My Last Night, And "Clubs"

Tomorrow is moving day! I get to move into my new apartment five days early. Tonight is my final night in this place. I've moved up the dates for transferring my electricity, and my internet, so I'll have those in place at my new apartment tomorrow too. All the stuff I hadn't packed away, thinking I'd need them for another few days, can now be stuffed into boxes. I'm saying goodbye to this place with all of its bad vibes, and I won't look back. Tomorrow morning my mom will show up to help me move as much stuff as we can, using her car. The rest will wait until a brother in law, or someone, can help with the bed and couch and table. Tonight I'm going to celebrate.

The other night I formed a "one year financial plan" for myself. Next year at this time, I hope to be in a much different place than I am today. The plan includes working, schooling, motivation and a lot of self discepline. I believe I can do it. It feels good to have a plan.

It's about time I built a personal life too. I found some information at the library, on local writer's and photographer's clubs. I'm not a 'club person', but somehow I keep joining them, in the hope of ... something ... I'm not sure what. I was even secretary for the Comox Valley writer's club for three years (it didn't involve anything more than keeping the minutes). For me, though, clubs always seem to lose their lustre after a few months. I keep going out of a sense of duty, but it becomes a job just to attend the meetings.

Somehow I tend to bring out the worst in the other club members. The women give me the cold shoulder, and the men either avoid me, or demand that I meet with them to "discuss the ways I can improve my skills". My bad memories of writer's clubs are:

... walking alone into a room filled with people who dislike me on first sight, pretending I'm not terrified, taking my seat, placing my folder with several poems inside, under my seat, and introducing myself and then, when the leader asks if I'm prepared to read a sample of my work for the group, standing up, and proceeding to do so. My poetry has often tended to be dark, and wierd. Even I can see that it's "different". Not for everyone. The members of writer's groups who have been obliged to sit through a sampling of my work have usually reacted with embarrassed coughing, or thinly veiled insults, or the odd person who braved the group mindset to venture a tiny, tentative compliment. I thank them for their insight, slip my poetry back into the folder and resume my seat.

By continuing to return to the meetings again and again, I manage to carve a place for myself among the group - I am "the girl who writes wierd stuff that nobody understands, stuff that isn't mainstream so I'll never make money at it so obviously I'm just writing for the love of it which makes me wierder still". That becomes my place in the group, and, although I'm not part of the inner circle, I'm not exactly an outsider. At this point, some of the men in the group tend to waylay me after the meetings, to ask for my phone number and/or address. Sometimes they ask for copies of my writing, so they can jot down a few pointers for me that they present me with at the following meeting. If they sense that I'm not interested in following their advice to the letter, they either a) join the "cold shoulder group, or b) yell at me over the phone for being "stubborn and in danger of never making it as a writer because I'm not open to critisism", or c) show up at my house to thrust my copies into my hand and tell me they regret the time they took out of their precious lives to go over my work. Or d) invite me to go sailing or out for coffee or (insert cliche of your choice) with them so we can "go over my writing in a serene setting without interruption".

My good memories are: Okay I can't really think of any actual memories, but I did learn a few new, important writing skills that helped me improve my art. And I learned that I am courageous in the face of absolute negativaty (velly velly important for anyone at all in this sad woild).

When I lived on Texada Island some years ago, I participated in a lot of public poetry readings. These were both positive and negative experiences. Sometimes my poetry was well received. Other times I sensed the audience mentally scratching their heads as they struggled to understand where I was coming from. I know what it is to look out at a small audience, and see them lost in the beauty of my words ... and I know the loneliness of standing behind a podium, defiantly continuing on even though I can see that the entire crowd ... it's obvious ... has made up its mind that I am "not one of them". It's a mixed bag. Sometimes I wonder why I continue to join clubs, since I'm obviously not a club person, but here I am again....

I've found information on a writer's club here in my city, that meets only five times a year (a big plus imo). Other than that, they hold bi-monthly public poetry readings at local cafe's, and put together anthologies with their poetry and other writing. My hope is that I'll learn something new, and possibly, meet someone I can relate with. I'm stronger than I look, I can take rejection. I'm going to check it out.

I've found information on a local photography club as well. They meet September through June, twice a week. According to the pamphlet I found at the library, they have club competitions, and, more importantly, they have guest speakers and presentations on photographic subjects. The club is a member of the local arts council, so if nothing else, I might make some connections. Who knows.

I seem to be a gluton for punishment, lol .... sigh .... anyway....