I had a bus once. It was the vehicle I drove to work everyday for a year and a half. A 1984 Ford school bus van with a 350 engine that ran on propane. I had seen it for sale in an empty parking lot, and day after day I drove by it, my heart lurching in delight at the possibilities – I would rip the seats out, paint it Miami blue, make funky curtains for it, build a deep lounging seat in the back that doubled as a bed, fill it with comfy cushions…I could picture myself driving it, groovy beads hanging from the rear view mirror, stereo playing, the purple carpet. I had to have it. It had a destination sign after all. One that lit up with a flip of a switch over my head. One that I could change the magnetic letters around to say anything I wanted. Go anywhere I wanted.
This past weekend I was at the Ontario Writers Conference in Ajax. I have to admit when I first walked in the doors of Deer Creek Banquet Hall I felt like I didn’t belong. That feeling persisted through the Friday night at the Festival of Authors, where I listened to authors unknown to me. Authors who had succeeded and who had already published their work. Rob Winger read his poetry, Plum Johnson read from her memoir (I was sucked in and bought the book later), and Catherine Gildiner, who read a comedic excerpt from her memoir – about a time in the 60’s in London and her friend sleeping with Jimi Hendrix???? Maybe I was with like-minded people after all!
During the break, I broke out of my introversion and approached one of the people at my table. Try to socialize, I told myself. Have you written a book, I asked him. He looked offended for a millisecond, but he must have picked up on my naivety and said yes, The Jade Peony? Maybe you’ve heard of it? He didn’t require an answer but kept talking. He suggested I google Wayson Choy to find his work. He seemed tired but was calm and kind and asked me what I write. “I’m trying to finish my first novel,” I told him. “Fiction.” I was too wary and shy to admit to dabbling in erotica too. Then he told me “my story matters” and I need to get it down. He made me feel included. Inspired.
It was good to be with my writer friends – to be honest I don’t think I would have signed up to go to the conference if it weren’t for the fact that they were going too.
The next day was full of workshops and seminars. I signed up for Terry Fallis’s ‘How to Podcast’ workshop, so informative and straight-forward, Terry’s speaking and instruction so clear and entertaining, I came away believing yes – I can do that too!
There were blue pencil and practice pitch sessions with mentors and editors, a 10 minute chance to speak about your novel, yourself, and obtain feedback – which is exactly what keeps me feeling worthy and on the right track.
The Harlequin Romance seminar with Johanna Raisanen was especially eye-opening. A labyrinthine of a company that seems to offer anything a romance reader wants to read, from light heartwarming stories to down and dirty erotica. Could this place be a future home for my novels? I was again excited at the possibilities…
Delicious pastries and cakes, a lovely chicken lunch, coffee anytime you wanted one, and cookies 😀 As the day progressed, I shed my inhibitions and reservations and began to realize that I was among people like me. Published or not published – it really is just a stage in the process. Sure we’d all love to put our work out there for others to spend their money on, for us to make a living at what we love doing, but it really is about writing it down in the first place.
Speeches from Linden Macintyre, Paula Todd, and to my amazement – Wayson Choy. I hadn’t realized just who I had approached earlier that day, and I’m glad that I didn’t. “Your story matters”, he said in his speech, the words repeating themselves to me. Good words to remember. It’s a strange feeling to feel a part of a group of successful, worldly, experienced authors when you’re not one yourself, but when it comes down to it, we all – even the ones who are wildly rich and appear to be all-knowing – we all do the same thing. We sit and look at a blank screen. We absorb ourselves in our own little worlds. We write.
After the whirlwind day was done, my writer friends and I went out for dinner at Melanie Pringles. A large oval table, a room to ourselves. I met new friends at that table, missed others who had to leave early, celebrated an early birthday (happy birthday Lori!) and got a kids treat. It just happened to be a hippy bus. I had to have it.
Your story matters.
One word at a time.
You can go wherever you want.
Oh the possibilities.
Far out!
