I’ve been meaning to write here for ages. There may not be anyone reading, bit it was a commitment I made to myself, since I never did make that zine.
I think about posts I might make as I’m walking the dog. As soon as I get home, I think, I’m going to write about:
… How Savannah is different from Toronto (so many things, some small, some not so).
… How Savannah, or maybe it’s just being in a new place, has changed me remarkably (oh, the things I am planning to do! And am excited about. This is not the me that planned the trip down here, though she kind of wanted to do all the things I have in mind).
… My great students, the fun I am having teaching this class, how having it saved me because I would have gone home when my father gave me the eviction and offered me the money to go. I would have if I hadn’t found Deep, and if it wasn’t something I have wanted to do for a long time, and if I hate to let other people down and put them in a difficult position – what if they hadn’t been able to find someone to take my place? Sure, one of the coordinators could take over, and she might be better at it, but then she also is losing out on doing her job.
… This year’s NaNo plan. Of course, I’ve since realised that the added plot is going to make it impossible to do in a month, because it requires research I haven’t yet done. If I want to keep it the story I have in mind, not just the boring original story, I may be able to fake it for a month. Ach, how difficult can that be? I’ll just need to fake a few historical periods, no problem.
The original plan was to fictionalise this journey, so far, make up new and interesting things to happen to my character, and show her changing. But then this song came up on my iPod one night while walking the dog (so much happens when I walk the dog, including people praying over me, but that’s another story. Or should I say, it’s a poem for another day. I think it might even be a good one… Oh, where was I again?). Yes, so this song came on, and I listened to the words as I always do, and thought, as I always do, what in intriguing story she is telling, then it came to me that love and death and how we appreciate the people in our lives were part of what the song is about, and that is kind of what my NaNo this year is about (maybe what they are usually about in different ways), and how the combination of the original story and the one in the song could make for a NaNo right (write) up my alley.
… I could have posted my new poems, written one night while walking the dog. I didn’t have a pen with me, so I used the cell phone my father loaned me ,and tapped away into the tiny notes section, with its limited number of characters, which gave me some class exercise ideas. These are the poems I may read at my first open mic. Yeah, that was a surprise to me, too, that I would think of doing it without peeing myself in fear at the simple thought. But there is more, so much, and once I find a place, I need to focus on the other stuff. It’s all part of the new me.. Or maybe it’s the old me, uncovered. The SheDevil, Unplugged. Fears and inhibitions stripped away, just the basic Me.
… If nothing else, I could have taken a few minutes and written about how I couldn’t think of anything, just like we tell our students during freewrite, then add a few questions to get things going. But there was always something to say. So much more than above, so why wasn’t I here?
Yeah, some kind of fear followed me from back home. It must be bigger than any other fears, because I have no fear at night of the many people I meet, or the streets I walk, I have no fear of exposing myself on stage to ridicule and mockery (though I know it won’t be like that, not at the place where I want to make my debut in both stand up and poetry reading). So what is this fear, where’d it come from?I don’t even feel it as fear, it must be that ingrained. But I can tackle, I will.
… And that same thing holding me back, that is the same thing that has kept me writing my letter to DM Thomas, and I made notes ages ago for a brilliant post about why I haven’t been able to write it. I came to some insight, unexpected insight as I had thought I was just going to write about what I had wanted to say to him for years, my thank you letter for what he gave me, those letters of encouragement. And then I realised something about myself, and possibly why I haven’t been able to put it all into print so he could know what a difference he made to me, even if I never succeed as an author. If any of my students from this workshop, or any I hope to teach in the future, should ever feel I helped influence them (or even that I harmed their writing ambitions), I would wish to know about it.
Okay, but now, now I need to go continue the work of trying to find a home. A home where I can focus on those new aspects of myself and the projects they bring with them. I want to continue this growing, but the security of a home without the stress I have here at my father’s, especially after everything that has happened, that would help. At least a real landlord has to give you some kind of notice if they want to evict you, and it doesn’t hurt as much as when your father serves you with the papers. And I’d feel less helpless, more able and willing to fight back.
I guess that is my fear. One of the few I have been able to find in myself. It amazes me how little fear I feel these days.