A Year for Creativity, Boundaries and Balance

As we come to the end of one calendar year and begin to look to a new one, I wholeheartedly declare 2019 as a year devoted to family, storytelling, art, language, and creativity. I’ve just come from a wonderful family vacation to Disney World and Universal Studios in Florida, and I’m overwhelmed by the attention to detail I saw at both Disney World and The Wizarding World of Harry Potter. I’m especially moved by the power and cohesiveness of our experience at Disney World.

We stayed at the Polynesian Resort (which was gorgeous) and spent time in Epcot (Ione, our eldest daughter wanted to meet Elsa—which we did in Norway), the Magic Kingdom, Hollywood Studios and the Animal Kingdom (where we went on the best adult ride of our trip—Flight of Passage). We watched magical and thoughtful shows, laughed through the sometimes stressful nature of navigating vast crowds, and embraced watching the girls revel in the splendour of seeing familiar stories and characters brought to life.

A picture of our hotel lobby - definitely a gorgeous place!

And while I have no doubt that there’s a commercial driver to the excellence we encountered, we were charmed by the cast members of Disney World and their commitment to creating and fostering the Disney experience. A small and standout example of this was our hostess at the Akershus Banquet Hall in Norway who spoke five languages and shared with us that everyone working at the restaurant was Norwegian.

It was this kind of detail that just absolutely impressed, inspired and made me believe in achieving my own dreams. I walked away from that dining experience thinking—I can absolutely become a speaker of five languages. Of course it’s possible! Story. Language. Art. Creativity. It’s all possible. And more than possible really—it’s necessary.

In a sense, every year of the last five has been devoted to these pursuits. After all, creativity has carried me through all the other types of work I do. But over the past two years, I’ve had to spend most of my time engaged with specific content as I completed various tasks and learned new skills to complete my dissertation. That experience was both engrossing and taxing. I’ve enjoyed learning the skills, but felt many times like I was losing my voice in the writing process—something I never want to experience in school or anywhere else. And there is no denying that this resulted in less time for writing my books and language learning.

But writing, painting, living and healing on paper—this is what I do. This is the place where I feel most centred, calm, alive, and connected. There is strength and power in being in this place—even if it isn’t as regarded as “formal work”, be that doctoral work or career/job work. It’s the place where I can celebrate being Ogwehoweh and work through my personal experiences of colonialism. It’s the way I break cycles, encounter and dismantle ego, acknowledge hard truths, let go, and create original, authentic work that rings true for me. The kind of work I can look at and be happy I spent time doing (even though I’m always learning a new skill or insight that could have improved or strengthened it). There is a tremendous joy that comes from doing creative work and I know I’m not the only person to experience or speak out about this, but it bears repeating—it is an awesome thing to foster and nurture creativity. The kind of work that only you can create. And this year, I plan to devote myself to my creative work, to getting better at the various skills my creative work involves, and bringing new stories into the world.

A little picture I painted of me, Ione and Vivian!

This brings me to the last thing our trip helped remind me of: the value and precious nature of time. It was beyond heartening to spend so much uninterrupted time with my children. To be able to be with them every moment of every day, to see their faces as we went on rides or saw new things. To hear them voice their thoughts, feelings and ideas. It reminded me that while there are a lot of things I could do with my time—I know to who and what I most want to give that time to. And so, 2019 will be a time for family, language, story and creativity. A time for voice, healthy boundaries and balance. These are small, humble goals on the grand scale of happenings in our world, (and certainly less specific than I’ve been about goal-setting in the past), but these are the goals that nonetheless feel right and meaningful to me. And with that, I will enter into this new calendar year filled with excitement and gratitude.

Wishing you and yours a wonderful year!

S.

Cheer Yourself On

A new, as of yet untitled painting I finished recently.

I took a vacation this past week and it was incredible. I listened to music. I binge-watched Supergirl. I relaxed. I did some art. I did some writing. I went to see Paw Patrol Live. It was amazing. It was like I spent time just existing and it was so, so refreshing. I also went for lunch with my husband and we spoke mostly Cayuga to one another. We also spoke Cayuga at the dinner table with the girls several times through the week.

I have to say, it was pretty amazing to know that even though it’s taken a long time—it’s happening. I’m learning language. I’m using language. We’re all using it—together, as a family. We’re filling our house with Cayuga and we can do even more if we continue to work at it. I needed to recognize this simple, good progress this week. I needed to give our family an enormous burst of love and affection for being awesome and encourage us to keep being awesome—to keep trying. We don’t do that enough. Cheer ourselves on. Encourage ourselves.

I am a busy person. Busy with work, busy with school. Busy with writing and art projects. Sometimes these different types of busyness blend together, as it did a few weeks ago when I presented at an Indigenous education conference I helped to organize. For a brief moment while I was standing there next to my PowerPoint (lol), it felt like all these different parts of myself got to exist in one space for twenty minutes or so: writer, researcher, language learner, mother, wife, artist. It felt good to feel them come together—even for a second—because it can be truly exhausting to pursue all of these different things all at once throughout the year. Hard to feel like there is enough space to be all of those things. And even though it’s hard, the truth is—I don’t want to give up any of it. It’s all connected. It all feeds each other.

This week was important then, because I got to think about how grateful I am that any of those things are in my life at all (rather than lament that I have so many interests, which I’m prone to do from time to time). I’ve worked a long, long time to have things like writing and language be in my life and moving forward from here—these are the things I am going to continue to prioritize. But the truth is, I’m going to prioritize all of it. Doing this means I need to continue to be careful with my time. Fortunately, I’ve learned some valuable lessons the last little while about what kind of space and energy I need to create for that work to flourish, and about how important it is to value my time and create boundaries around it so that I can be helpful, healthy and peaceful.

Part of this reflection and recommitment to being careful with my time comes from my ongoing reading about the concept of “deep work”. But it also comes from just living and experiencing the highs and lows of life—and the last few months have been filled with high points and low points. The high points were finding out that two proposals I worked on in May of this year were both approved. I’m excited about both of them for completely different reasons. The first project was for funding for a language immersion program for the Cayuga language. I’ve spent the better part of the last six years thinking about language and the Ogwehoweh Language Degree program, reading literature, talking with speakers and learners, hearing various kinds of feedback and then reflecting on how to improve and grow the language programming at my place of work. One of the most pressing issues I (and others) have observed is the need for an influx of highly proficient Cayuga language speakers and teachers for the degree (or any language program) to be sustainable in the years to come. Case in point—my husband was teaching three nights a week this term. My husband is an awesome speaker, but this isn’t a sustainable model for the program or my family. There is no question that adult immersion with effective teaching strategies and a well-laid out curriculum is the best and most expedient way to create new adult language speakers. And so, the proposal was written with these ideas in mind. There is a lot to say about this project, and I hope to share more about it as it moves forward, but for now, it is wonderful to have this opportunity to do this work.

The second proposal was for funding to host an Ogwehoweh Storytelling Festival. I’m excited for this one because ever since I started sharing my writing and books, a lot of people from my community have approached me with questions about writing and storytelling—many of them have writing and storytelling aspirations of their own. While I’m happy to share what I’ve learned with anyone, I thought it would be even more amazing to organize a festival where people could learn from other Indigenous writers and storytellers from Six Nations because Six Nations is a community where there are so many talented writers and storytellers working across multiple media. The planning is in the preliminary stages but the festival will happen in the fall of 2019, but in the lead up to it, there will be seven seminars focussing on a different topic (short story, poetry, script-writing, etc) that people can sign up for. I’m super excited for it and will be sharing more about it through my work.

Of course, where there are highs, there are lows. I don’t have as much to say about these, because I am fortunate that they pass with time, sleep, art, and music. I always find that for me, the lows are much more internal than external. Self-doubt. Self-criticism. Feeling like you aren’t doing enough or doing things the way other people think you need to do them. It’s times like these that I’m most happy to be a writer and an artist. Because I can watch something like Neil Gaiman’s “Make Good Art” speech and remember that I’m not here solely to please anyone or live up to anyone’s expectations of who I am. And when those kinds of thoughts creep in—I can let them go, let those people go, and focus on making the art that only I can make. Being the best version of myself that I can be. And celebrate that in myself and others. It’s a good place to land, I think. And land I did.

Anyways—these are some of the projects that I’m about to dive into as I return from the break, along with more books, writing, teaching, revising of dissertations, and language learning. It is a full life. A happy life. And even though it feels crazy and overwhelming at times—I’m grateful for all of it.

Anyways, I am jumping back in now. There are so many writing projects and books coming. It’s going to be fabulous. So happy creating everyone! And don’t forget to cheer yourself on every once in awhile :).

S.

Language & Art & Red Rising Magazine

Over the last year and a half, I’ve done a lot of writing that has yet to find its way into the world. There are a ton of short stories and poems, blog posts and partial novel drafts sitting on my computer patiently waiting their turn to make their way into the world. And when all is said and done with my dissertation work, I intend to release most of that writing—to pair it up with the art I’ve done over the last two years and set it free into the world to find the people that it’s meant to.  

I’ve written before about what it’s like to try and stay focussed on a research project while so many terrible things keep happening in the world. In short—it’s been difficult. But in other ways, having to focus so intensely on something and to produce a dissertation in a relatively tight timeframe has been good for me. It’s made me question what I’m really doing with my time and why. It’s made me think about what it is that I really want. And as more time goes on, it’s made me think about the audience I’m writing and creating for. The who. The why. 

Ultimately, I realize that the majority of my efforts are for my children. So that they know the truth about who we are as Indigenous Peoples of Turtle Island, that they understand what our responsibilities are, and that they have some insight into how their mother tried to fulfill those responsibilities in environments that were not always supportive or welcoming. I want them to see how when things were difficult for me—our stories, knowledges, songs and ceremonies anchored me and helped me withstand and weather all manner of storms. And I want them to know and see that I valued language enough to make time to learn it well enough to speak every day, even when the pathways I was on (earning a doctorate, for example) were pointing me in a very different direction (i.e., writing articles, presenting at conferences, teaching grad courses). 

You cannot split yourself very many ways before it begins to impact the quality of your effort, your health and your ability to produce good work. For me—I’ve come to the realization that the biggest contribution I can make is not to the field in which I research (education)—but in my ability to be able to speak our languages with my family, and most especially—with my children. I’m grateful to have gained some clarity at the end of this huge educational journey, about what my priorities really need to be.

That said, there are many things in this world that I value deeply, some of which have emerged out of western mainstream knowledge systems. I’ve visited elders in hospitals or nursing homes and been grateful there are facilities and western medicines that support their care. And I’ve been a part of ceremonies that you don’t really study for in school—that you learn by taking part in community, by having a community that is willing to help you learn, and a community that even after experiencing a lot of adversity, is still very committed to helping each other. All of this appreciation factors into how I see the world, how I make my choices, and how I think about or evaluate those choices after I’ve had some distance from them. Sometimes, I have to make adjustments. Sometimes, I have to make a new choice. 

My point is—that amidst all of this academic activity, thought and action, there are things that have helped me that I will always be grateful for. Experiences that helped me understand what I value at my core, and helped me find other people who share those values. Encounters that have helped me think about how I could be helpful. 

Language is one of those things. Definitely, absolutely. So is writing. And so is art. 

All of which brings me to a bit of exciting news!

A few months ago, I submitted a small piece of art to Red Rising Magazine that I made for an article my sister wrote, along with a small explanation of the piece and where it came from. I’m super happy to share that all of these pieces appear in the most recent edition of Red Rising Magazine which launched recently! It’s the language edition, and it’s available for order here. I hope you have a chance to check it out. It’s the first time that my art is appearing in a magazine and I’m super excited for it. It’s wonderful to flip through the pages and see a lot of beautiful art and stories about people who love Indigenous languages. And it comes at a time where I’m able to make even more space in my life for language—which is timely all on its own.

I love this piece. It's especially cool because this was the 100th piece I completed. I made this painting for Red Rising Magazine but displayed a working progress version of it at Woodlands Cultural Centre for Indigenous Art 2018. It's special for a lot of reasons!

Anyways, this is just a small, fun writing/art update in the midst of all the crazy work/life/research excitement that I am super grateful to be able to share. I hope you're having a great summer and I look forward to sharing more exciting news very soon! 

Nya:weh and happy creating!

S.

A Writing Date

I ventured out of my house today (a rare occurrence for me), and by myself (an even rarer one). I think I just needed to recharge, really. To get out of the space I’ve been immersed in for the last several days and go somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t the house. As much as I love my house and the forest that surrounds it, my dissertation has taken it over in so many ways, and I’ve been feeling that creativity, family, art and writing need to reclaim it. But first, it was like they need to reclaim me. 

I travelled to the lovely town of Paris, which is situated alongside the Grand River, and falls within the Haldimand Tract. I had lunch in a cozy restaurant right next to the river, a welcoming place with a modern feel. I drank water and ate an absolutely delicious veggie pizza (that was served with these fabulous toasted chips) and felt proud of myself for making such a healthy choice. Sitting there with my iPad, I realized I carry these lingering concerns about loitering—a holdover perhaps from being a teenager and always feeling like I couldn’t be anywhere for longer than twenty minutes without buying something, and was once again filled with gratitude and appreciation for our house. 

Having a house has made such a difference to my creative life. Really and truly. There is a lot to be said about being able to stay in one place and just keep going with whatever project it is that I’m working on. I know how important a safe space is to so many people, for so many reasons, and I will always remind myself and my children to not take it for granted. But I digress. (I noticed while editing this that I do that a lot in this post and I hope you will forgive me!). 

Anyways. As I was sitting there eating, a little bird came and sat by the window, and flew away when I attempted to take its picture. Which was completely understandable. Aren’t we all of us, a little too photographed these days? I don’t know for sure which peoples, (if any), believe that photography will steal their soul or what their teachings or ideas are around that, but lately, I’ve been wondering if perhaps there isn’t something to that. Today I found myself reflecting on what self imagery might do to one’s sense of personal story, and recalled that we actually do have our own teachings about that with the story of the corn husk dolls. I wondered if we are too exposed, if some force calls to us, and makes us feel like we need to share so much of our lives. I wondered about how we answer that call, and if doing so makes it more difficult to have a life we can truly enjoy, treasure, and hold sacred. (“Pictures or it didn’t happen,” as Amanda Palmer sings on one of my favourite songs). I wondered a lot of things, I guess, and reached no real conclusions. Just sat, and thought, and wrote. And continued taking pictures to mark my visit. 

Bird, in flight. 

One thing I did realize sitting there, was that I really do take a ton of photographs. There are no fewer than 11,000 photographs on my phone. Pictures of forest, and water, and Cayuga paradigms. Pictures of my art, or of things that inspired me in the moment. Pictures of special occasions, many of which center around my husband and my daughters. I realized that despite any concerns or misgivings I have about them, I truly do love and value pictures. Pictures help us to share our stories and our truths. And lately, I’ve been feeling like I need some help in this area, especially since there are so many stories I want to write. Isenne. Cora. Rowen. Each of them have a story that is so vivid and alive in my mind. I think about them all of the time, and I want more than anything to have the time and space to write them. But i can’t because I’ve been consumed with trying to finish my dissertation, a mountain I feel like I have to climb before I can really focus on exploring language, writing and art the way I long to. I’m much closer to that goal now, and I hope to have completed a draft (a very rough draft, to be sure), over the next few days, which means that I will finally be able to start getting back to doing the kind of writing I actually love. So my adventure was really about trying to reconnect with my stories, and see what work I had to do to rebuild a relationship and familiarity with them. And so, I went on this little writing date. Just me, my computer, and my notebooks. 

The pieces from my cousin's store.

It was, quite honestly, the best thing I could have done. I managed to work through some of the stumbling blocks I was having with each of my stories and quickly saw that I was experiencing a similar challenge with each of them. I made some good notes, finished up my visit to Paris (including a quick stop at my cousin Julie’s consignment store where I bought two lovely pieces of pottery) and when I got home from my adventures, I got straight to work. I took out my post-it notes, my whiteboard, my whiteboard markers, and proceeded to strengthen (and in one case, create entirely anew) three outlines that will help guide my daily writing and carry these three novels to completion. It was honestly, a very wonderful day. I’m so incredibly grateful to have been able to enjoy this day and work on stories I care so much about. And as a result of today’s work, I hope to have a few new projects ready to come out this fall! 

Happy creating everyone,

S.

An Author Visit to An Awesome Class

Today I made my first author visit to a school in my community, and it was absolutely amazing. For those of you who don’t know, I live in Six Nations of the Grand River, a First Nation community on Turtle Island (what is also referred to as North America). My community is one of the largest First Nation communities in Canada, and like all First Nation communities—it has a systemically underfunded education system and is recovering from the assimilation policies of the federal government. There’s all kinds of nuance and complexity in just this paragraph alone, but suffice it to say that I grew up in Six Nations and have since built my family home here, and my love for my community and the schools in my community runs deep. (I also work at an Indigenous post-secondary education institute located at Six Nations). 

The school I visited today is one that places high value on the transmission of language and culture, having programs in both Cayuga language immersion and English. I was grateful to be invited to the school, and more than a little overwhelmed by the response of the students to the book they had read as a class, The School That Ate Children. The students were welcoming, energetic, curious, and engaged. Some of them were kind enough to share their stories with me, which were so creative and really made apparent the vibrant, natural capacity for storytelling that kids have. 

Since I’ve started sharing my books, I’ve received some of the most amazing messages from readers in my community, and I’m never quite sure how to talk about them. It means more than I can say that younger readers get excited about my books and the characters in my books, and that it makes them want to write their own stories. And one of my favourite stories ever is of a teacher reading my story The Fortune Teller’s Daughter and reviewing it on her radio show and giving it ten scones (a comparison I think may only be fully appreciated if one is from my or another Haudenosaunee community, but for the purposes of this post is a kind of fried biscuit that is super popular and delicious). And three weeks ago, I received a lovely gift of story pictures, student cover renderings, and summaries from a teacher who was the first to read one of my books to her class last year (and has since read it again with her class this year)—which was amazing and so, so kind. I'm not great at promoting my work—I tend to keep a ridiculously low profile, but this—this I want to share and talk about. This beautiful work that these students did, letters, and pictures, and stories of their own. It is too awesome to not share. 

The students decorated the door like the cover of the book!

The students and their teacher made cut-outs of their favourite characters!

A picture of me posing in front of the awesome door!

For so many reasons—these messages of support and enjoyment mean the world to me. I will never stop being grateful that my books are finding readers who enjoy them, and I am especially happy that some of those readers are from my home community. This, more than anything, makes me want to keep writing, to write with even greater care, and fun, and imagination, and love.

On that note, gwahs oweh nya:weh to all of you who have read my books and shared your enjoyment of them with me. It brings me more joy and happiness that I can possibly convey. Until next time, happy creating!

S.

P.S. One of my favourite moments was this little exchange:

A student saying. "I think I'm going to cry."

Student sitting across from them: "Again?"

Me: "Did you cry?"

First Student nodding: "I teared up at the end. It was so beautiful!" 

The happy book cry. One of the best of all possible cries :).