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Evan J
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Raised in Manitoba, Evan J (he/they) now works and writes in the town of Sioux Lookout, Ontario. He is the author of Ripping down half the trees (2021).
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This is a gallery of work specially created for #ThinAir2021. Spend time with writers you love, and discover some new favourites! Ceci est une galerie de travaux spécialement créée pour #ThinAir2021. Passez du temps avec des écrivains que vous aimez et découvrez de nouveaux favoris!

Raised in Manitoba, Evan J (he/they) now works and writes in the town of Sioux Lookout, Ontario. Evan is the Fiction Editor for Cloud Lake Literary journal and runs poetry workshops in Treaty 3 Territory as part of Vallum's “Poetry for our Future!” program. For several years Evan was the Director of Slackline Creative Arts Series in Toronto, a series and collective showcasing emerging writers and artists from across Canada. Evan has been nominated for a handful of literary awards including the CV2 Young Buck Poetry Prize and subTerrain's Lush Triumphant Literary Award for Poetry. Evan’s also a previous winner of the Vallum Award for Poetry. During the day, Evan teaches digital literacy skills to Indigenous adults living in remote First Nation communities. Learn more at

Interview / Entrevue

A non-fiction book called Discovering the Iceman about the discovery of Ötzi. For many years it was hidden behind my dresser. But it wasn’t hidden from my parents. I was hiding it from myself. The book contained pictures of Ötzi’s mummified body, and I was terrified of it. I still am.

“‘Fiction is impossible. Ask me [John Oliver Killens]. Poetry is impossible. Ask Langston or Countee. Baldwin will say essays are impossible. But everyone agrees, short stories are so impossible, they almost can’t be written at all.’” From The Heart of a Woman by Maya Angelou.

Very clean. If creativity calls, I need the space to open a book or a notebook or both and get the idea down before it escapes. I don’t want crap getting in the way. A good idea is too valuable to be lost to something as preventable as clutter.

Nothing. Unless I catch myself doing mental math. Then I’m done for. Math wakes me up completely. I remedy these rare instances with a boring trudge through Tolstoy.

To be a writer.

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