Jim Munroe

I didn’t get a circle A tattoo, but I might as well have.

One of the most influential things I discovered in books was anarchism: the idea that we could live without rulers. That it is our responsibility to resist the concentration of power in any single entity, be it corporate, governmental, or religious.

It’s a worldview that’s helped me understand the world and make decisions ever since I was seventeen. I was in the market for a new moral framework since Christianity was no longer working for me. My Catholic all-boys highschool was a stifling environment that I had been immersed in for years, but I remember the precise moment of my disenchantment: a grade twelve religion class taught by a gym teacher who didn’t even try to answer the questions I had.

In a way it was similar to why I set down fantasy novels in favour of science fiction — the hand-waving magical explanations weren’t as satisfying as complex rational ones. So I yanked out the RELIGION cartridge in my brain and chunked in the POLITICS one.

And there it remained for 30 years. Until now.

After editing the sci-fi anthology Toronto 2033 for Spacing, the group of writers I’d brought together were interested in working on another project. We chose the name The Multiversity Collective and proposed a political sci-fi event series at the Toronto Public Library. A few days ago, we had our kickoff event that started a full season of workshops, talks, discussions and performances!

On the cusp of 2020, more than a dozen science fiction creators will be germinating wild ideas with free weekly events at the Oakwood Village Library. Novelists, hardware hackers, game creators, and more will be inspiring those who believe in social change and a diverse future.
Check out the schedule at multiversitycollective.net!

Like lots of teenagers, I was obsessed with fire. I never smoked, but I always had a lighter. I would singe my (recently acquired) arm hair just to revel in the terrible smell. I had a pocket-sized can of hairspray I used as a mini-flamethrower, and one day after school I used it to set my World Famous canvas backpack alight. I used the charred remains for months until it fell apart.

At the age of fourteen, it was incredibly compelling to make wild things happen.

I started to make movies out of spite. I had a number of exciting conversations around adapting my first novel that came to naught, and was left with an unsatisfied feeling. This idea of making a movie had been awakened in me, and then abruptly shut down. I’d never really seriously considered it before, but now the idea was a grain of sand in my brainfolds.

Dude, I was part of the precariat before it was cool.

I have been putting little income streams together for decades now while most of my peers got regular jobs. I’m well suited to it, I like the variety, and most importantly, I chose it.

Not so the Millennials.

My first novel launched twenty years ago today. To mark the occasion I’m publishing the first of a series I’m calling the Fallow Essays, reflective pieces on art and cultural production from the vantage point of having spent two decades walking this path. Each will be accompanied by a recorded conversation with an artist peer.

***

I have a guy in my head.

I call him Niles. Picture a hulking acne-riddled teenage loser with a punk rock haircut, a white denim duster jacket and big boots, walking down the street muttering to himself angrily.

For decades, when I heard Niles behind me, I’d walk faster. Or cross the street to avoid him. I resent Niles, and he despises me. Or at least it seems like it. I’ve never talked to him.

Life Is Bigger

Seeding Utopias & Resisting Dystopias

Nurturing, Or How I Like Starting Fires

The Limits of Self-Discipline

The Cost of Avocado Toast

I Have A Guy in My Head