacturers from the French High-Jura. Taking a craftsman's pride in his work, he seeks to combine tradition with innovation. J.P. Lépine writing instruments are produced in small production batches, by craftsmen in Jean Pierre's workshop. I have an Indigo Classic Fountain Pen (champagne) and I want more. It's the best pen I own.

K is for kindness
"My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness." -- Dalai Lama

L is for Lama, as in Dalai Lama
Yo! Lama! I'm a fan!!

M is for Mackenzie
Mac for short. My nine-year-old daughter. We have, on occasion, joked with her about her abbreviated name - "We named you after a computer," we will say. "Really?" she'll ask. And then a picture of her as a young woman sitting in a therapist's office talking about her name flashes in front of my eyes…and I wonder who's paying for this therapy and I know it's going to be me.

N is for Namaste
A lovely greeting that has honour, and integrity, and grace. This is my favourite definition: "I honor the place in you in which the entire Universe dwells, I honor the place in you which is of love, of integrity, of wisdom and of peace. When you are in that place in you, and I am in that place in me, we are one."

O is for Obama, as in President
Dear Pres; What the hell happened? We had such hope and you've turned into this feckless, nearly silent, submissive who will not stick up for yourself or the dream you sold to America - and to the rest of the world. Oh hell, I'm not American, but damnit, you even inspired me. It's not enough to just get elected - that's just the talk - now you've got to do the walk. Lead for Christ's sake. Be a leader.

P is for "Pacing the Cage" (a song by Bruce Cockburn)
Four lines from this beautiful song form the epigraph for Waiting for Columbus. These lines so perfectly set the tone for my book. I listened to this song 1,482 times while working on the book. I listened to the hymn "Silent Night" 764 times. Barber's Adagio: 902 times. My book had 57 drafts. I read it out loud three times. It was 136,760 words long when I handed it to my agent. It's around 95,000 words right now.

Q is for quitting
Please go out and buy ten copies of my new book, Waiting for Columbus (Picador Books), so that I can quit my day job and write more books. That would be lovely.

R is for requiem
I like listening to requiems. I don't know why. Mozart's. Verdi's. Fauré's. Fauré's requiem is my favourite right now.

S is for Skinny Vanilla Latte -- Venti
My wife's choice of coffee beverage: Skinny Vanilla Latte - Venti (no foam). My daughter's: Skinny Vanilla Latte - Grande Decaf. Mine: Grande Bold - with a shot of espresso.

T is for Treatment, as in "In Treatment"
TV is, for the most part, a wasteland. A flickering hell to which I voluntarily surrender more often than I'm willing to admit. However, every now and then, a show comes along that causes me to sit up, focus, lose my breath - a show that inspires - a TV show that makes me want to be a better writer. "In Treatment" is such a show. Fearless. Edgy. Moving.

U is for "Under the Volcano," by Malcolm Lowry
Loved the book, and the movie. A lot of booze, and The Day of the Dead in 1938 Mexico. No se puede vivir sin amar

V is for vireos (Red-eyed)
The Red-eyed Vireo is one of my favourite song birds. They have a distinctive red eye that sets them apart from some similar species of Vireos. This bird will sing all day long. They just keep going and going and going. Sounds like a question and answer. Short, choppy phrasing. Two birds sound like half a dozen. Love having vireos in my yard.

W is for whisky
My favourite right now is a single malt scotch called Lagavulin (16 Year Old) - massive, peat-smoke typical of an Islay. Yet, not overwhelming.

X is for kisses
Everybody knows this!!! I love it when people I don't expect, add "XXXOOO" in a salutation - especially 50-year-old women who have written to tell me how much they loved my book. Out of the blue, there are these kisses and hugs - added to an e-mail or a letter. It throws me for a loop every time.

Y is for Yoga
Dear Yoga; I've been away from you for far too long. I miss you. I miss the stretching and the gentle inward turn. I miss your temperate nature and the way I felt when we were together. I miss the way you would move my energies around - how I would discover little hidden alcoves of emotion after a session - or during. Can we rekindle our affair? I promise to be faithful - to never stand you up - to be there for you, always. I realize now, that I loved you and still do. I am a better person with you in my life. Can you forgive me for leaving? Namaste. Thomas.

Z is for zinc
Zinc. Blue gray. The sky is the zinc coloured right now. Snow is in the air but you could not exactly say it is snowing. The snow is simply there - a fine sift of white, in the way when you look at a building, or a tree, but there is no accumulation on the ground. Perhaps you only wish it was snowing. Maybe you are having a complete mental breakdown. You are only sure of the temperature and the colour of the sky - the sky is zinc and today it is cold.

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