Red Cedar

Perhaps it’s my age, or the recent shattering of some parts of my life, but in the last year I’ve felt some urgency around feeling that I am not a “real” writer. By which I mean I’m horribly undisciplined – only writing when I feel like it, barely finishing thoughts before moving onto the next, and having nothing in print to show for it anyway. I chide myself that at 34 I should have done something more with it by now. I struggle to impose schedules on myself, drafting outlines for books and articles, and then somehow fail to meet even minimum expectations. It’s a battle waged in the deepest nooks of my childhood dreams (to be a poet), between the desire to express and the fear of having nothing to say. (And yes, those of you who know me can have a good chuckle at that. When have I ever had nothing to say?)

But I get these inklings on occasion – reminders that the gift is there – trapped in my heart and fingertips – and feel the “writer” scrabbling inside me. That would be someone who writes. Constrained without pen and paper (or keyboard and memory chips), and unable to envision giving up the dreams that defined my adolescent angst. Taking it up almost every day instead of abandoning it, even as I struggle to define what it is that would make me “real” as opposed to the very fact of doing it. Just like this.

A poem, a post, a song, an essay. This week I have worked through each of these forms, feeling how each of them changes me. The essay so much harder than the poem – a hammering out rather than an emergence of. The essay with the possibility of becoming a book, the poem finished as soon as I pull it from around me and going no further. The essay, logic. The poem, mystic. Similar only in that neither have come from imposed schedules or self-resentment. Instead from allowing myself space and silence.

And therein lies the answer along with the difficulty. I have ceased to do alone well, associating it too closely with depression. Sitting still feels like a laziness to which I have an inborn opposition. It’s almost moral, this distaste I have for doing “nothing”, and yet it’s what I need. And more, I need outside experiences that are not about work. When the space is there, and the experiences that drive my intellect to different places, then the writing comes all on its own. Not always easily, but without browbeating. I expect that besides writing, this is just a good formula for living (space, silence and fresh experience along with the stability of work).

My friends have been more than supportive of my writing – they are all pretty damned literary people and I do not take this as flattery (which I am grateful for). One night last month I was fretting online with a friend about whether or not I could or should attempt a book project…. (oh, my navel-gazing is endless)…. he disappeared from the chat screen and showed up at my door 10 minutes later to tell me in all earnestness that I *should*, before giving me a hug and taking his leave. (And now, as I recollect this, I see him framed in my doorway on the backporch giving me this encouragement with his open heart and face. Warm summer evening with the softness of that moment bringing connection. Shared. Grateful.)

Now, I just have to figure out how to support these needs, while still living out the commitments I have taken on for the next two years (work & union). I sense after this upcoming intensity there is a drastic change coming for me. I know at least half of what that involves. We’ll see how the rest pans out.

So. The Flying Folk Army. You remember us? Slightly infamous east vancouver folk band formed back in 1998 in the wake of the APEC protests. You may have seen us playing on the corner in front of WoodSquat, or at one of many Flying Folk Fridays at La Quena. Perhaps the WISE? Perhaps Cafe Deux? It’s been awhile, I’m sure, since we haven’t played in Vancouver for about three years (our last few shows have been in Seattle), despite frequent requests by our friends who miss drinking and dancing along to our impulsivity. But you know, with the guitar players off and raising children and the rest of us getting our educations finished and careers on track… well, the band didn’t really make the priority list while life was going on.

But this weekend we had a show, one of those casual community-fair type of things which Duane arranged through someone he used to work for. Really nothing to write home about as far as shows go, but it gave us an excuse to get together again and rehearse a set. And although the first rehearsal was a bit rough… after three get-togethers (the final one at my place before the gig) it was like – “Oh yeah. We are a band.” All over again. My upstairs neighbour even put his head in the door to tell us how awesome we sounded – which I thought was pretty decent of him since we *were* inflicting everyone in the house with accordion and fiddle on a Saturday morning.

And so we’re having some discussion about doing it again. The band. Not the same as we did before, not the same music and not the same crazy schedules – but a show here and there, some new tunes, perhaps even finishing the album we started in 2003, getting a new website up… the basics for getting gigs and letting people know what we’re up to.

And it’s funny, because I felt two years ago that this project was over for me… and here I am excited by it all over again. Excited because we know each other so well musically and seem to be moving to new places together (less anger, more dancing! more fun! more children’s music!). And damn, it’s been almost 10 years of knowing each other, we might as well capitalize on the fact that we can truly be “folkies” now that we’re old enough 😉

We’ll see. It would be fun to do some of it again. And I’ll be sure to let y’all know when we do.

It’s the annual post and reminder that today is Prisoners’ Justice Day – an internationally-observed day started three decades ago by the tireless Canadian prison-abolitionist Claire Culhane. Prisoners’ Justice Day is the day prisoners have set aside as a day to fast and refuse to work in a show of solidarity with those who have died unnecessarily — victims of murder, suicide and neglect inside the cruel fortresses of power that masquerade as centres for “rehabilitation”.

Prisoners’ Justice Day is not just an observance for political prisoners, but for all men and women caught within the walls of class, race and gender – for all of those who have ended their journey inside a cage – a day when we in the community hold demonstrations, vigils, spiritual services and other events in solidarity with those who are trapped inside.

I would encourage people to take part in any Prisoners’ Justice Day events in your community, and additionally take some time to:

• Write a letter to a prisoner you know, or even one you don’t know – there are lots of prison pen-pal sites online and if you prefer to spend your energy on a political prisoner, there are many lists out there (just google).
• Write a letter to your congressperson or Member of Parliament demanding better HIV/AIDS education, prevention and treatment in prisons. This is one of the major killers in prison and completely preventable.
• Donate to one of the many Prisoner Support organizations in your community – Joint Effort, Books to Prisoners, Anarchist Black Cross, etc.
• Write a letter in support of Leonard Peltier, Mumia Abu-Jamal, or any other political prisoner currently being held for their beliefs.
• Get together with other family and friends who are affected by the prison system due to the incarceration of loved ones, hold a vigil or a study session on prison-abolition.
• Donate some money to a prisoner’s commisary fund, or legal fund.
• Write a letter to your local newspaper about prison issues, conditions, or prisoner rights.

These all seem like such small and almost-insignificant things – but not only do they let our prisoner-friends and family know that we are out here for them – each action helps to break down the shame and stigma of prison forced onto all of us who have loved ones on the inside.

We are not ashamed of those we know in prison, but we should be ashamed to live in a society which can not come up with more creative and humane options in dealing with our issues.

A better world is possible,
M.

(Also see Zoe’s post on the same subject at GNN for suggestions on who to support and how to contact them)