Writing on Week Twenty

During the weekend of October 19-21, 2007, I had the opportunity to participate in the Surrey International Writers' Conference. This was my first conference and, as I continuously heard throughout the weekend, I had chosen to attend the best writers' conference in North America. By the end of the weekend, although I had no previous scale of reference, I could understand why this was voiced so strongly. The conference boasted an attendance of 800+ writers this year, including many returning conference-goers. Participants came from all over - from the Maritimes, Florida, Texas, and Scotland, to name a few out-of-the-way locations. There were also a handful who were lucky enough to be local attendees, and lived in a few miles radius of the Sheraton Hotel, where the conference is annually held.
I was so impressed with the organization and caliber of the conference, not to mention the list of guest authors (Anne Perry, Diana Gabaldon, and Meg Tilly, to name a household few), agents and editors who were conveniently on hand to give feedback and insider tips to the writing world. For many of us, the weekend could mean having a gateway into the land of published authors. Still, in the same breath, we were told to write for the love of writing without the expectation of becoming full-time, self-supporting authors on the best-sellers list... but of course, you never know.
I came to the conference feeling energetic and hopeful, having prepared a portion of my first novel manuscript and a small bundle of business cards in case I should rub elbows with any up-and-coming or established authors or literary scouts.
In between attending the useful workshops - how to research, how to organize your life around writing, how to create dynamic characters, and so on - I booked time with a literary agent and an established author.
First, my meeting with the agent. Our meeting would be an interval of ten minutes. It felt like speed dating! I could not control my butterflies, as I power-walked through the hotel lobby to the meeting room with my manuscript pages tucked under my arm. I had vaguely rehearsed the points I wanted to touch on. I've been writing my book for nine years - why was I so nervous to talk about it? I knew these characters and what they wanted. I knew the setting and plot. I could rattle this off, no problem. Well, my voice certaintly did rattle - uncontrollably, I might add. At mid-point in my spiel, the agent stopped me to say, "you're doing great! There's no reason to be nervous." Tell that to my nerves.
In the end, after making a few helpful suggestions (one being that my word count was low, which I already knew and was able to speak to, as well, in a positive way), she asked me to send her the first five pages along with my book synopsis and literary bio. Great! Now I have ideas poring out of me to beef up my plot and add layers to my characters. I'm excited and overwhelmed, all at once, because I am hitting - no, facing - that high wall of research, and through it we go.
Second, feedback from an established author. I managed to meet with Diana Gabaldon, an admired author, and one whose series I am currently wading through (if you are familiar with her work, you will appreciate how prolific she is!). I tried to lose my star quality and suppressed the urge to tell her that I had named my kitten Sassenach after the nickname of one of her main characters.
Again, I went through the business of explaining the basis of my story and talked a little about the main and secondary characters and their motivations. Then Diana read the first eight pages of my novel (a very good sign, indeed), and made only a few stylistic changes to my prose. Otherwise, her comments were that she found the idea for my novel interesting and told me I had a nice flow to my writing style. She also asked me how my book ends - and on this point I was quite vague. Something to the effect that it all turns out hopeful.
This is all highly encouraging, as I am not being told to go back to square one, but instead being asked "what could happen here and here?"
So, now I am home and hanging onto the floating remnants of a high-energy conference. I am also gluing my seat in front of my computer and putting my endless jabber and ideas to the page, not to mention more meat on the story bones. My personal deadline... by next summer I hope to have my manuscript ready to send to the waiting agent. I'm sure she won't be sitting by her computer and wondering when my novel is going to arrive, but I will submit it with the same degree of hope and energy.

The Last Day of Random Acts of Poetry

Before I started my Random Acts of Poetry, I will admit that I found the prospect of approaching strangers with my poems seemed a bit daunting. However, after committing my first Random Act of Poetry on a bus, I was given a very warm and encouraging reception. After that, it was no problem at all. I went forward, spending an entire day poeming passers-by and city workers in coffee shops, malls, street corners, grocery stores and book stores. I poemed 15 people on my first day, in the course of 6 hours (stopping for lunch, etc).

I was also armed with a self-made T-Shirt, promoting Random Acts of Poetry, and two of my own couplets written on the back that read:

One poet thinking;
holding a universal thought.

Sharing poems, extending words to teach;
strangers, connecting, creating community.

I also arranged to be on the local TV news, and scheduled for a reporter and cameraman to follow me around poeming people. They commented on how some people were adverse to my attempts at poeming them, and maybe viewed the poem as something scary that not everyone is open to experiencing. So, the exercise was also an act of awareness for poetry and that it doesn’t have to be the dry, rhyming poem, centuries-old, that perhaps made little sense to someone in highschool. The TV crew also interviewed Claire Rettie at the READ Society as part of this segment, to connect the accessibility to language through poetry for those ESL students and adults who struggle with literacy.

I met some incredible people. One gentleman was strolling downtown with his baby girl, and he later emailed me to share the story of his daughter’s terminal illness – Spinal Muscular Atrophy – with only a life expectancy of 4 years. She is two. He told me he and his wife had quit their jobs to care for her around the clock, and that he had only been downtown about 3 times in the past two years. He was also a writer himself, and was very touched and appreciative to have “some unexpected art thrown his way”. We are now email buddies, as he has invited me to share any news with him because the computer is his lifeline to the outside community these days. I received a few emails from the strangers I poemed, as I had included my contact information, personal email and writing blog, in the books I handed out.

The next morning I learned that a local radio station saw my 15 minutes of fame, and decided to focus on the topic as part of their morning show banter, which also lent more publicity for the cause of Random Acts of Poetry.

During the rest of the week, while focusing on my full-time day job, I managed to poem my colleagues and strangers in their work cubicles and in the lunch room. I also poemed the security commissionaire at the front desk, who thought being poemed was the coolest thing in the world. I also had an opportunity to poem my entire yoga class, a moment before we began our practice, and set a beautiful calming and uplifting mood to bring us all out of our hectic days and into the room.

Only three people refused to have me read them a poem, out of the 53 I asked. Not too bad. Yesterday I poemed three people in a Starbucks coffeeshop, including one woman sitting down with her little girl. I read them a poem about mothers called Picking Flowers, and afterwards the woman turned to her little girl and asked her what she thought the poem meant. The little girl said she liked to pick flowers, and her mom said, “Well, I think the poem is saying that you and your brother are my flowers.” Needless to say, I was almost teary. Everyone who I gave a book to was very touched to receive it, and one or two men said, “My wife will really enjoy reading your poetry, as well.”

Here are the emails I received from those I had poemed:

Hello Andrea. Thank you for a copy of your book! I really appreciate it and it was a pleasant surprise to have some art thrown my way today. I write a bit also but mostly about my experience looking after my terminally ill daughter Shira (song in Hebrew). You can check out some of my articles on Shira’s web site. May you have great success with your writing. Brad.

Visit Shira's Web Site At: http://www.asonginthisworld.com/

View videos of Shira at: www.youtube.com/Shira2

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Andrea:

I really enjoyed your poem at lunch. Thank you.
A nice way to start the week-end.

Best of luck in your writing career.

Martine

Morning Couplets

A soft purr from my kettle beckons me and I stumble
to awaken my fingers and toes, as I tumble back into reason.

I purge these useless belongings; bring new shine
and I revel in everything possible and forgotten.

Morning propels me forward into another age, retrospective,
the same sun, or is it, rising closer and setting further away.

A million ways to spend this sunshine, trap it in jars,
singe my garden petals – I choose only to let it sink deep.

He wants the simplicity of his skin today;
I crave the complexity of ink strokes – and we stay in.

The morning breeze moves high tree clusters; a barrier,
and the wind is too weak to rustle these lethargic grass stems and tiny blooms.

We wake from fuzzy dreams, take turns in the bathroom,
boil water and kiss, set down hopeful plans.

My belly swells late with morning overcast, wind overpowers
and sun struggles to land on our shoulders, a bright light constantly cooled.

In the rush of tires, footsteps, and the sound of work – there are birds,
and I carve out a minute to sit in this chair, let these sounds circle outside.

Drowsy leaves bend with the weight of sunlight,
my back stem straightens in the glow of mid-morning summer.

Random Poeming

I am three days into my Random Acts of Poetry Week, and I thought to give an update. Thankfully, Monday was my flex day, so I had the opportunity to knock off a bunch of Random Acts of Poetry. I headed downtown via bus in the morning. As my bus came along the road, I took in a deep breath. I knew I was going to make myself poem some unsuspecting passenger before the end of my ride. I sat beside a woman who looked groggy, but approachable. She set the ball rolling with her openness and enthusiasm. Thanks Courtenay! From there, I hit a couple of familiar coffee shops, and then I plunged into the unknown - the passers-by on Victoria's downtown streets. Needless to say, I got a few wary looks and a few curt 'no thanks!' but I wasn't going to be deterred. I wandered into friendly businesses and, if the staff weren't too terribly busy, I poemed them and they thanked me.
Later in the day, I made arrangements to have a reporter and cameraman from A-Channel News follow me around for awhile. They got a great story, and I got some more needed publicity. They portrayed me as the 'predator poet', but also commented on the people who ran away or tried to avoid me and how nonthreatening I was. After all, it was poetry! Then the question arose, is poetry scary for people? Possibly, if they already think they hate it or that they won't understand it. Luckily, I poemed a gentleman on camera who was thrilled to be poemed and an advocate of the arts. He even quoted Jack Kerouac! Later, he shared a very moving story with me about his baby girl who is living with SMA (Spinal Muscular Atrophy) disease. The gifts we are given... the stories we share...
So, all in all my first day was a relative success. Fifteen in total poemed.
On to Tuesday... I was at work, so I tried poeming my colleagues, and getting in a couple of fellow bus riders. Four in total poemed.
Today... again I was at work, so I poemed the executive administrative assistant who hugged me, and I also received a word-of-mouth request for poeming. Tonight I poemed my yoga class, which set the peaceful and reflective mood for our practice. Later, I poemed a cashier-in-training with a poem about being a cashier. The woman helping her exclaimed, "This is a Random Act of Poetry, isn't it?" It turned out she was the student of another local poeming poet, Susan Stenson. I am only halfway through this wonderful week... and I can't wait to poem again!