Non fiction writer or sociopathic voyeur? Depends!

My participation in The Writer's Studio is progressing along nicely  (which is why the Blog is so lacking) and now we are undergoing the exhilarating and nerve-wracking experience of standing up and reading our work in public. First, in front of the class, but also at local cafes. I'm thankful that I'm not a poet. Poetry just seems so over the top baring your soul intimate and courageous to me.  I've written poetry and it just seems too close to the flesh to share, out loud, with others regardless of its focus.

So far, I have given three readings. One in front of the Writer's Studio co-hort and mentors. One at the Montmartre on Main Street and the third at Rhizome Cafe on E. Broadway.

Standing up and reading in front of people, especially when you are in the non fiction group, can be a little bit tricky. You may be writing about things that have happened in your life, which, typically also include other people. Your story can be their story. Sure, you can change their names and make up locations  but is that enough? You have to decide as a non fiction writer, especially if you tread into memoir writing, just how far you are willing to go in revealing the truth. Some people won't like that your truth happens to include them.They might not like the way you describe them or the kind of insights you have about yourself or them, in the writing.  Wisely, the SFU Writer's Studio program includes sessions with lawyers as workshop guests who speak about libel, slander and defamation.

I've always felt pretty strongly that what I write is my story. If you don't like what I write, you're more than welcome to write your own story, from your own perspective.  If you happen to be in  my story, as in my life, then depending on what went down, it's either "lucky you", or "oops". I don't spend a lot of time worrying about what other people will think about what I've written because for me it's more about how to tell the story, although I do admit that when you tread into memoir, it is easy to wonder if you're becoming become a sociopathic voyeur who's crazy enough to take a closer look at aspects of your life you wished you'd never seen up close and personal the first time.

An artist once said to me that when she goes to life drawing classes, she doesn't notice the whole naked body up there as attached to a person, she is focused on the shapes and the forms and how to interpret and get those down on paper. At first I didn't believe her. You have a naked guy right there in front of you and you're telling me you don't notice whether he has a nice round butt or a kind of oblong, weirdly shaped one? I didn't believe her. Now I do. Or, at least her perspective is more plausible to me.

To date, I've read two pretty innocuous pieces. One was what it was like to join a beginner band on Salt Spring and it had a lot of humour in it, the other was about a chef there, and the third, not so innocuous, was about the last time I visited Mac, the week before he committed suicide a long time ago now.

What I discovered is that when you go back and write about something that happened a long time ago and it took an emotional toll on you, you are able to objectify the experience in a way that almost makes it seem like you're telling a scene from a movie that has nothing to do with you. That's a bit of an exaggeration but it's so much easier to write about things once time has passed.  You don't forget that you were there, but it's much easier to feel like you are just sitting on a train, watching the events unfold and are able to tell them in a way that can draw a reader/listener into the experience. That's what happened, it would seem from the feedback, when I read that piece about my last visit.

I could feel the silence even as I read and when you can feel the silence, not just hear it, you know that your writing is doing something to capture the audience.

It is such an incredible privilege to stand up in front of a room even if just for 5 or 10 minutes with your creative work being the center of attention and you being the conduit. Most people will never be able to have that experience and it is transformative in ways that I can feel brewing. I can feel it and it has something to do with confidence in what I'm doing, a sense that it's exactly what I have always been meant to be doing and that, even though it makes me no money, it matters more than anything else I could be doing.

Reading your work to others suddenly makes your creativity a communal experience, instills value and has the ability to impact others' thoughts and feelings,  not just something you do alone in front of your computer having to deal with everyone wondering what the hell you're doing anyway.

I like it! Smile. Smile.

You Have My Permission

We were speaking at my writing group last night about whether the time was right to begin sending work "out" to a literary journal, to send a query or to write a book.

Go ahead and substitute whatever you are thinking about that matters to you that is giving you anxiety and that you are waiting for something external to you to fix, approve, compliment, orchestrate or accept.

Someone else pointed out that you can get advice and feedback from others who are knowledgeable to receive an informed opinion and that makes sense. But, they will not ultimately know when you are ready to do anything better than you will know that yourself. There is no Pick-Up Here window with a wizard handing out permission slips.

Does it make sense to wait for others to say, Yes, grasshopper, you are now ready.  Does it make sense to give them your power?

Nobody is going to give you permission. It has taken me a long time to realize this. I still often forget.

 If you want to do something then you can just choose to do it.  You have the freedom to make that choice regardless of how many resistances you put forth. You may find yourself saying things that aren't absolutely relevant.

I have no money. I have too much work. I'm afraid.  I want to look important. I don't want to look stupid. If I do that I might become a stranger to myself. If I accept that I may have to change. I may lose friends. I may have to step out of my comfort zone.

What are you not giving yourself permission to do or be? Is it conscious? Are you incapable of standing alone and recognizing your own value without the ego strokes you receive from your family, your friends, your employer, you husband, your wife? Would you think you still mattered if all that was stripped away?

Do you only have a relationship with yourself as seen through others' eyes or are you capable of standing alone and accepting the truth about who you are inside?

Why are you waiting for permission from someone or some thing external to act upon what your internal self already knows?

What are you, probably unconsciously, waiting for someone else to give you permission to be or do?

Artists in our Midst

Thanks to Colleen's suggestion, I took in some of the Artists in our Midst festival today. It's always interesting to meet artists and chat, not to mention getting the voyeuristic groove on for a peek into other people's west side houses. Yes, they had granite counter tops but alas the gnome doors, cob house crookedness and soulfulness which is so often the byproduct of eccentricity were missing. Pity!

We started off at The Lion's Den on Fraser near Kingsway for breakfast with a very boisterous restaurateur.
"Good Evening Ladies. Got a reservation?"
"Nope."
Well, good, take a seat, any seat.
It was 11 am.
I'll have whatever he's smoking.

He insisted on yelling across the tiny space to tell us how the place got its name. On a ledge up high, there's a full-sized stuffed lion looking as if it's wondering where to get its next prey.  I expected the dread locked-sporting owner to have a story about an African safari.  It came direct from a wildlife park in Cambridge, Ontario.
"My friend brought it in one day and I figured out my branding."
The place has survived for 12 years. Check it out if you haven't already.

Next we stopped into the garage/studio of Oscar Valero Saez visiting for a year from Spain.   His card says architecture and visual arts.  His lithographs are so unique and detailed.We chatted for a while and I told him about the Architectural Institute of BC which I'm convinced would be the perfect place for him to hold an exhibition because they have a great little space that's perfect for exhibits off their reception on the main floor. Then, he told us about Agnes Martin and he wondered why Canadians seem not to have heard about her. How could this be he wondered. We had to explain to him that a lack of notoriety at home was typical.
"If you're not a hockey player, you're nothin."
We were doing what we could to be good cultural ambassadors. (Sarcasm).

We also met Janet Strayer. Not only did I like her art but as a human being she is very warm and engaged which, if you're going to interact with the unwashed masses, comes in handy.

It was a decent choice of entertainment on this rainy, rainy day in May. I wonder what you got up to?