A Little Bit of Fuel
For living
Boozhoo, indinawemaaganidog! Aaniin! That is to say hello, all of my relatives! Welcome to another edition of An Irritable Métis. I’m writing from a hotel room in Berkeley, California, as I am in town for the Bay Area Book Festival. I’ve been on the road now for two weeks straight and that will continue through June. Word on the street is that while I’ve been away Missoula has cracked 90° before June even showed up and that is troubling. I’m hoping it’s just an anomaly. I am fortunate because the weather here in Northern California has been gorgeous. The traffic though … not so much.
Busy or not, I do intend to get a few more posts than usual out in the next couple weeks. The next edition of the monthly sentences will arrive in a day or two, of course. And don’t forget, IndigiPalooza MT is just two months away! A big update is coming soon. In fact I’d be doing that this evening if I didn’t find my laptop so inefficient a tool for working in that environment but I promise you, it’s coming. All the road time has contributed to a lot of reflection as well, assisted by a couple recent and wonderful books I’ve read. I don’t want that energy to dissipate either.
Your support here in allowing me to do all this is essential and I am grateful beyond words. You have no idea how much the support I get from this newsletter via paid subscriptions means to me. As my friend Leah Sottile recently said via her excellent newsletter: “Hopefully I’ve been clear that when you subscribe to this newsletter, you are not just paying for a newsletter. You’re paying for independent journalism.” While what I do isn’t necessarily “journalism” I think it’s something, and many of you seem to agree. I want to keep it interesting, and vibrant, and that takes a lot of work. If you value what you are getting here, if you’ve got a spare $50 to throw this way for the next year, or can even scrape off $5/month, it is eminently helpful and appreciated. Regardless, I am grateful for your time and attention.
A little more than a week ago I was driving south for a couple gigs in Colorado1 when I stopped in Salt Lake City so I could attend a book event featuring the English fantasy author, Joe Abercrombie. Abercrombie is best known for his original First Law Trilogy, a series which I have recommended more than just about anything else.2 Abercrombie’s work is something that hearkens back to the kind of books that drew me to reading in the first place half-a-century ago, only, generally speaking, much better.
I only knew he was going to be in SLC because I’d looked into the host sponsoring the event, a wonderful store called The King’s English Bookshop, to determine if maybe I could get an engagement in town on my way through myself. I was fortunate to find the Abercrombie’s event was happening the day I’d be there, and as a result fit perfectly with my travel plans. I was happy to be able to spend a night on the road entirely as a fan. The event was held in a church in town and when I arrived thirty minutes prior, ticket in hand, there was already a line snaking around the building and into the parking lot. All told, there had to have been at least 300 people in attendance, if not more. I was thrilled.
I’m not writing to feature Abercrombie, even though he was charming and funny and generous with his time. I’m writing to celebrate books and readers and bookstores and the communities that spring up around them. For me, attending the event was a rare opportunity to be entirely anonymous, which rarely happens because I rarely have time to attend events where I’m not the event, and the dynamic is entirely different. Wonderful and fulfilling yes, but different. As just a road weary old timer in a big crowd I got to be invisible in my attention to everything going on around me and I loved it. Specifically, the conversations of fans utterly dedicated to the worlds and characters that Abercrombie has created, discussing them as they would real people, and the joy that lived in those conversations. It made me very, very happy, and I left the space uplifted.
At its best, this is what art does. It brings people together. Sometimes in the spirit of resistance, and sometimes just for fun, an emotion I might add that, without its frequent and vigorous attention to, makes resistance to anything incredibly difficult to maintain. I don’t care if it’s literature, or music, or visual art or performance … it’s all the same to me in what it does for our communities local and beyond. Art is a joyful celebration in the ceremony of being alive. The event in Salt Lake City was a timely reminder of this.
Books are arguably my favorite, though. They have always been my sanctuary, their characters often my friends.3 One of the after effects of writing Becoming Little Shell is that I did so much reading for research that I almost forgot how to read for pleasure, a situation I’ve been struggling to overcome. With “book thinking” something I’ll likely never be free of again, because there is always going to be either a current or next book churning constantly in the back of my brain, it is still good to be reminded of what it’s like to be a fan. I was a huge fan at the Abercrombie event. Not just of his work but of the spirit expanding among the people experiencing it. Then, a few days later I got to be “just a fan” again watching Craig Childs talk about his new book and the energy of that experience has left me electrified ever since.
I am fortunate that I get to make my living as a writer. I am fortunate that my “job” involves regular exposure and invitations to book festivals, conferences, readings, and book clubs. They are all wonderful, and sometimes I even get paid to do them! Now I am reminded that I need to stay better connected to what brought me here in the first place: being a fan of stories exploding from the minds of others. Joy is fuel for living.
I could go on. But in the spirit of community, I’m wondering: what are some recent experiences of fandom you have had that reminded you of something you truly love? Or reinforced it? Experiences that were transcendent, or almost so, that left you reeling in their wake? Let’s lift us all up together in sharing some joys, eh? I think we could all use a little bit of that. A little bit of fuel for living.
Speaking of Joy
In closing I’m going to take a moment to celebrate my good friend Hannah Hornyak. I met Hannah a couple years ago when I asked them to guard my satchel with their life while I was being photographed for some article on campus at the University of Montana. They excelled at that task and we became friends.4 More recently, when I realized I needed some help transcribing my draft poems accumulated over a year of dedicated writing, I asked Hannah to assist me (they are a poet too!) and they have been very helpful in moving that project forward. Now Hannah has been named the university’s “latest Udall Scholar, a prestigious scholarship honoring the legacies of Morris K. Udall and Stewart L. Udall, whose careers impacted Native American self-governance, health care and the stewardship of public lands and natural resources.” You may read all about it HERE. And please join me in a hearty celebration of Hannah. What an achievement!
First at Paonia Books in Paonia, CO, which was a blast, and then another appearance at the Mountain Words Literary Festival in Crested Butte, also an absolute joy.
Particularly the audio version because the narrator, Steven Pacey, is a genius.
I found a lovely little pocket edition of Jack London’s The Call of the Wild on this trip, a book containing one of those great childhood friends in its main protagonist, Buck.
It’s possible my “Talk to Plants, Not Cops” t-shirt had something to do with our immediate hitting-it-off.
Go Hannah! I am a fan of making friends with folks we meet at random. Upset the algorithm!
Congratulations, Hannah!
My husband and I recently went to vote for our school board and budget, and outside of the auditorium there were several displays of student art. It was so wonderful I wanted to cry. You can tell that the kids there are well supported, and it just filled me with hope.