Peter Norman
I used to be as nocturnal as they come. I slept from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. before skulking to my night shift at Starbucks. Sunlight was anathema. People worried. I caught sight of my neighbour in his tool shed, sharpening a stake. Night is a fantastic time for writing: the phone doesn’t ring, friends don’t drop by, sunshine doesn’t stream through the windows to chide you for being cooped inside. So it’s with regret that I’ve seen my life co-opted by day jobs and the responsibilities of adulthood, and it’s with grateful joy that I accepted the assignment of writing about the often nocturnal world of private security. My previous work has appeared in Alberta Views, Vancouver magazine, Calgary Inc., Avenue and the anthologies The Best of Canadian Poetry in English 2008 and Jailbreaks: 99 Canadian Sonnets. I have published articles about hockey guru Don Cherry, physics guru Albert Einstein, carbon cap-and-trade schemes, the economics of global food prices, Newtonian physics and skinhead culture. And I stay up late whenever I can manage it.
Susan Hagan
At 3 a.m. I have wrestled haunting questions, cried desperately, wandered aimlessly, searched for after-hours clubs, met freelance deadlines, argued heatedly, sought meaning in a messy life, trespassed on private property, questioned who the hell I am, gone skinny-dipping, awoken in a cold sweat from a recurring nightmare, boarded a Greyhound bus for a 42-hour tour (each way), dreamt profoundly, considered that I might have psychic tendencies, poured another glass of pinot noir, made love freely, pondered the existence of aliens, held my dying dog, accepted revelations from a higher plane, tried to move a pencil with my mind, gone into labour, found the core of who I am, slept serenely, comforted my crying baby. In comparison, 3 p.m. tends to pass quietly: I do yoga and then drink green tea. During the day (plus countless night shifts) I have worked at the Edmonton Journal, Canadian Press and Saskatoon’s 25th Street Theatre. I also wrote and performed a fringe play in Vancouver a few years ago and now organize Edmonton’s monthly Story Slam.
Bryce Meyer
Why do I like the night? To put it simply – because I am a ninja. And ninjas work well in the night because we are all about stealth. I am so about stealth, in fact, I’m not even writing this right now. The only time I really leave my dojo is during the evening hours. Sure, during the day I am throwing so many kinds of smoke you will never see me, but to be honest it gets exhausting. Especially as I get older. And I’ve gotta be honest: I’m not as svelte as I used to be. There is nothing as sad as a middle-aged chubby ninja, but man I sure do love cheeseburgers. Especially during a 3 a.m. drive-through session after a night of heavy assassinating. Wait… what was the question again? Oh, nighttime, me and what not. Well, outside of being a middle-aged nighttime ninja midnight marauder, I not only shoot blow darts and mean stink-eye but also shoot the occasional photograph for clients such as Swerve and Avenue (Calgary). Something’s gotta pay for my throwing stars. brycemeyer.com
Lorne Bridgman
Problem is, I’m a nighthawk who likes the morning. So I often stumble around in a sleep-deprived stupor. Even when I don’t actually want to be up at a respectable hour, my body clock (and racing mind) ensures that I am. As night falls, my interest in my surroundings rises. I suppose it’s a combination of quietness and solitude, as well as the feeling that normal rules don’t apply… sort of like wandering through an amusement park after hours, I feel like it’s a time to give things a proper look while they’re not busy being used by the people they were designed for. And, being a romantic at heart, it’s so much easier to invest concrete and steel – or trees and rocks – with a significance beyond their basic material existence when the lines are fuzzy, the light dim. Of course, there can be surprises – noises and shapes emerging from the quiet and dark – but that’s part of the allure: the frisson you feel when encountering the unexpected. In this darkness, and in the light of day, I take photographs for magazines such as The New York Times Magazine, Dwell, ESPN The Magazine and The Walrus. lornebridgman.com
Kathryn MacNaughton
I tend to procrastinate during the day, so I usually rely on nights to get my work done. The phone stops ringing and the emails slow down. It gives me a chance to put on some music and concentrate. I love getting lost in my work and looking up at the clock in corner of my laptop to realize that three hours have gone by. I know this sounds strange, but my favourite things about my work are the happy mistakes I make while working late into the night. The personality of my drawings begins to show a bit more, and I become much more optimistic with my choice of colours and compositions. It’s almost as if I become a completely different artist. My inspiration comes from David Hockney’s intuitive and raw drawings from his earlier years. Clients that I’ve worked for include Cent Magazine, Zoot and the Globe and Mail. kathrynmacnaughton.com
Jeremy Derksen
A good night is a ticking bomb: you never know exactly when it’s going to end. Its unpredictable nature ignites an urgency that makes morning and consequences seem irrelevant. Once after a rugby party I walked pants-less across Edmonton’s High Level Bridge. Another time I fell off my roof because I’d lost my keys and decided to climb to an open second-storey window. And in a feat of bravado and stupidity, I once jumped aboard a freight train in Jasper. I’ve never really known what makes me do these things. I enjoy the obscure infamy it wins me, but it’s more than that. It’s a celebration of the fleeting moment, the exhilaration of taking risks. That’s something that I hope I’ll never get too old for, even if I do grow wiser. Lately I’m working on restraint. Coffee and Revenue Canada help keep me focused. By day I’ve written speeches for politicians, spun corporate PR and carved a niche as a travel writer. But give me absinthe fumes and moonlight and my alter ego might still escape. U
issue 8
Category: Uncategorized
