I’d like to thank a friend and fellow blogger, Peter (https://pvirant.wordpress.com), for the above recording of my piece. It was such a pleasant surprise to hear my own words read aloud by someone else.
A dream woke me just after midnight; actually, the urge to pee did, but because of that, I remember the dream. Anyway, in it, I’d been writing like a madwoman, ideas were flowing so fast my typing could barely keep up–what a rush! Then, around 2 am, I awoke–again to pee– from another dream; this one, though, was even better. I’d been having this deep conversation with Harry Crews–the late great writer, who I’d just discovered the day before. He and I were getting down and dirty on the topic of writing, it was a real trip. I haven’t quite worked it out yet, but something about Crews reminds me of my Dad — they both grew up dirt poor, rode British motorbikes, drank, took drugs and swore a lot; my dad would have liked him, and maybe he had — I wish he were around to ask. Pumped from an exciting night of slumber, I was up before the crack of dawn–4:30 to be exact. Throwing the covers off, I hopped out of bed, did some stretches, threw on some warm clothes, and got my ass down stairs and into my chair to start writing. Well, first I made coffee, but then I got my ass into that chair. I’m working on my final assignment for the creative nonfiction course I’ve been taking. It’s by far the most challenging thing I’ve ever tried to write. The story is situated in Dease Lake–a remote village of around 350, located in northern BC. I was 28 when I moved there, and 30 when I left. Wandering around that time and place has been fascinating; all kinds of forgotten memories are rolling back. I have no written record of that time, no emails, no journals, only my own memory, and a few photographs. I asked my mother and a friend, who still lives in Dease, to share any highlights they could recall; it’s been fun to reminisce. I’m not sure where the story is headed yet. It’s going to take more roaming and rambling through that year and half for the deeper story to reveal itself. I move around more than most, always of my own accord, and often without much forethought; I just sort of follow my instinct, and it seems to know what it’s doing. What I’m beginning to realize, through writing about my past, is all this movement is leading me back to ‘me.’ Dease Lake, it seems, was my first big step in this journey of self-discovery. Amazonian tribes believe in the idea that “the future is behind us, and the past approaches us from the front.” By taking the time to reflect, we learn about the person we used to be, which tells us much about the person we’ve become. Travelling may be overrated; it’s certainly getting more expensive. I suggest you pick up a pen and journey inward, then fall asleep and enjoy the ride.