Recent Journal Entries

galloping pell-mell back to the dark ages

Sometimes you will be watching a television show and the writing will rise above expectation. A TV show will push boundaries. It was ask the hard questions and go to the thin places. Or, as is the case with The Blacklist, a lone character will shine. Raymond “Red” Reddington, played by James Spader, is such a character. Sadly, the rest of the cast, and the episodic and formulaic writing makes the show itself a bit of an odd duck. But Spader’s Reddington? Amazing! Complex, and flawed, and charming, this character saves a series that would never have made it beyond the first half season without him. Now, he is the main character, the show revolves around him, so this may be unfair. But the acting form the rest of the cast is less than interesting, nor is it believable. This Reddington character, threatens reality every time he’s on the screen. Spader has become a bit of a star in this show — a far better actor than the young Spader, who was mostly just creepy.

My favourtite line from an episode a few weeks ago, and after Paris, fundamentally appropriate:

“Honestly, is it just me, or is the human race, armed with religion, poisoned by prejudice, and absolutely frantic with hatred and fear, galloping pell-mell back to the dark ages?”

Progress report in snow...

Hello. As I write this, it’s snowing. Tonight I passed the 65K mark on the new, new book. Damn I love it…I listened to Bob Chelmick tonight on CKUA. Damn it was a great show…I love the snow. There’s a character in the new, new book who loves the snow too…her name is Tulah. She keeps a snow journal, a log of snow. I take this snow tonight as a blessing on the new, new book. Why not? Why do I keep calling the new, new book the new, new book? Because there is a new book too…so, “Seven Moments”, and “This is all a lie”. SM is complete. This is all a lie is close. I’ll keep you posted. Well, I probably won’t. I’m writing and this is a rare glimpse of my progress.

It’s snowing and I am happy.

More later…


Working on new projects. Writing at the end of summer. Writing into the beginning of fall.

choosing hope

My level of anxiousness about the new book is zero. I don’t know for sure, but I may not care anymore. I arrived at this state of not caring by getting worn down by anxiousness. So, this not caring is weird. It is neither optimism, nor hopelessness. It’s a pragmatic grey. I have asked myself a thousand and sixty times: Why do you write? And: Why did you write this? And: Why is it important to have written this? At this point, I can choose to wallow in hopelessness, or let the walls down and live in hope. Because being hopeful is risky. You have to open to it. There is a possibility of getting whacked up-side the head. But you can choose it. This morning, I chose it. I will surround myself with positive people only. Tonight, I will light my favourite candle and have a sip of good whisky. And I’ll just live in hope for a while. And wait… Unlike Carl Lubinski:

(From a project called – The Grand Distraction)

Carl Lubinski wakes up with the birds. He wakes up on a Saturday morning in May at 4:33 a.m. and tries to take a full breath. He only gets a half inhalation and immediately considers the possibility that he’s having a heart attack. How old was his dad when he had his first heart attack? But this isn’t a physical kind of pain. Not entirely. It’s more a matter of not being able to breathe as well as usual. This cold fact causes him to start to panic. His mind starts to cycle. He begins to feel uneasy about being alive. He was dreaming. Just now. Just a few seconds ago. He was dreaming a conversation with God again, and this time God told Carl there was no such thing as God – that God was an imagined thing. And Carl asked, “Well, why are we here then? And how are we having a conversation? What are we supposed to do with this consciousness? This life?” And the imagined God shrugged and said: “Fuck if I know.”

“But I know that I exist,” Carl says. “I know.”

“So?” God says. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s a problem because I don’t know why I exist. Why am I alive?”

God looks irritated. He sighs. “To goof around and have a lot of sex,” he says.

“That’s it?”

“Hey, I don’t exist. What do you expect?”



Here’s the thing – it’s ridiculous to think one innocent (and ignorant) Tweet could destroy all of social media for me, but I’m teetering on the brink of utter disgust and abandonment. You see, I got back to my office after standing for an hour at the side of the road as a funeral procession for a policeman who was working with the hate crimes unit and was shot dead while trying to make an arrest. I stood there and witnessed thousands of his fellow police officers from this city, and across the province, the country and North America parade by. I stood my ground with thousands of my fellow citizens and I sobbed. I was drained by this experience. It kicked me in the side of the head. In my office, I look at Twitter. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because I was so moved – this unexpected grief floating on the surface of my skin and I wanted to see if others were moved too. The first Tweet I see is from some smiling woman in my city, who wants to know a good “watering hole” so she can go for drinks with her friends on the weekend #YEGdrinks #YEG wateringhole. The juxtaposition of this Tweet and my standing witness on the street is shocking. If “outraged WTF!” was a picture, it would be mine. I hate this woman. I hate her ignorance, her stupidity, her banality, her ass-fucked question, her picture, her cheerful and utterly inane disposition, and I hate her awful timing. I want to ask her if she has any idea what’s happening in her own city. I want to ask her if she thinks the world is just an entertainment for her. I want to know if she’s really this stupid. I want to not care if her feelings are hurt by me. I want to offend her as much as I am offended by her. Okay, really, I hate myself for looking at Twitter, like some addicted teenager whose greatest fear is not been seen every ten seconds. So you see? One Tweet, and social media is pretty well wrecked. Just like that.

Older Entries:



Thomas Trofimuk is a Canadian novelist, poet, and musician based in Edmonton, Alberta. He's the author of Doubting Yourself to the Bone, and his most recent novel, Waiting for Columbus. More.

Below, are the paperback covers for the UK, the Canadian, and US editions.

Waiting for Columbus

Columbus Cover (UK) Columbus Cover (Canada)

Waiting for Columbus (McClelland & Stewart / Knopf-Doubleday / Picador / and Blackstone Audiobooks) was released in Canada and the US in 2009 and in the UK in 2010. Read reviews and more about the book here.

Columbus Cover (United States)


"Waiting for Columbus" is featured as part of the WILDLY popular RICHARD AND JUDY book club in the UK!!!
Waiting for Columbus is featured on the WH Smith website here. And here is the awesome video!



DISCUSSION QUESTIONS for "Waiting for Columbus"
A few suggested discussion questions for "Waiting for Columbus are here. An interview with Trofimuk that might also spark some discussion is here. Enjoy....

Key Dates for Waiting for Columbus

The paperbacks are here! The paperbacks are here!!! Canadian, US and UK paperbacks of Waiting for Columbus are on the shelves!!

Release date Brazil:

Release date Poland:

“…And therein lies the best career advice I could possibly dispense: just DO things. Chase after the things that interest you and make you happy. Stop acting like you have a set path, because you don’t. No one does. You shouldn’t be trying to check off the boxes of life; they aren’t real and they were created by other people, not you. There is no explicit path I’m following, and I’m not walking in anyone else’s footsteps. I’m making it up as I go.
It’s harder, for sure, and kind of scary sometimes. But it will allow you to look at yourself in the mirror and know you’re playing by your own rules…”

-- Charlie Hoehn

“coffee should be black as hell, strong as death and sweet as love...”
~ Turkish proverb


All material © 2007 Thomas Trofimuk
XHTML ~ CSS ~ RSS ~ Site Credits