Sasquatch Nights: A Banff Fairytale
My first writing residency is over and here's what it was like...
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From doing my first public reading to ravens as large as cats (I have Terese to thank for that analogy) and finding the most wonderful group of writers, the Winter Writers’ Residency defied my expectations at every turn. I haven’t had a chance to process all the beautiful moments that we shared, but I would like to put down a few thoughts on what made this experience so special, while my memory is still fresh.
Sasquatch nights: a Banff fairytale
On Saturday night, I was feeling a little glum. My daughter was turning eight years old across the Atlantic and I was feeling very guilty. I had prepared as much as I could for her birthday party, but it was hard not to be there. As a stay-at-home for almost 12 years with intermittent periods of work, I had never not been there. My absence felt heavy with symbolism.
I had asked my bestfriend Nycki to join me for a week in Banff so we could spend some time together. That night, we were at Maclab Bistro and I was sipping lavender-mint tea and ready to call it a night and throw a pity party in my room. At the table next to us was a the beginning formation of a group I will call the Winter Writers’ Dance Crew — poetry mentor and kick-ass human Danez, the brilliant poet and playwright Sumiya and the equally luminous journalist and writer Pacinthe. Sumiya had already suggested via our Whatsapp group that we attend the Canada Stomp at the Dancing Sasquatch. (This is possibly the most Canadian sentence I’ve ever written in my life!)
Danez’s energy was infectious (It’s our only Saturday night in Banff!) so we piled into a taxi around 10pm and headed to the Dancing Sasquatch. Already packed, we hightailed it to High Rollers bowling alley/dance club and danced until midnight. The DJ played ‘90s hiphop which I adore and I felt a weight come off my shoulders.
Our mentor Omar El Akkad came to pick us up in Banff and we arrived just after midnight. In Abidjan it was 7 hours ahead and I was able to call my daughter and wish her happy birthday before her party started.
I wrote a poem about this magical night and shared it at my public reading; the title of this post is the title of the poem. Steeped in ‘90s nostalgia with an extended metaphor about the sasquatch, this poem is also an homage to the incredible people at this writing residency and to recapturing my fleeting youth, albeit briefly.
But it’s mostly a love letter to my daughter.
Our writing studios were for visual artists
There is having a room of one’s own to write in — and then there is having a visual artist’s studio with three desks, a couch and skylights — basically, an apartment! On the final day, we were supposed to return our keys by 4:00pm, but I lingered in the studio for another 30 minutes to soak up those final moments of writing.
Whenever I needed a break from writing, which was every four hours or so, I would go for a walk. But nature inevitably would find us before we even set foot on a trail. These adorable mule deer became residents on campus in their own right.
Permission to invent
I was able to meet with my poetry mentor Danez twice. I have to admit the first meeting was a bit of a mess for me, because I had three poems and wanted to discuss the structure of my book. As most writers know, the structure tends to reveal itself once you’ve written the bulk of the poems! The truth is I hadn’t finished a new poem in ages and was feeling creatively blocked.
Danez gave me permission to invent poetic forms that reflected the content of my book and it opened the floodgates. I couldn’t stop creating. And there is so much joy in that.
Campfire hangs
I’m kind of new to campfire hangs. (Also, I have been repeatedly told not to say campfire hang — it’s just campfire, but I can’t stop myself!) Poet Fareh — and Person Who I Clung to on Day 1 Because He Was So Kind — made the suggestion and I was so happy I attended. Danez turned out to be our resident Bear Grylls and the fire was soon burning.
We had brought paper and pens. Danez asked us to write on two separate scraps of paper (1) one thing we think about about ourselves that we wanted to burn and (2) one thing we wanted to invite. (Apparently, smoke is an invitation.)
For (1) I wrote “that my poetry is derivative” and for (2) I wrote “fearlessness”. For some reason I had fallen into the trap of thinking that everything I wrote had to be polished from the get-go, but the truth is there is so much to be learned from being messy. And nobody has to see your bad drafts!
Words of Wisdom from Omar
Despite not being a part of the fiction/nonfiction cohort, I managed to steal 30 minutes away from Omar so I could unload some of my worries about my book in progress.
In my creative work, I explore my bilingual (English-French) heritage and my connection to Côte d'Ivoire, which emerges through the lens of language and cultural identity. My exploration of the tension between inherited languages and forged identities led me to study Nouchi, a powerful form of linguistic resistance that emerged from the streets of Abidjan.
I’m a white woman with immense privilege writing about another culture and country. I know good intentions are not enough. I wanted to know how I could do this project and ensure I was de-centering myself and centering Nouchi where it mattered.
And Omar, in his dry and inimitable way, told me that you’re always going to be criticized — and some of those criticisms may be valid. But you have to figure out why this work matters to you — what your non-negotiables are — so that you not only have a way of responding to criticism, but you also have a grounding mechanism when you are engaging with the work.
I’m still figuring out the best way to articulate my why beyond the obvious and I hope to share it with you soon.
Stage fright
Since December 2011, I’ve mostly lived in countries whose official language is not English, so reading poetry in front of a live audience was new to me. I’ve done the occasional Zoom reading, but I even got nerves doing those. (I used to do jumping jacks beforehand to get the nerves out.)
Jumping jacks were not an option for my public reading last Thursday. The anxiety was slowly building as the week progressed and I had shared it with every person in the group. I also knew — logically — that this was the most generous group of writers I had ever been with, and that it would be a safe space in the auditorium.
I was still editing my three new poems an hour before the reading was supposed to begin. When I entered the room and saw my name on the screen, I felt proud and also terrified. But there was also a sense of camaraderie and warmth that helped my stress dissipate.
Danez shared something with the audience that I loved. He talked about poetry readings being an exchange, a sort of call and response. You can “mmmm…” when you really feel what a poet is saying or you can snap your fingers to show your appreciation of a well-turned line. The idea that I was not performing in a vacuum was comforting.
I knew I was going to be the sixth reader out of seven, but I found myself getting lost in the other poets’ words. We had performers, who really knew how to deliver lines with a gravitas and feeling — and in some cases, velocity (Santé, Misha!) — that was extraordinary.
When Danez introduced me, he said — right out of the gate: This poet is really nervous so let’s make her feel welcome! Then he told me to channel my inner Beyonce.
Let me tell you, you do not want someone to utter the name Beyonce before you are about to speak. That was a comparison I did not need. I’ll admit I felt my voice quaver a bit at the beginning, but then I started to hit my stride and I felt this audible hum of support from my peers that helped me get through it.
I read three new poems and triumphantly left the podium with a newfound faith in overcoming obstacles.
I’ll probably return to my residency in a later post. For now, all I can say is that I am so grateful to have had this experience and been a part of this group!
And what I want say to other poets and writers out there is that you can also do a writing residency. I never thought I would be selected for this residency, but I applied for it anyway…because if we’re going to live this creative life, then dreaming big is a fundamental part of it.
Thank you for reading about my Banff fairytale! May you have your own.
With love and intention,
Cara