Writing

I don't like calling myself a writer. It feels pretentious. I prefer to say I write. But then I haven't actually written during much of my life and certainly not regularly, at least not for the long haul. And I'm not published. That actually feels like a relief. Gawd nose what my life would become if I ever became a successful writer. I don't really like idea of notoriety, of interviews and having to travel from city to city to speak to burgeoning crowds of half a dozen or more to flog a book. Then there would be the publisher's expectations that I produce yet another marketable creation. Makes me want to hide under the covers.

I am part of a writer's group, just three of us actually nearing the ends of our respective first novels. Ronnie's book is about the lives of four different gay men between 1979 and 1983 told in four parts, one for each man, as they intertwine and link to one another as they move across western Canada. It's almost like a play in that there's little author comment and it is told in the first person, present tense.
Stitch's book oscillates between two very different lives, a 12 year old boy in central British Columbia living on a farm and an underemployed 33 year old gay man in Seattle, whose lives never intersect at first but they seem to reflect each other. They are both having a rather traumatic summer. They meet at the end of the book 20 years later at the historic first Radical Faerie gathering in the New Mexico desert (I think).

Mine is an historic piece set on the north coast of British Columbia. It traces the impact of European (British Anglican) culture on the native Tsimshians of that region over a period of 50 years. It is told through the eyes of a gay Tsimshian man who is raised in a traditional village, then around a White trading fort where guns and alcohol start tearing his people apart and then in a Christian Utopian village guided by an Anglican missionary. It's half fiction and half historically--to the best of my ability--accurate. I wanted to reveal a very interesting piece of Canadian history, the story of this amazing Christian community that thrived for 20 years but which has now almost totally been forgotten, and detail what happened to native people in Canada, by far the weakest link in Canada's human rights record. I also wanted to show how Anglican Victorian and Tsimshian values clashed and how someone might survive spiritually after the life he has discarded all his traditional values to embrace betrays him completely.

I loved the idea of having my first novel being an historical one. So much of the plot is decided for me. Each historical event or recorded happening is like a fence post for the novel, which itself is the fence. Then it's only a matter of creating the characters and plot details that will move the plot believably from one fence post to the next. Of course it means much more research if one cares about authenticity, which I do. And research is not always rewarding or successful. If you find anything useful it always comes out of some text like a dried flower that you find pressed, forgotten and missing a few pieces between the pages of a rarely used dictionary. You then have to try to imagine what it would look like rehydrated, reconstructed, growing and blowing in the scented breeze in amongst the all the other flowers around it. The other challenge in trying to write about a lost culture is to reveal it slowing and clearly, step by step without sounding like an encyclopedia, while the plot compels the reader along. If you don't explain enough you will lose the reader and if you explain too much.... well, you know.

It is a lot of work, but more than that too. I let the whole project go to fallow three years ago after it had soaked up over half my free time for 17 months. It seemed to grow just to big for me so that I lost my clear perspective of what I was creating. It was over 300 pages at that time.

The other thing that bothered me at the time is the degree to which the writing 'took over me'. I honestly feel much of the time that I had little to do with the writing. The words seemed to come from elsewhere, some other plane perhaps, and that I was just channeling what someone else was writing through my mind and body. After all, none of the characters resemble anyone I know but they each come out distinct and well-formed (I think). Whole conversations and developments came out of nowhere without planning. Often I'd sit down to write just to find out what was going to happen in the plot that day. I'd get so engrossed that I'd short-change my sleep and forget to eat meals. My whole body seemed alive, filled with some strange energy I always associate with creating. Amongst my friends I became a total bore, only talking about what I was writing and having little interest in anything else.

Of course, friends don't want to hear about it because they don't want to read it. They fear they will insult me with their lack of enthusiasm or by saying something they shouldn't. I don't blame them--I've read some stories that really were poorly done, though I'm not usually very critical. Sharing creative works is almost as dangerous as borrowing and lending money between friends. Something could go terribly wrong and destroy the friendship. I don't fear that but they often do. I love some of the excuses they make up though.... "O, my doctor says I should avoid reading because it might cause cataracts," or "I'm sorry, I only read cereal boxes..." Well, I suppose one can't go around with an open mind all the time. He might get something in it. :o)

Somewhere along the line I have lost my fear of receiving feedback, a necessary survival skill if I ever do find a publisher. What I'd like to do is to lose my need to be interesting or to win people's approval. Then of course there's my fear of publishers......

"I love deadlines. I love the whooshing sound they make as they pass by."
. - Douglas Adams

Outrageous!

I finished my window "Stepping Out" this morning. On Sundays I usually meet the local Chapter of the Radical Faeries at a local coffee shop. I brought my camera which had the photo of the window still on it. It got rave reviews or at least lots of laughs. My 18-yr-old nephew paid me a visit today. He brought a buddy along. Before they arrived I hummed and hawed wondering if I should leave it in the sunshine of the window sill or hide it in my studio. In the end I left it in plain view and they loved it. Kids these days are so cool. His buddy, who had never met me before, and who has always had a very sheltered life, just loved it and wanted to photograph it. Something to tell his girlfriend I guess. :o) I suppose if one is going to be a gay uncle he has an obligation to be outrageous, or what's the point?

So I'm auctioning it off at the Radical Faerie gathering in Oregon next month. Any guesses on what bid it might fetch? I am thinking of doing a series of these, penis action figures. It could be all the new rage!

Faerie-esque

This is a test, only a test. Should my first blog entry be profound? Am I feeling profound? Hmmm. It's Friday afternoon just after work. I'm on free-float, stress release, after coasting home on a warm summer sea breeze. 23C, sunny with a slight haze. Eminently gentle and delicious. Too forgiving to inspire thought. Too nurturing to be profound.
I am thinking about what the weekend holds in store for me. I might have a date tonight, one of those situations where it is hinted at by someone who likes me but someone who rarely follows though on his word. I am debating whether to give him a call or just to enjoy the freedom of a commitment-free evening. In a minute I'll have a shower and think about it.
I have to do some stained glass work this weekend. I have a tall, narrow window to design for friends in Calgary, some big, tall irises. Irises on steroids, large enough to fill a 2m window. First though, I have to finish a project I am doing for myself. I call it "Stepping Out". It's a large, reddish penis in a too-too in the foreground with a closet door hanging open in the background. Pretty simple actually, just 68 pieces and about 17 types of glass. 17 is my lucky number. I only wish I had been able to aesthetically make it 69 pieces, which seems more appropriate.
The window will ride down to Oregon with me next month, to the Radical Faerie gathering at Breightenbush Hot Springs SE of Portland, if the border Nazis don't seize it first. The subject matter alone should get me banned for life if they find it.
Stained glass isn't my profession, just a hobby, but also not a just a hobby. Next month will mark my 30th anniversary of doing stained glass art. It's about time I began doing something more interesting than just flowers. I don't know why I stuck with it so long, why it stuck to me. At first I only learned it to help overcome my fear of sharp edges. It worked though I still cut myself. But it always offers me something new to learn; new glasses, new techniques and design ideas.
Sometimes new ideas come from clients wanting unusual things, but "Stepping Out" was inspired by a caustic comment I made to my friend Danzante last summer after I received news that my art would not be accepted for the gay pride week show of local artists, "Pride In Art", because it did not meet the politically pre-determined theme of "Gender Twist". I have nothing against quality control, but I was pissed off that some non-artist should be telling me what is appropriate for me to be creating in a pride week showcase of local artists, a show that should give exposure to as wide a range of artists, art expressions and themes as the gay community has to offer. So I said to my friend, "What do they want me to create, a bearded drag queen or a penis in a too-too? Danzante responded, "Why do I like those ideas?" and since then I have been musing over how to do a realistic penis and/or a too-too using different types of glass. I really like how it has come together.
So, as I have no place to market such a project and no space left in any window in my condo to hang yet another creation, I am auctioning it off at the Radical Faerie gathering to raise scholarships funds (Faerie funds) to send others less fortunate to a future Faerie gathering. It is perhaps the most Faerie-esque window I have ever done. I'll post a photo when I am done if I can figure out how to do that.