Things That Are True - Four Questions

Apropos of nothing, the view from our dining room these days

The lovely and supremely talented Catherine Jackson wrote a recap post about Blissdom Canada '11, answering four questions that Catherine Connors asked at the beginning of her opening keynote. I've been meaning to do the same, and here's my stab at it:

What don't people know about you?

In the late nineties I was briefly the chick singer in a funk/r&b cover band made up of Vancouver film crew folk. We played a few industry parties, and fourteen year old me almost died of the squee once when Rob Lowe danced in the crowd as I sang "Chain of Fools".

What are some things about which you are knowledgeable?

Film/scripted television production
Baking pies, especially apple and lemon meringue, but I can't stand and won't make pumpkin.
Grammar
Formula One auto racing

What are some things about which you are not at all knowledgeable?

Coding/programming
Photography - although I take thousands of pictures, I still don't know how to work my very basic SLR
Modern art

What are some things that you believe?

I believe that friends are the family you choose for yourself. I believe that no one can silence me unless I let them. I believe that every person I meet has a story to tell, and experience I can learn from. I believe that it's important to engage with people with whom I don't agree and have my own assumptions challenged regularly. I believe that if you don't vote, you don't get to complain. I believe that dancing with a small child in my arms is the best possible use of five minutes in any given day. I believe that good food and good stories with good friends is the best kind of party. I believe that the act of making something, anything, connects me to basic truths about myself in a way that consumerism never will.

And I believe that connecting with others over shared experience - whether face to face or simply here in my little corner of the internet - keeps me more than five minutes away from being naked in a bell tower with a sniper rifle.

Thank you for being here.

(And it's possible one or two law enforcement agencies would thank you too, if they knew.)

Things That Are True - Blissdom Canada and Why I Blog

I went to Blissdom Canada, and it was seventeen kinds of awesome. I sat at a table of people who called themselves writers, and no one told me I was in their seat, or sitting at the wrong table. I called myself a writer out loud in front of other people and no one laughed.

We discussed the narcissism inherent in publishing on a public platform. We asked what makes a person a "real" writer. We talked about audience, and voice, and where our own boundaries are about what we feel comfortable with putting out there.

The conference sessions I attended were fantastic. I drank it all in greedily; this knowledge and practical experience of (dare I say?) my peers, and it left me giddy.

The takeaway, for me:


Blogging, women's blogging in particular, seems to break down into two basic styles: review/product/brand ambassador blogging, where it's a job, or a gateway to a job or some kind of income; and more personal blogging which is less a means to an end and more a need to get things out. I'm not saying one style is better or more engaging than the other, and there are those who do both and those who do neither. Generalization's always a tricky thing, but I did notice the same faces over and over again at the art track sessions I attended.


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I just have to write. As Tanis Miller, Bonnie Stewart, and Elan Morgan said in their session on finding your muse: inspiration is bullshit. Over and over again, I heard people talk about the need to just write. To get over the being stuck, to get past the fear of writing badly, to take it seriously enough to do it even when (especially when) it's really difficult. I realized that I actually don't care if I'm not one of the cool kids because I'm still using Blogger. I don't give a damn about ranking on google, or writing posts that are the right length and have the right keywords. But I will admit that writing at all is often a struggle for me, despite the fact that I can't imagine not doing it. I left Blissdom feeling so connected, so ready to come home and blog fearlessly.

And then I didn't.

I think about writing all day, every waking minute. I'm constantly composing posts and articles in my head, knowing just how I'll word what I want to say, and then I sit at my keyboard and excuses start to flood my brain. I get caught up in my own head, I worry about who might be reading, and I get stuck on things I need to write about that aren't entirely my story to tell.

It was liberating to hear that other people - people whose writing leaves me gasping, grinning, and weeping - struggle too. I've been inclined to think of myself as a failure because I can't just sit down and have the words flow magically all the time, even though I know intellectually that no one can.


What I need to do is just write.

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Finding your tribe is a powerful, powerful thing.

Catherine Connors, in her opening keynote, talked about intellectual hubris, the echo-chamber of surrounding yourself with people who already agree with you, and the importance of seeking out the other in order to make meaning and build community. It was a tremendous speech, and I don't disagree, but there's also value in finding the people who do think the way you do - if only to reassure yourself that you're not entirely crazy.

Like BlogHer back in August, Blissdom Canada was an amazing experience. The sessions were informative, and hilarious, and inspiring. The parties were fun!

But like BlogHer, the real takeaway for me was in the smallest of moments: staying up all night like college girls talking to my most excellent roommate, Jeanette; sharing a tearful moment in a crowded room; grabbing lunch at a restaurant with real tablecloths just because we could; connecting about the experience of living up north, bonding over a shared crush on Peter Mansbridge. None life-changing in and of themselves, but in the aggregate, a powerful thing.

These moments, these interstitial moments - away from the busy-ness, and business, of the conference itself - these shiny bits of truth are what I take home with me and treasure.

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And now I will hit publish, because I finally sat down and just wrote something.

Things I'm Doing - Blissdom, Baby!

On the plane.

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This morning I woke The Imp at an ungodly hour because last night he told me he wanted to come to the airport to say goodbye to Mom.

He calls me "Mom" now. He's three, and he calls me "Mom". If "Mama" went by the wayside in exchange for "Mommy!" way too early, I'm really not ready to be just "Mom". I've got a lot of my own identity tied up in being "Mommy." "Mommy" is needed; the kisser of hurts, the smoother of a feverish brow, the watcher in the night, the knower of things. "Mommy" is the provider of cuddles for those blissful drifting off to sleep moments when the eyelids droop and the breathing slows. "Mommy" is still holding on when the startles of early slumber shake little boy limbs.

But "Mom" - "Mom" is letting go. "Mom" is watching big boy legs run away to play at daycare drop off. "Mom" is having to ask for a hug and a kiss while distracted eyes look past to playground friends. "Mom" is help with homework, source of money for video games, and maker of unjust rules.

"Mom" never lets me have any fun!

He's only three. I'm not ready to be "Mom" yet.

This is parenthood, isn't it? A long, aching, drawn out process of holding tight and letting go.

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They are coming around with headphones now. (Damn, why do I never remember to bring my own? I have a growing pile of Air Canada be-logoed headphones at home.)

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He wanted to come to the airport to say goodbye. Insisted he didn't want to sleep in with Dad.

(At least he's also dropped "Daddy" in favour of "Dad". That comforts me, like there's a fairness there. "It's not just me he's walking away from," my ego says. My ego doesn't give a damn about ending a sentence with a preposition, apparently.)

So I woke him up, and he was not happy.

"I don't want you to go to Toronto," he pouted. "I don't want you to go!" he shouted.

"I will fight you," he stated, matter of factly.

Is it bad that I was pleased he wanted me to stay? Is it awful that I still couldn't wait to go - to have an adventure for and by myself?

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I just paid $10.08 for a chicken wrap and a can of Pringles. The freedom! The glamour of modern air travel!

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It's been over three years since I've been on a flight alone. I bought a New Yorker at the airport magazine stand, just because I could. No interruptions, no questions, no reassurances, no thinking about anyone but me. No little grasping hands.

(I miss the little grasping hands.)

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I'm going to Blissdom Canada today. Let the adventure begin.