Once upon a time I wanted to be an
Author. Not just a writer, or someone
who writes, but a bonafide published Author, with my name on covers, and
readings and book signings, and book tours, the whole legit gambit. I used to practice my autograph, the one I’d
use for book signings. I used to imagine
walking into my local Chapters and see my name on a book cover, on the store
shelves. I wanted this more than
anything.
And I used to write. Voraciously.
Not that I ever finished anything more than a short story. But I did have a few published. That was very exciting. But it wasn’t what I imagined writing a book
would be like. The dream continued to thrive
and I continued to write, until one day I just stopped. People would ask me why I don’t write anymore
and I’d joke that the voices inside my head didn’t speak to me anymore, but it
was more true than not. All the stories
that swirled inside my mind, the movies that would play as I fell asleep, all
these ideas for stories just waiting to be written seemed to have dried up. I blamed it on growing older and growing
up. Maybe all those stories were just a
product of childish imagination, fantasies that had been usurped by the reality
of life as an adult. I didn’t really
know why the stories and characters that had populated my brain for most of my
life had disappeared but I did know I missed them. I felt I had lost a part of myself. Life wasn’t
as bright and colourful, or as full of “life” as it could be. Instead I was locked into a dreary day-to-day
non-creative existence of banality. It
made me very sad.
Then one day a friend was saying how she
longed to write fiction, but didn’t think she was creative enough or had the
imagination for it. Bullocks I
said! We all have the ability to play,
and that’s all imagination is. I
challenged her to rethink her statement and she in turn started up an online
creative cluster to explore Julia Cameron’s 12-week course, The
Artist’s Way as a way to tap into that creative, imaginative side of
herself and unleash her ability to write fiction.
Thinking I’d be far too busy this summer
what with the distance education course I was taking, and well, life in
general, I trepidaciously asked to be added to the group, thinking I could
cheer from the sidelines at most, and at best, could participate as much as possible
in the activities laid out by Julia Cameron.
But really, I was just hoping to sponge off the creative collective,
hoping that something in the ether would wriggle its way into my little dried up
brain and re-ignite a spark of interest in the creative again, in writing again.
Little did I know how eternally grateful
I would end up feeling as I tentatively embraced one of the basic tools of the
Artist’s Way, the Artist Date. Julia Cameron speaks about restocking the
well of our creativity and to do this we have to go out and play each
week. It can be anything we deem
creative – a trip to an arts supply store, a museum, or anything inbetween. I happened to hear about a poetry reading and
book launch happening this week and decided to take myself out. On a date.
And I am so very glad I did!
The evening started off with me feeling
rather grumpy. I was seriously moving
out of my comfort zone. I dislike going
places by myself. I always feel so alone
in the crowd. It’s much safer to be with
someone you know. To have a crutch you
can sit with, talk to, etc. But the
point of the Artist’s Date is to do it by yourself. You can’t restock that well if you’re too
busy gabbing to a friend and missing all the creative goodness that should be
flowing inward if you sit quietly by and drink it in. So despite my grumpiness and that inner voice
that kept telling me to stay in the comforts of my home, I made myself go. I ended up parking several blocks away from
the venue and found myself walking along an old, familiar haunt. Biblioasis,
the bookstore hosting the event, is located in a part of the city I used to
call home. I have fond memories of the Saturday
afternoons I would spend strolling along Wyandotte St E in Old Walkerville,
checking out the small boutiquey shops and eateries in the area. There have been many changes since I moved
out of that part of the city, but it still has the same feeling of arty trendiness
and I drank it all in as I walked the blocks to Biblioasis.
Along the way I passed the Arts Council
of Windsor Essex County and paused briefly in the doorway. In progress was a drum circle, and the sign
on the sandwich board outside invited one and all to enter and join in. If I hadn’t been so set on the poetry reading
I would have done just that. And this
morning, I feel some regret I didn’t take the time to join in, if only for a
few minutes. Note to self to check this
place out for future Artist Dates.
Lesson to be learned: plan on being spontaneous on these Dates. Let your creativity lead you, rather than
stick to some pre-planned schedule.
Sometimes, when you veer off the beaten path, a treasure trove of new
experiences are your reward. Don’t be
afraid to explore.
Biblioasis turned out to be a small new
& used bookstore with brick walls lined with overstuffed book shelves. Shelves had been pushed to the side to make
room for the rows of chairs set up to accommodate the audience, and a small table
of offerings by the poets reading that night, along with other local and
noteworthy authors, hugged the cash counter.
It was a small, intimate space, and I sat and drank it all in as people
arrived and the night slowly got underway.
The poets were introduced by a faculty member of the English department
at the University of Windsor, though the event was in no way affiliated with the
University. As I looked around I
recognized many of my English professors in attendance. We have a thriving literary scene in Windsor,
one I’m only just realizing and appreciating.
Better late than never.
Jay MillAr read from his latest
published work, Timely Irreverence
and Phil Hall from his latest book, The
Small Nouns Crying Faith. Both
contemporary poets could not have been more different from each other, yet were
immensely enjoyable to listen too. I’d
forgotten just how fulfilling and uplifting it feels to be a part of a
reading. It doesn’t have to be a published
author either. Just a small group of
fellow writers sitting around sharing their work with each other can inspire
and light up a creative spark. I hadn’t
realized how much I missed that communal creative consciousness or how much I
needed it.
After the readings, I picked up a copy
of both books and had them signed.
Why? Not because I love
contemporary poetry – I’m not exactly a huge poetry fan, but because I remember
my dreams of reading my published work for an appreciative audience and signing
books afterwards, and as I hope to see those dreams come true one day, I relish
in sharing in the thrill of being asked to sign your book, signing the book,
and having your copy signed by the author.
It’s a delicious, heady circle to be a part of, and I never want to get
off.
I finished the night with a little
desert at The Old Town Sweet Shop and while I people and traffic watched out the
window, let myself sit quietly and absorb every nuance of the night’s
experience, and I felt my well fill. I
can’t wait for the next Date. I already
have plans.
Till next time,
L :)
