Where in the world has Simone been? Mystery solved

It’s been so long since I have provided an update, I half-expected library cop Lieutenant Joe Bookman to show up at my doorstep, seconded to a literary search and rescue crew of sorts.

“Maybe we can live without libraries, people like you and me. Maybe. Sure, we’re too old to change the world, but what about that kid, sitting down, opening a book, right now, in a branch at the local library and finding drawings of pee-pees and wee-wees on the Cat in the Hat and the Five Chinese Brothers? Doesn’t HE deserve better? Look. If you think this is about overdue fines and missing books, you’d better think again,” he’d pronounce, spittle flying from his mouth.

“What’s my problem? Punks like you, that’s my problem. And you better not screw up again Blais, because if you do, I’ll be all over you like a pit bull on a poodle.”

That would just be a bad scene.

So here is an info-dump on all the things I have been working on over the last while.

Grad school

I enrolled in the Master of Fine Arts in Creative Nonfiction, which is a joint program between the University of King’s College and Dalhousie University. It’s a low-residency program, which meant I studied throughout the year at home, but travelled to Halifax once during the summer for a 10-day intensive session.

My first mentor, Wanda Taylor, warned us the two-year program would fly by us. Holy donut-holes, did she nail it. Just as you think a term was coming to an end, the communication and deadlines for the next term would start pouring into my inbox. It was a never-ending treadmill of reading, writing, researching and rewriting.

Wanda was incredible and just what I needed. She wrote The Nova Scotia Home for Colored Children: The Hurt, The Hope and The Healing, so she knows all about researching historical events and unearthing difficult truths. She’s an uber-smart writer and former acquisitions editor, so our conversations would usually involve her easily shifting from pointers on craft to the business side of writing.

When I started, I thought I would only have one mentor throughout the duration of the program. We had to switch for second year because Wanda shifted over to the fiction side of the program.

That’s when I met Lezlie Lowe. She was the mentor during our in-person summer residency, and she blew my mind with her patient guidance on structure and theme. She had this innate way of distilling down the issues you were facing with a project into digestible chunks, so that you could piece the puzzle together again. It was with her I was able to “get it,” finally see what this messy manuscript could look like if I kept at it. She wrote The Volunteers: How Halifax Women Won the Second World War, which provided several clues into what kinds of records I could search for at Library and Archives Canada.

I could have worked with Lezlie for a thousand more years, truly. But by the end of the term, I had learned so much from her, I wanted another challenge. I knew I wanted to explore my identity through writing, and needed someone who understood the difficult task of writing about one’s self. Ayelet Tsabari had a reputation in the program for being a tough cookie in the mentorship category, but I was undeterred. I was going to dive into the deep end of the vulnerability pool and paddle like hell to prove I could survive. Ayelet wrote The Art of Leaving, this exquisite memoir about how travelling around the world served as an escape from the grief she felt about her father. She bared so many raw moments in her life—the good, the bad, the downright ugly—onto the page. Her bravery helped me see how honesty moves a reader. (She was prepping for the launch of Songs for the Brokenhearted as we wrapped up the term, and I’m just starting it now! So excited to dig in.)

I crossed the stage in June to receive the official parchment, which has since been framed but still sits on my office floor. One of the biggest rewards from the program has been meeting writers from across the country. The original mentor group who met with Wanda on the first day still meets up weekly to talk life, writing and everything in between. They are women who I will treasure always.

Research

I had to take a solid couple of months off before returning to my book project, just to gain my footing again. When I did, I submitted a research request to BC Archives. After some back-and-forth negotiations of what’s available, I made the trip to Victoria, B.C. to spend the day in the archives. About a quarter of the records I sought are restricted: Attorney-General correspondence during the Second World War often covers individuals suspected of criminal activity. Since that visit, I have been in negotiations with them over entering into a research agreement to gain access to the files. Fingers crossed I’ll know in a month whether or not the full container I’ve requested will be made available. Next up: reaching out to Library and Archives Canada.

Writing community

In spring 2023, some writing friends in town told me they needed some help with their event, the Wine Country Writers’ Festival. I joined the Board of Directors, offering my experience with website editing, marketing and PR promotion pro bono. At one point I was writing grant applications, too. It was a ridiculous amount of fun. Creatives are lovely weirdos, and Okanagan writers being a close community, the festival served as an annual hangout for funky folks who loved writing. We celebrated successes collectively and honed  our skills individually. Being on the board gave me a lot of insights into non-profits—a master class in board governance, financial management, and sponsorship development. I was able to help out for a few years, and now the board is looking for new blood, so feeling good about where the festival society stands.

Newsletter

To help share the word about my work-in-progress, I started a newsletter called Storia. The newsletter is devoted to stories about history—my family’s history, photos and research. Working on historical non-fiction is a labour of love: there are days when you emerge from the archives with tons of material, and others when you uncover sweet fart-all. Being able to repurpose archival material motivates me through those low points in the research and writing process. Feel free to subscribe to the newsletter; it’s on Substack, but I’ll keep it free for the foreseeable future.

Freelance work

I dialed back client work for the last two years to give myself the headspace needed for graduate studies. But now that I’m back in the saddle, I will be taking on select clients for editing work. Contact me if you’re interested in finding out more.

A heavy load

Being a service member is not easy — those men and women shoulder an incredible load.

But how do you tell that story in a compelling way that resonates with civilians? How do you make annual Remembrance Day stories real to those who will never see the realities of military service?  The Royal British Legion put together this brilliant video for #ArmedForcesDay. Such a simple concept, and beautifully executed.

Each civilian is introduced by name and profession, personalizing them and making the individual relatable. The viewer walks through the civilian experience of loading the bag and trying to lift it.

How telling stories makes us human

As this story by Jeffrey Kluger explains in Time Magazine, stories are part of who we are and the communities we live in. Sharing good stories can positively impact people’s perceptions and interactions with you.

Odds are, you’ve never heard the story of the wild pig and the seacow — but if you’d heard it, you’d be unlikely to forget it. The wild pig and seacow were best friends who enjoyed racing each other for sport. One day, however, the seacow hurt his legs and could run no more. So the wild pig carried him down to the sea, where they could race forever, side by side, one in the water, one on the land.You can learn a lot from a tale like that — about friendship, cooperation, empathy and an aversion to inequality. And if you were a child in the Agta community — a hunter-gatherer population in The Philippines’ Isabela Province — you’d have grown up on the story, and on many others that teach similar lessons. The Agta are hardly the only peoples who practice storytelling; the custom has been ubiquitous in all cultures over all eras in all parts of the world. Now, a new study in Nature Communications, helps explain why: storytelling is a powerful means of fostering social cooperation and teaching social norms, and it pays valuable dividends to the storytellers themselves, improving their chances of being chosen as social partners, receiving community support and even having healthy offspring. Read the full story: http://time.com/5043166/storytelling-evolution/

Stories have been part of human history since the beginning — and research has shown that storytellers can benefit from sharing tales.

The tale of fear

This being Halloween, I find myself pondering the tension between the value and ethical challenge of fear in stories. Fear comes first, before fight-or-flight. It prompts reaction. It can be entertainment that people crave, evidenced through the billion-dollar industry that produces films in horror genres like suspense, gore, slasher, thriller, psychological and possession. We line up outside of haunted houses to satisfy the rush. Fear is a strong emotion that can drive people’s decisions. This storytelling approach is valuable when it comes to inspiring people to consider the implications of their current behaviour. Public health campaigns are a great example of this. People often avoid, consciously or unconsciously, thinking about what health effects they could experience as a result of choices like drug use. The Visual Communication Guy showcased a few successful campaigns that successfully deploy graphic images designed to illicit the Fear Appeal. The gore and in-your-face approach forces people to face that fear, and consider changing to alternatives. (Side note: the teeth = ew.) But there are ethical challenges around this. The Poynter Institute identified that in a crowded media market, traditional and new media outlets are deploying fear tactics to build and keep audiences.
The more stimuli there are competing for your consideration, the more that attention seekers must fight to incentivize you to look their way. More often than not, this results in psychological warfare as attention-seekers leverage any and all emotions to draw people in.
That psychological warfare is an apt term for what can be seen in beauty campaigns, playing off women’s worst fears around their appearance. Or stories about men who do not exhibit the stereotypical physical strength, and this being an inherent character flaw to be avoided. And pretty much anything under the sun involving politics. It is powerful tool, and one to be used mindfully — making sure you are not afraid to face yourself the morning after.

Review: Shag Carpet Action

Go on, get dirty. Matthew Firth’s Shag Carpet Action is raw, raunchy and ready to make you blush.

This collection of short stories pushes readers into the kink of ennui, how idle hands make the devil’s work of base urges. The more disengaged the character, the more bawdy the fantasy.  These stories illustrate how a body at stasis inspires the mind to race. From midnight oily Greek wrestling, debating the merits of Brazilian waxing on public transit, undergoing a vasectomy to hairy nipples and masturbating with action figures, Shag Carpet Action chronicles urban legends of sexual debauchery and desire. The writing is stubborn – it forces the reader to put niceties aside and consider what a night out with a coked-up garbageman would entail.

The cornerstone of the collection is “Dog Fucker Blues,” a novella set during heated labour negotiations that are polarizing the workforce. It’s a glimpse into the desolate attitude within monotonous city operations, but also the “good-vs-evil” division in union ranks pulled between the more chaste pursuit of solidarity and hedonistic self-absorption.

Although the level of discord is hyperbolized, the politics and violence are noteworthy in a curious way, particularly as Firth is a trade unionist by day.  There is so much brash realism, you’ll swear some pages feel sticky. But with the title “Shag Carpet Action,” you can’t say you weren’t warned.  So go on, get dirty. You know you want to.

A line that stuck: “Although, looking at her, there was little chance anyone would confuse her for a hottie – an Estonian shot-putter, maybe.” 

Shag Carpet Action, Matthew Firth, Anvil Press, 2011. ISBN: 1897535848