How a Story Comes to Own an Orgy

Last night I told stories of Dangers of the Sea, with Nicole Lavigne, at the Tea Party. The fun thing about storytelling, unlike stories in print, is that stories can continue to evolve, fed by your mood and the audience's mood.

For example, here's how my story The Last Siren evolved:

First showing, 5 years ago, at a fundraiser in Montreal:  "It's gonna be sexy. It's gonna be super dark. And there's gonna be singing. Awesome.  Oooh, there are a lot of kids here for a late night show.  Oooh.  Maybe less dark.  And definitely less sexy. But totally still singing. Maybe without the swearing. Maybe."

When selecting stories for this show: "I'm gonna tell that dark, sexy siren story. Totally."

Rehearsing for the show: "It's dark. Too dark?  Am I in the mood for dark? ... am I ever not in the mood for dark?"

Still rehearsing: "My second story has man-eating rats in it. Do I need to be that dark in both stories?  Really? I mean, yes for the rats. That's just freaky. But the last siren?  Two really dark stories? Maybe I'll lighten it up."

Day of show: "Good. Lighter.  Funnier.  More charming. That'll balance out man-eating rats nicely."

During show itself: "Let's get everyone in this story nekked! Ha ha ha!!"

After the show: "...I just totally told an orgy story.  With my mom in the audience."

Don't miss the second telling of this fun show on Friday, October 10, at The West End Well (969 Wellington Street West, Ottawa), at 7 pm.  Let's see how this sucker evolves this time! 

The Iliad - Seeking the Light

Last weekend, right after an awesome book launch (thanks to everyone who came!), I was at a two-day rehearsal of the Iliad (June 14, National Arts Centre).  All 18 tellers gathered, many from our 2012 journey with Homer's Odyssey, and many new faces, as well, joining us on this epic journey.

Producers Jan Andrews and Jennifer Cailey lead us through a series of exercises to deepen our understanding of the story and the characters.  The Iliad, for those of who you haven't read it in a while (or at all), is a very dark tale.  It's the story of the end of the decade-long siege of Troy by the Greeks. The warriors are weary and homesick, the battles are harsh and bloody (and there is lots of tripe), and the emotions are raw. We brought Odysseus home from the fields of Troy last year through the Odyssey, and I think only now do I understand why he was so weary. Not just because of the horrible journey home, but also because of everything that preceeded it.

Homer also intended to drive home the point that everyone on that battlefield came from a home and still had loved ones, somewhere, waiting for them. When the text was chopped, which it needed to be for length alone, they ensured those moments weren't lost. Because, without understanding who falls on the fields of Troy, we can't really grasp the full impact of the story.  It'll make for a lot of memorization of names, that's for sure!

I had a strange moment during this weekend that I shall now ungracefully unpack right here on this blog. I'm the second teller (after the introduction setting up the story) to march through the fields of Troy, so I was done my bit early this weekend. No longer worried about remembering my own part, I immersed in the rest of the story much more fully than I usually would.

There came a piece in the story where Achilles learns of the death of his best friend (and potentially lover), Patroclus.  He's devastated, grief-struck. It's raw and painful to watch this greatest of heroes come undone at the news, guilt-wracked that he was responsible for his friend's passing. The friend who came to give Achilles the news asks that Achilles give him his knife, lest he slit his throat in grief.

The teller told this piece beautifully, but the line didn't jump out at any of us. It's a dark text, so talk of potential suicide wasn't that surprising. Then, Jan and Jennifer asked that the teller understand the depths of Achilles' despair.  To understand the knife as more than an object, but also as a character.

Suddenly, this throw away line become pivotal to the story.  This is where everything could have ended.  This is where Achilles could have marched quietly to the Halls of Hades to join his friend, and left the bloody fields of Troy behind. This was the moment where Achilles fell at his lowest, because he might have taken his own life. The teller was asked to go around the circle of tellers and do various exercises, including convincing us that we, as Achilles, needed to take the knife.

We did lots of exercises like this over the weekend, but this one stood out for me. I rarely have trigger moments - I consider myself a very non-triggery person, overall.  But as that knife was being requested time and time again, give me the knife for I fear you may slit your throat with grief, I remembered a time long ago when I asked the same of a close friend.  Give me the car keys, for I fear you will drive yourself to your death. 

There's more in that line than a request, and I suddenly understood the whole baggage of it. It's not just about taking the knife. It's about a promise, too.  Give me the knife, and I shall take care of you. I'll make sure you see tomorrow, and that somehow it gets brighter.  I'll find out how to help. I'll learn what I don't know, and I'll listen and cry with you, and even should the darkness never lift, I'll still be there. Because I'm terrified of this knife, and of the silence it promises. Because I don't want to know that world where the knife was used.

Understanding of the Iliad becomes raw when you begin to peer into its darkness, and superimpose it with your own. Shades of gray turn to black with little warning. An innocuous force squeezes your heart into tiny little pulp.

But the light is still there.  The light, it's more there because of the darkness.  One teller began describing the new armour of Achilles, given to him by his godly mother who knows it will not save him. She knows Achilles is fated to die on the fields of Troy. But she gives him a better armour, either out of hope that it might make a difference after all, or perhaps as a final gesture of love. We don't know - Homer didn't say. But we can imagine.

And when Achilles donned his resplendent armour, it was beautiful.  The armour captured that beauty, but it was the silence around his actions that made the light shine at that moment.  It was the belief in what he was doing, why he was doing it, and how he still took the time to admire his new armour that would more than likely see his doom.

Even as he dressed for a battle he doubted he would return from, we found beauty and light in that moment.  Because he found it. So, through the characters, we find the darkness and the light, in moments reflected by our own experiences and psyche.

We're working now on finding a way to end this full day of telling.  A moment that brings back the light.  A moment above the fields of Troy, closer to the sun, where listeners will get to remember the beauty in the darkness.

We haven't found it yet, but I've no doubt Jennifer and Jan will. They've both fought their own battles and have always found the light. They will for us again, once more.

Until then, however, I personally don't mind the darkness. It reminds me of the importance of memory and history. Of the loved ones waiting back home, away from the battle. Of the friends still standing on the battlefield with me.

Of the importance of seeking the light, no matter how far we may fall.

First Iliad Meeting

In June, the Ottawa Storytellers will be hosting The Iliad, produced by 2Women Productions.  We're taking things a bit backward - we did The Odyssey in 2012. But, still, what a journey!

I have to admit that, at some point during the journey of preparing for The Odyssey, I felt I would never undertake something that big again. I've done big shows and cooperative ones - The Kymeras' Bouddica show comes foremost to mind, as well as our recent Evelyn: A Time Travel Love Story. But three or four performers are nothing compared to 18.  Or to twelve hours of telling.

One of the most important steps of preparing for any set is immersing in the story. It's figuring out its quirks and substituting part of our soul with the soul of the story. It's similar to what writers do, except more so, since storytellers have to physically conveny the tale as well as with words.  It's a fabulous but at times draining journey.

Immersing in The Odyssey was tough for me. At heart, it's a story about post-traumatic stress disorder, so it's not an easy topic to tackle. Plus, the language was a barrier.  The epic language isn't the same as the language of the fantastic and I had a steep hill to climb to master that part of the English language. I hadn't struggled with my adopted beloved language in a while, but there I struggled a lot.

We also had to condense the story down so it would work with 18 tellers.  The Odyssey is huge, after all.  We had to cut some stuff, and we had to make sure the same stuff was cut throughout the tale. So it was a lot of work, and with books and cons, it's a lot of work piled on top of a lot of work, all while marching to someone else's drum.

I was excited to tell The Odyssey, but I was also just looking forward to getting it done.

And then the day of the show came and enthusiastic listeners arrived as we were still warming up. And the room darkened and candles danced and we all stood, all 18 tellers, and said (unrehearsed), one after the other, something that the story is...

"I am the black sails."
"I am Ithaca."
"I am a father's heart."

... one after the other, flowing into one another, a perfect performance that could never be repeated. Not in the same way.

Teller after teller then took the stage, taking up the thread of the story.  I cried when Odysseus finally held his family.  I cheered when he killed the suitors.

And I realized that all of that work had made it all the more real. That, in a very small way like Odysseus' own long journey, the longer and more difficult the ride, the better it was in the end.

Then I knew, without a doubt, that I would do this again and again, for as long as I was asked, because I had learned and overcome so much that to say no would be to cheat myself.

So today, in just a few minutes, we're kicking off The Iliad. We've all read Rieu's translation and we're ready to start the work.  Look out, next seven months.  You're going to be a wild ride!

Weekend Shtuff!

Don't miss out tomorrow evening (free stories!):

And then I'll be at the Ottawa Geek Market.   Roomy and I are sharing a booth, so if you're still wondering if I made her up, come and say hi!  ... of course, now that I've said that, she'll get kidnapped by ogres for the weekend. Again.

See you around!

Celebrating Story

Apart from a few stories at conventions, I haven't really been telling this past year. Last June I had the chance of being part of an epic telling of the Odyssey at Ottawa's National Arts Centre, and then that was it.  I didn't pursue it, and it didn't pursue me for a bit. 

A couple of months ago, the pursuit resumed.  I now have three shows scheduled for October, and I couldn't be more excited.  I'd missed the thrill of the story chase, the stage, and the insanity of performance.  Here's where I'll be, in case you've missed storytelling as much as I have:

Evelyn: A Time Travel Love Story
October 5, 9:30-11 pm, Minto Hotel & Suites, as part of CAN-CON
Join the Kymeras as they weave poetry and story to tell the tale of John and Evelyn, lovers separated by distance but reunited by time. In his quest for science, John leaves his London home to seek out the greatest minds in the world, but it is losing his beloved that launches him on his greatest journey of all.  
The wonderful organizers of CAN-CON are putting together a package for non-con attendees to attend evening entertainment.  I believe it'll be $15, but CAN-CON will be posting about it soon.  Join their Facebook group to keep on top of the latest news!

An Enchanted Afternoon of Storytelling

This is my "ha! I'm funny!" face.

October 18, 4 - 5 pm, University of Ottawa Open House - Medieval and Italian Studies, Simard 125
Italian Studies and Medieval Studies joined forces to bring you a delightful afternoon of professional storytelling. Nationally acclaimed novelist and storyteller Marie Bilodeau, of the Kymeras Group, will give a public performance for students and parents visiting the University of Ottawa. She will weave myths and stories form the Middle ages and the Renaissance, adapting them to a modern sensibility.
This is probably only for people attending the open house.  I wonder how hard it would be to sneak into this?

Scary Stories - Why Not?
October 22, 7-9 pm, Tea Party (119 York St., ByWard Market)
I'll be telling scary stories in company of Kathie Kompass.  My stories will consist of one dark and one funny tale, both speaking to what happens when you fall in love (well, lust) with the wrong person (well, creature). 
This one is pass the hat.  Bring change/bills/heirlooms.

I hope to see you at some of these!  If you can only attend one, I would say try and make the first one.  The Kymeras haven't performed together since the Boudicca show (I leave all things at the National Arts Centre), and we're coming back with an integrated tour de force of storytelling.  Don't miss it! 

The Odyssey: Coming Home

The final post in a series on the Odyssey storytelling adventure.  I undertook this show hoping to challenge myself and grow as a teller. I was not disappointed, and I learned so much more along the way than I could have even imagined.

Saturday was the culmination of almost a year's worth of preparation, as 18 tellers brought Odysseus home to Ithaca in an epic 12-hour production at Ottawa's National Arts Centre.

All the tellers met more than an hour before the doors opened, to get "in the zone" and prepare ourselves for the journey. Epic listening has its challenges - including numb-butt syndrom - but when you're also telling, there's a whole other level of concentration and engagement that's required. So we needed to get ready.

When the house opened, we were amazed at the fullness of the room.  It wasn't a sold out show, but it was still a full house for a 12-hour show.  And these people were into it.  They stuck it out, from beginning to end, and they brought the energy.

The audience shared the tellers' love for words, imagery, irony and well-placed foreshadowing. We knew we were all in for a treat when they laughed at all the right spots.

At the beginning of the day, in the green room, a few tellers and I were wondering if we'd undertake something this epic again. I mean, it's a lot of work.  You have to study the full text, and then really work your portion down to the golden kernel.  You have to study the language, and then, as a group, decide how the characters will be portrayed, and how their names will be pronounced.  Then all the bits have to go together.  Twelve hours is a long time, of course, but the Odyssey is a much longer text to tell, so many cuts were made.  We had to make sure the text still jived.

And, remember, we were 18, with two artistic directors, Jan Andrews and Jennifer Cayley, guiding our words.  That's a lot of coordination, a lot of time, and a lot of work. Their commitment and enthusiasm was unflinching, which kept us all focused.

I admit that, at the beginning of the day, I wasn't sure I would ever undertake such an extravagant storytelling journey again.  But then, Odysseus kissed the sands of his homeland, the loyal dog Argus died after seeing his master's return, and Penelope embraced her long-longed for husband.  And I knew, right there and then, that I would do this again.

Without a doubt, and without hesitation.  And all of the other tellers agreed.

Because, in the end, we realized that our journey had been long and riddled with both beauty and difficulty and, although we faced no real-life cyclops (thankfully) nor did we ride the sea down to the Halls of Hades (again, a good thing), it had still been riddled with challenges and tested our will and faith.  So when the day was over and Odysseus spent a long, lingering night in Penelope's arms, we felt we had come home, too.

A sweet homecoming after a long journey steals our breath and dulls the difficult memories of the journey, amplifying only the amazement at having done it, survived it, not scaring us away from undertaking the next journey, knowing that, at the end, another homecoming awaits us.

And that the journey, in all of its discoveries and marvels, will have been entirely worth it.

Thanks to everyone who made this journey possible, especially 2 Women Productions and the Ottawa Storytellers.  Thanks to Jan and Jennifer for their vision, and for their belief in all of their tellers.  Thanks to all of the tellers who made the day ripe with possibility and wonder!  


And, most of all, thank you for reminding me that the safest paths are rarely the best paths.

Odyssey: Emotional Echoes

This is a guest post by storyteller Dean Verger. Find out more about Dean.


Dean Verger

One of the best known episodes in the Odyssey is the moment Argus, the aged dog of Odysseus recognises his master after a separation of almost 20 years. This episode somehow triggered the thought that we believe in generational differences: I am different from my mother, my father. This is an attitude that may be as old as the industrial age (look, Dad doesn't even know how to handle a loom!) And yet the underlying emotions have not changed in thousands of years. Think of a loss of a pet in our household these days. Now imagine the pet as a working partner, for that was the role Argus played. He was a hunter, and a respected hunter at that.

I see this powerful and cunning leader of men that is Odysseus. Here he sees the dog he trained himself before he left for war. On the one hand he remembers the strong, swift hunter. And now he must compare that memory to the present aged, uncared for partner. Is it any wonder that Odysseus is overcome with emotion, shedding a tear for his old companion?

Thousands of years apart, and I can experience the empathy and sorrow a warrior and a leader felt through the writings of an old storyteller, an author, that was Homer.

Help bring Odysseus home!

Odyssey: Navigating Choppy Waters

Jennifer Cayley

This is a guest post by Jennifer Cayley, co-artistic director of The Odyssey show. She and Jan Andrews, the other co-artistic director, head up 2 women productions, and they put on awesome shows.  Jennifer is also a well-known Canadian storyteller, and she will be performing in the show.

It seems to me that putting the very divergent notions of blog ( short and now) and Homer’s Odyssey, (long and then), together make a pretty good image for this wondrous and intractable project. It has so many disparate strands. Strands that by June 16 will all be woven together for an exceptionally rich and VERY LONG performance.

So what are some of the disparities? There’s the hero Odysseus himself, so wise and strong and so full of human weakness. There’s the text, ancient Greek told in English; a poem offered in prose. Just bringing this very old work into the modern world is in itself a little contradictory. Sometimes it all seems to be happening so long ago and far away and then suddenly you recognize yourself in one of the characters or see the workings of modern world clearly in how everything is unfolding.

Then there’s the process of bringing the story to life. Sometimes it feels like a slog but suddenly the life of the piece shines through and you feel it in your bones. Then you know why you are doing this. There’s all the time to be spent on work shopping and rehearsing but there’s never enough time to really do all that you want to do. And most exciting of all, there are the eighteen tellers, each one with a particular style and a singular passion, eighteen individuals dedicated to telling just one story.

Being co-artistic director brings more strands to me woven together as Jan and I work out our different perspective on text and performance and even publicity, looking for the best way to support the tellers and make sure there is an audience there to savour and explore this grand story with us.

Help us bring Odysseus home!

Odyssey: Onward to Ithaca

I've been quiet on my blog. But everywhere else, well, I haven't been quiet at all!  I'm doing a blog tour right now, so I'm playing everywhere else on the Internet but here.  My poor blog felt dejected, so I thought I'd invite others to come play on my blog!

I'm one of 18 tellers bringing Odysseus home on June 16th, at the National Arts Centre. It's a huge undertaking, to say the least.  I've already rambled on about some of my thoughts, but I thought I'd invite some of the other tellers to come and chat about their experience. 

Let's kick it off today!  The first post is blatantly stolen (bwa ha) from the National Arts Centre blog (Okay, it was stolen with permission), as drafted by the Ottawa Storytellers' Artistic Director, Caitlyn Paxson.  (And I was quoted on the NAC website!  Woo!)
___

Help us bring Odysseus home! Let the NAC Fourth Stage be your ship, and let the Ottawa StoryTellersbe your guide through a world of gods, monsters, and warriors who just want tomake it home from Troy.

On June 16, 2012, Ottawa StoryTellers (OST), a non profitarts organization that presents over one hundred events a year, is undertakingan extraordinary project – a twelve hour performance of the greatest epic inWestern culture – Homer’s Odyssey. As eighteen storytellers at theNational Art Centre’s Fourth Stage weave the tale of the hero’s return from theTrojan War, the audience will be drawn together by the power of Greek myth andtimeless human struggles in love and war. For more information on the show,visit www.ottawastorytellers.ca/odyssey/.

Involving eighteenstorytellers, three directors, and a multitude of resources, a show of thisscope will easily cost more than a small arts organization can handle on itsown, so OST is also embarking on a fundraising campaign of a scale far andbeyond anything it has attempted in the past. Please check out the exciting items we’ve gathered with an eye towardsthe theme of the Odyssey and an epic journey.

Visit www.indiegogo.com/ottawastorytellers to watch our promo video and have a look at all the exciting perks that you can receive!

Why the Odyssey?
Because it is one of the greatest andmost enduring works of literature humanity has ever produced, carrying us backto an ancient time and yet filled with a very contemporary sensibility, helpingus to know still more of who we are. (Jan Andrews, Artistic Director)

In an age when much our entertainment relies on loudexplosions and visual overstimulation, an up-close-and personal narrationof the Odyssey, relying entirely on the spoken word and the inner eye, canwaken portions of the brain that have been numbed andneglected.  (Tom Lips, Storyteller)
3000 years ago, Homer nailed the forces that shape humanlife - family ties, honour, love, loyalty, cunning, fear, sex, wealth, revenge,consequences, religion, death, triumph. No one has ever done it better. (Gail Anglin, Storyteller)

It's got a man-eating one-eyed monster, sanity destroyingsongstresses, and a giant blood bath.  'Nuff said. (Marie Bilodeau,Storyteller)

__

I'm posting the video here because it's awesome fun.  Roomy and I were almost sirens in it, but alas, the timing didn't work out.  Ah well.

The Odyssey: Heading off to War

Check out my last post on The Odyssey (Finding my Inner Klingon).

This weekend was a wild, wild ride.  Both Saturday and Sunday were slotted to find the shores of Ithaca in an Odyssey rehearsal.

But, through sheer ill-timing on the universe’s part, it was also the weekend of G-Anime.  I simply loved this con last year and had confirmed that I’d be attending in 2012 right after the 2011 con ended. The organizers, bless their flexible hearts, agreed to slot my panels only in the evenings.  All of my writing panels were to be once again with the awesome Jay Odjick, and the two of us were joined by one of my writing group members, Derek Künsken. The three of us had a ball, if I do say so myself.

The evenings were fun, but the days are what sucked up most of my focus. Jan Andrews and Jennifer Cayley, the artistic directors of this journey, worked with each of us in turn, but we all had to contribute and help with visualization. They worked with us to become more aware of our bodies as tellers, to be mindful of our voice and, I believe most importantly, to really connect with Odysseus. To live his story, with all of its horror, heartbreak and hope.  They pushed us to understand the depths of both the character, in his heroic qualities and dreadful flaws, and the setting, the long journey that took him home.

For this weekend, I worked on the end of book 14.  In this part, Odysseus is back on the shores of Ithaca, posing as a beggar in his swineherd’s hut. He has no cloak, and a cold night sets in. He begins to tell them all a story about being at Troy (as Odysseus’ third-in-command), and of a cold night falling in as they crouched and slept by the frowning walls of Troy. In his telling of this story, Odysseus tricked someone into giving him a cloak, essentially saving him from certain, bitter death. 

The story is not lost on the swineherd, who lends Odysseus a cloak for the cold night. 

There’s always a certain amount of role-playing in any storytelling piece. To tell a piece convincingly, the teller must really put themselves in the story and live, breath and see what their characters go through. I had done this, to a certain extent.  As I told this part, I imagined being Odysseus by the fire, in the hut, recalling his days of glory.  I took on the mantle on an old man thinking back, not of a warrior freezing on the battlefield.

I had missed a step. I was not to become the teller telling of past deeds. I had to skip that middleman, once my scene was set and, instead of staying with Odysseus in the hut, I had to leap further back and join him on the battlefield.

Once I did that, the story came to life. I had reached the battlefield of Troy, and suddenly the horror, the cold and the fear pounded my words into shape.

It drove home a couple of points.  One is that I’d now like to read The Iliad again, for background material.  I haven’t read it in about a decade, so the text is a bit fuzzy around its bloody edges.

The second and perhaps most important realization was that you can never know a text too well. Although The Odyssey is an old tale and a well-known one, with themes that resonate through the ages, it still has layers of depth that deserve discovery and contemplation.  Through each teller’s piece, we began to glimpse at those deeper layers, at motivations and emotions that are not necessarily outright stated by Homer, but that are hinted at, or can at least be interpreted to reach out to a modern audience.

And so to the battlefields of Troy I headed Sunday morning, and honestly, I didn’t like it.  It was bitter cold, frightening, and the rosy fingers of dawn promised to grip the morning with bloodshed.

I didn’t like it one bit. But I can’t imagine those who were there did, either. And so I found Odysseus, and will work at finding him there, again and again.

The Odyssey, an artistic collaboration between 2 Women Productions and the Ottawa Storytellers, will be told at Ottawa’s National Arts Centre on June 16.  Seventeen tellers will work together to weave the story of Odysseus, during a 14-hour show; the longest show ever given at the National Arts Centre.  Plan on joining us for this unique experience. 

From Patchwork of Memories to Stories

Grandmothers

Today is my maternal grandmother's birthday.  Her name was Laurette Desjardins. She would have been 99 years old. Every year, my mom sends out an e-mail to me and my brother, reminding us that it's her birthday.

Every year, it leaves me nostalgic because I never really knew my grandmother.  She died when I was only two years old.  My memories of her are patchwork at best. Once, in a perfume store, my cousin and I recognized a scent but couldn't place it. My mother and my aunt came to investigate, and they informed us that it was the same scent as the pot-pourri my grandmother so loved and used in her home. Another time, a wallpaper caught my eye and tugged at my memories. It was the same wallpaper that had graced my grandmother's walls.

My other grandmother, Simonne Bilodeau, died before I was even born.  It was years before I learned she collected tea cups, just as I did.  I inherited the saucers, since the cups were long lost.  It's a funny connection to a woman I never knew, but hearing the stories my family shares, I feel as though I do know her.

Grandfathers

My maternal grandfather, Gérard Desjardins, died when I was six. I remember he used to give us cookies and he had a short leg (he had suffered from polio). My other grandfather, Louis-Georges Bilodeau, died when I was a bit older, but he was badly off in his final days, so I try not to remember the final visit we paid at the hospital. All I really remember is the pain on my dad's face when his father didn't recognize any of us.  Instead, I focus on the days we spent at his camp, and how he used to sit and smile as he listened to his children and grandchildren chat and laugh.

Roomy grew up with her grandparents. She stayed with them after school, celebrated occasions with them and even brought us home to their place once, our gang of girls, to meet them. Her grandfather slipped me $20 when I left.  I didn't know what to do, but apparently that's what grandparents do, Roomy informed me.  I learned a lot about grandparents from hearing her speak of them.

A patchwork of memories, at best.

What's in a Name?

As we celebrate my grandmother's 99th birthday, I can't help but think of how lucky my niece and nephew are.  All of their grandparents still live, and I sincerely hope they'll get to know all of them well. 

In a way, my grandparents live on in the stories we're told, and in our names. Mine captured my grandmothers' and my mom's (Suzanne Laurette Simonne Marie Bilodeau is my long catholic name).

My brother's captures the granddads' and dad's (Gilles Louis-Georges Gérard Jean-François Bilodeau. The priest said there was no room for Joseph. I might have screwed up the order of my brother's name - sorry, Jean! Note that on our baptisms our actual first names come right before our last names. I believe that's because once you get there, you won't remember everything that came beforehand.)

My nephew's name captures grandparents like nobody's business, George Henri Bilodeau.  My great-grandfather was Georges-Henri Bilodeau.  My sister-in-law's dad is George.  So they used the French spelling of Henri, the English spelling of George, and there you go. Pretty awesome, eh?

My niece is Ada-Marie Marguerite Bilodeau.  I'm sorry, but that's the cutest name in existence.  Ada was my sister-in-law's grandmother, an artist who studied with the Group of Seven (Ada Torrance). I get a hyphen, which touched me so much I actually didn't know what to say when they introduced me to their little girl and told me her name.  Marguerite is my sister-in-law's mother's middle name.

So what's in a name?  A history.  A story.  A link to those who came before us, and to those who'll come after us.

What's in a Story?

Last night, I had the great honour of being the feature performer at Voices of Venus, an Ottawa-based spoken word series focused on female performers (an awesome series, always with a warm and welcoming audience. Worth checking out!)  I was given a wide field to play in: tell stories of strong women on a cold December day.

I decided to hinge my stories on a hoe I had found behind the couch (you can imagine the fun we all had with the word play!)  That hoe, I now know, belonged to my great aunt. For years I was fascinated by the story of this strange object, broken in two, the wood old and coarse, the metal rust-covered. I carried it around with me, for a while. It's in my car trunk right now, actually. Don't ask me why - I honestly don't know. Yet it lives there. I guess that I've learned by now to let my mind explore stories in its own way. Sometimes, it feels like I'm just along for the ride.

I hinged the storytelling set yesterday on finding the perfect ending for Maribella, whom I'd given the hoe to, in my story. It took many tries, but I think that, in the end, we found it.

I tend to weave genealogy, family legends and history into my stories. I think part of it is that I never really knew my grandparents except through story. Their siblings, lives and histories all came to me as stories and suppositions.

Weaving them into stories is not necessarily leading to enlightening any actual history, but it does allow me to imagine I get to glimpse, for a brief moment, their dreams, desires and fears.

And they, in turn, get to wield swords and ride air ships. I think they'd like that. They are related to me, after all!

So, bonne fête grand-maman.  I'll meet you again and again in story. And I can't wait!

The Odyssey: Finding my Inner Klingon

On June 16 2012, eighteen storytellers will gather at the National Arts Centre's Fourth Stage to bring listeners on a journey with Odysseus, from the fall of Troy to the shores of Ithaca.  The show is a collaboration between the Ottawa Storytellers and 2 women productions, and is artistically coordinated by Jan Andrews (one of Canada's most acclaimed storytellers) and Jennifer Cayley (ditto).

I looked at the show as a journey of learning and training. Just as Odysseus made his way home, so too would I make my way somewhere.  Probably not home (unless things go terribly wrong), but art informs art, so skills learned creating this show will be applied to future tellings.

All performers already met once and did some basic exploration of Odysseus' stories, themes, and of our own perceptions.  But the fun didn't really start until last night.

We met, five of us.  Jan and Jennifer, myself, and two other tellers, Ruthanne Edward (a fellow Kymera) and Mary Wiggin (I performed with Mary last year at the Shenkman Centre. We told sci-fi stories accompanied by a theremin.  I know - awesome!)

We were doing some explorative exercises of our own pieces. We started by sitting around a fire and just chatting about the story, what it meant to us, and where we felt Odysseus was emotionally in our pieces. We sipped tea and enjoyed the soothing fire, sitting on comfy chairs, chatting sometimes in whispers about the great journey we would undertake in bringing Odysseus home.

I was all comfortable and cozy when Jennifer suddenly exclaimed "Okay, let's go into the other room."

Now, I don't know if this stems from my upbringing or life experiences, but generally, when someone in authority brings you in the other room, I know it means that you're either in trouble, or things are about to change drastically.

And boy did things change!  It was time to ignite our pieces within us. Mary was up first, shouting her story, whispering her story, evoking the ethereal dawn.  Mary gets to launch Odysseus to certain doom (go, Mary!), so she had to be mad, determined, unwilling to bend to the winds or seas.  Next thing I know, she's pushing forward, Jennifer trying to hold her back, Jan trying to block her, me whooping at her to deck them, Mary grabbing Ruthanne's chair and refusing to be held back or stopped.

Let me make this clear - none of these women are below fifty, so it was even more awesome fun to watch. Spitfires all!

When the "brawl" was over and Mary stepped back in "centre stage," that strength and ferocity informed her telling. Who knew duking it out with the artistic directors could bring such strength to a telling?

I was up next, and I was pretty stoked at this point.  What fun would I have?  Jennifer started by using sublime words that basically meant I was very girly.  Point.  I really, really am.  But Odysseus is not. Also a good point.  Odysseus is like the Klingon of ancient Greece.  I'm totally not that. (Odysseus is totally Klingon-esque.  I researched it!  See?  It's the bathing in blood that gives it away.)

On the topic of Klingons, I'd like to point out that I do have expertise to draw upon. KAG Canada Thought Admiral Korath (right) is my morning bus buddy (he always looks like that, he really does). On the left is General Martok. I've never met him, but I hear he's simply lovely, in a Klingon blood bath kind of way.

So we started off by me going fully girly, telling the story completely from a highly feminine telling. It was great fun.  I was hitting on myself!  It's not everyday one gets to do that.

Next thing I know, I've got Jan and Jennifer pulling on each arm as I take on the male persona, or at least the masculine strength. It worked, too.  It was a shift - my voice came from deeper, my telling was more powerful. Mary sat forward in her chair, as entertained by my exercise as I had been by hers.

Hu.

It'll be interesting to see how I can learn to apply these different ways of visualizing and experiencing story. By the time Odysseus reaches the shores of Ithaca in June, I'm sure my telling will have grown thanks to the wonderful and albeit sometimes strange experiences I'll take away from this show.

Remember - eighteen tellers, twelve hours, one stage, one unforgettable journey.  Don't miss it!

Gratitude

It struck me yesterday that a lot of my creative friends are very ambitious.  And they have to be, to survive.  Anyone who's received multiple rejections for one story, who had no one show up to their show or their book launch has to have ambition or passion or a thick skin to get back on the wagon (possibly after downing several pints).

I often hear about the failures. How a story didn't come out quite right, or a book launch was ill-attended, or that they didn't get the award. Heck, I didn't win the Aurora Award yesterday. Was I disappointed?  Of course!  I'm human! (Really...)

I soon found myself congratulating good friends on their well-deserved victories and, as I walked away (in my awesome shoes), I looked at the length of my career. At where I've been since Princess of Light was published in March 2009, just 2.5 years ago. I imagined the road spreading before me and I thought: Holy shit, I was just nominated for an Aurora Award for best novel.  A freaking Aurora Award!  Shit that's cool!


And then I felt gratitude. For everyone who took the time to nominate and vote for me. For my family's unfailing support. For the people I only see at cons and yet offer such friendship and inspiration that I always look forward to the next meeting.

This morning I woke up with a nasty case of expanded gratitude. I started with being way too happy at the purring ball of fuzz wrapped around my head (until I realized how fuzzy my pillow was going to be and shooed him off). My gratitude exploded from there.

I was grateful for everyone who came out to our reprise of Chasing Boudicca on Saturday night. For the tears some of them shed. For the awe with which they commented on the show. I was grateful for my performance friends who delve into stories with me, which translated into being grateful for my writing buddies (the East Block Irregulars) who strive and work so hard and push me to become a better writer all the time. And inspire with their passion.

The day is now progressing into gratitude for the little things. The ability to write in the mornings. The perfect cup of coffee. The crisp coolness of the air and how it cleanses my lungs. And who I'll meet today, or chat with, or think about and smile.

Thank you, all of you, for your continued support and for the joy and laughter you bring. You make everything so awesome it makes me gush at times.  Deal with it.


And did I mention I was on the freaking Aurora Awards ballot?  Awesome!

SFContario

So it turns out I won't be at Hal-Con this year since I didn't get on programming due to some miscommunications. I'm sorry I'll miss all the cool and fun people (you know who you are!), but the budget is tight this year and cons have to pay for themselves. And programming is the golden ticket to getting known.

But no biggie - the con-com is awesome and barring any horrible circumstances, I'll be there next year!

So now my next and final con of the year is SFContario!  I'll only be there on the Sunday since the Saturday evening is the reprise of Chasing Boudicca.  But I refuse to miss out on SFContario and my first ever Aurora Awards ceremony!  Well, okay, I've been to two ceremonies, but this is my first year being on the ballot, so that's fun.  Freakin' fun!

I'll be at the Aurora Awards brunch and ceremony, of course, but also at:

Reading
1:30 pm, Parkview
I think I'll read from Destiny's Fall, the sequel to Destiny's Blood.  Not sure yet. Maybe from my diary, too. Little Marie's deep thoughts are always a success (truly).


The Business of Writing
2 pm, Solarium
Marie Bilodeau(M), Leah Bobet, Robert J. Sawyer, John Scalzi, Douglas Smith


I've been on panels with most of these fine writers over the past few years and they're made of win. I'm thrilled that this year's last panel will be with such great people!

I'm moderating that panel again, which is funny. I don't know how I turned out to moderate most of my panels this year, but I'm enjoying it. Sometimes it's easy - I know the topic well and have a good idea what listeners are looking for. Other times it's a struggle because I have no idea what the panel is about and neither do any of the panelists. That's when I ask really strange questions such as "what's your association with reality?"  Thankfully most panelists are game for a little play time.

The worst part is scrambling to save a panel you can tell is tanking.  That's not always easy, sometimes completely impossible. But trying can be fun, too!  At least I know that my last panel of 2011 will be a success, unless none of the panelists show up, for some strange reason (I'm watching you all!)

So I hope to see you SFContario and, if you're in town, come to Chasing Boudicca on the 19th. I'll blog more about that next week!

Cheers!

A Tale of Betrayal - by Underwear

Winning story told at the first slam of the second season of Once Upon a Slam in Ottawa. 

But really, need I say more than the title? 

It was *that* big!

On April 18, I had the pleasure of performing in Monteral with the talented storyteller, JD Hobbes, and wicked musician Shayne Grin.  The two of them often perform together as Taelstrum  They're awesome.  It was the first show of our whirlwind cross-Canada tour, the second show being in Ottawa on May 14.  (Okay, maybe not cross-Canada. Give us time and maybe about a decade.  We'll work it.)

This is what transpired at the Montreal show.  Totally.  I'm not making anything up here 'cause I think it's funny and the photos loaded in this order. Nope.  Storyteller's word - this is all completely true.

Storytellers agreeing on stories before show.  Hobbes shakes his fist emphatically.  "This is what will happen," he says. Innocent and naive, I believe him and let him open the set.

Me smiling.  Ready for Hobbes to tell it right.  Tell it true.

See that less impressed look?  We had agreed that wasn't the story.  He's exaggerating.  He is, in fact, lying.  His hands, you see, are entirely too far apart.  It was never that big.

I go up, bravely ready to set the record straight.

Shayne, caught in a storytellers' war, feels the pain but sings through it.  Brave man.

Hobbes next.  I watch him closely.  "Tell it right," I whisper.

He brings Shayne up, giving dramatic music to his story. But it doesn't matter.  It's still not true!

"He may have exaggerated, it's the storyteller in him," I explain.  "It was actually only this big." 

Shayne is feeling the pain more now.  He wants to say I lie, but he knows better.  Yes, you heard me.  He knows better.

The audience is enraptured.  They hear the pain, and in it see truth.

But Hobbes is back. "I wasn't lying," he insists.  "Listen to me." 

 

"No, no, no!  Listen to me or face my karate chop of death!"

You saw where I was sitting.  Right there.  Where he's gesturing.  It's a threat, I tell you.  A threat!  To me! 

I was shocked!  It was THAT threatening! (The camera didn't capture the moment, but this is very representative.  Floating heads are my drawing specialty.)

He laughed evilly.  And his hat got bigger, and fangs, yes, fangs, began to grow.  Totally.

The audience was equally stunned and drunk!  It was shocking!

  

I admit it.  I caved in.  I told the story, as he wanted to tell it.  I'm not proud, people, but I did it to protect the audience. Truly, I did.

He stepped up, backing my claims.  I put on a brave face, but...  ya.  It was a LIE!

So now you're asking: What the heck is she going on about this time? I mean, seriously?  Was it THAT big??? And, for the less dirty-minded amongst you, you might still be asking what exactly was that big. I applaud those (undoubtedly few) amongst you.

If you'd like to find out the rest of this story, there's only one way.  Only one.  I will tell the entire sordid tale, with the right amount of heartbreak, fear, shock and, yes, evil storytellers wearing hats, at the Ottawa leg of our show.  See you on May 14 at Maxwell's Bistro on Elgin, 3:30 pm sharp!

... and yes, the show is kid-friendly.  So I guess it ruins THAT theory.

Thanks to the wonderful Daniel P. Kenny for the lovely pictures! 

Closures (but not really)

I've been going on about prep work for our show, Chasing Boudicca (including many tick illustrations), and last night was showtime.  I don't think I managed to sleep enough to put coherent thoughts together, as my thoughts need to percolate (or at least be caffeinated), but I woke up with all of these wondrous moments and impressions still wrapped around me like a comfy blanket.

The bogging heat of the spotlights.  Becoming acquainted with the stage.  Spotting family and friends in the packed room.  The sound of someone crying.  The flute lamenting the loss of lives and of innocence.  The drum murmuring of heart beats.  The way Kate gracefully slid off her stool.  The lights reflected in Ruthanne's red hair.  The dimming of those lights when I told the saddest parts.  My heart racing during the final battle.    Fearing my voice would crack with emotion during the last scene.  The silence of the room.  The standing ovation.

It's all fractured in my head, along with the bits of stories and song that still cling to my mind like a fine web, unwilling to let go of my subconscious just yet.  Thanks to everyone who came.  Chasing Boudicca was an experiment in weaving poems and stories, with three voices and a musician, and we're ecstatic that it was so well received.  We're hoping to tour it, so please pass any invitations along! 

I must also apologize.  I left you all dangling (I'm sure you were) on what my niece's name turned out to be.  It's not actually Something Something Bilodeau, or Something Quequ'chose Bilodeau (weird, I know).  She has a very cute name.  It's Ada-Marie Marguerite Bilodeau.

When the tired but happy parents told me her name, I was so stunned I don't even think I reacted.  You know the spinny disk that appears on Mac computers when they're processing?  My head tends to do that when something very strange occurs.  And it did then.  As my sister-in-law said: "you get a hyphen!"  And what greater honour!  (And she's adorable, of course.)

It's another name steeped in family history.  Ada Bruce Torrance was a wonderful artist who studied with the Group of Seven, and Marguerite is my sister-in-law's mother's middle name.  Pretty awesome, eh?

So now the curtain call is over and I'll be focusing my energies back on my writing. Yesterday, I sold a short story to a yet to be announced extremely cool anthology, which is a nice way to re-spark the full-blown writing process.  Daily targets will be significantly increased and I intend to become well acquainted with the solitude of my writing room over the next few weeks.  I'll pop my head out now and again, but if you need my attention, please send me an e-mail, or send singing telegrams.  I've always wanted to receive a singing telegram. Who am I kidding - I've always wanted to deliver singing telegrams!

Change of Plans

This weekend was supposed to be a Kymeras escape weekend (minus Sean Zio), so we could plan our set for the Boudicca show (National Arts Centre, January 20.  Be there or be square!)

But events move quickly, sometimes.  My car blew up.  Then the lovely Ruthanne Edward is down for a few days.  As far as I know, Kathryn Hunt is still intact, although a bit stressed with final preparations underway for the Ottawa International Writers Festival (totally worth checking out!)

So things change quickly and now instead of being away at a cottage retreat creating a set around a warrior queen slaughtering Romans, I'll be staying home.  The car won't be ready until tomorrow, and Roomy already has a full slate of pony plans, so she's busy.  (Last week we swapped the pony and writing rooms, to give her more room and give me more light, so she has many ponies to unpack.  She's going to count them, too, so that should be entertaining.  She says almost 500, I say more than.  We'll see...)

Anyway, this weekend can also be seen as a blessing.  I have lots of work left to do on Destiny's War, and now's the time to get some done!  Plus I get to rehearse my two storytelling sets for Con*Cept.  I'll be telling my first show in French,, so it's a bit nerve-wracking.  And I'm not quite sure why, as it IS my maternal tongue.  Go fig.

So it promises to be a relaxing weekend in the writing room, with occasional outings to visit Kymeras and make sure Roomy wasn't killed by falling pony castles.  Not to mention upping the word count - that deadline is coming up, fast! 

Happy weekending, everyone!

Ragnarok and Roll!

Okay, I totally stole that title from poet Kathryn Hunt.  She's cool so she'll forgive me.

I just spent Labour Day weekend with Kymeras Kathryn Hunt and Ruthanne Edward somewhere near Almonte, in a house by a lake that you can only reach by traveling down a dirt road.  There, twenty tellers gathered with listeners to tell the full cycle of Norse mythology, from creation to Ragnarok.

If you don't know Norse mythology, you're missing out.  It's full of passion, revenge, love, hope, despair, and lots of battles and death.  The gods as extremely human.  Some need anger management classes, others experience regret, they grieve and they love deeply.

Friday evening started off with mixes of shower and sunshine, with an appearance by Bifröst, opening the way to the realm of the gods.  Bifröst is the great rainbow bridging Midgard, our world, to Asgard, the Norse gods' land.  (I also stole a bunch of pics from Kathryn Hunt... Thanks Kate!)

We then plunged into the cycle, starting at the beginning - creation in war and flaming swords.  This is Nordic, after all.  After some fantastic telling, we chatted and laughed and then retired to our tents to prepare for the next day's telling.

I totally put a picture of Ruthanne in her pajamas on my blog.  Totally.

Ruthanne and I were both telling on Saturday, so we spent time in our tent reviewing our source material and questioning Kate on the pronounciation of Nordic names.  Kate is very useful.  Telling an episodic epic is tricky.  Other tellers are telling different parts, of course, so it's important to get all character names, place names and events correctly.  Ruthanne was telling The Binding of Fenrir, and had at least twenty names to memorize.  The Norse named everything - rivers, places, Halls, lineages, weapons... you think of it, they gave it a name.  And, not knowing what names other tellers would pull out, the trick was to keep as many in your story as possible.  That way, you could really see the connections, which was part of the fun of building towards the end.

Sunday morning was fresh and dew-filled, and we were ready for a full day.  I can't count the different ways people died during this cycle.  Stabbing, spearing, whetstones dropped on heads for over-grieving, kicked into fires, poisoned... and those are just a few. 

The telling tent.

Coffee and program.  The necessities of an epic day.

Ruthanne doing an amazing job of telling her story.

Kate pausing on the telling stool, pondering the end of times.

I closed off the telling on Saturday with the telling of Thor's Battles with Hrungnir. I won points for most useless story, since it seems very random.  I called it my "boys being boys with battle and booze" story.  I was told by many that I made a most wonderful of drunk giants.  On that silly note, we broke for supper and the longest sing-along ever, I believe.  In eight languages, to boot.  I hear there's footage of our rendition of the Taco Bell Canon.  I will try to locate it.  We drank much wine, rejoiced, then broke under a starry sky to rest before the end was to come in the morning.

And come it did.  First with the Death of the most cherished of gods: Baldur.  The gods grieved and so did we.  We were on a path to destruction, and after spending a weekend with the gods, we weren't ready to let them go.

One of the best things of Norse mythology, in my opinion, is that their mythic system has an end.  Odin, the All-Father, falls to the mighty wolf, Fenrir.  Thor kills the great Midgar serpent, only to take nine steps before succumbing to its poison.  And the great fires of the sword come to cleanse the world and see it reborn once more.

By the time the surviving gods sit on a grassy field in the new world, where once stood the great halls of Asgard, few eyes were dry under that great tent.  With the crickets still chirping and the sun and cloud battling for supremacy above us, the stories had come to an end so powerful that it left twenty storytellers speechless.

I must admit it was draining.  Just like a weekend writing spree.  My mind didn't wander as I'd feared it might.  The tellers kept my attention, the breaks were well planned, and the cycle built upon itself until the inevitable toppling, and we all toppled a bit with it.

There are rumours that another epic weekend will take place in the next year or two.  It won't be Norse mythology, but whatever story it is, I highly recommend trying to go.  There is nothing like immersing yourself in a story with masters of stories, of singing with experts in folklore, and of coming to the end of a cycle with the voices of the tellers and your imagination painting a bright portrait.  It's an experience I certainly won't soon forget.

Norse FTW!

From rings of power, evil giants and crazy dwarfs, to frozen toes cast skyward to become stars, Norse mythology is overflowing with colour, battles and oddities.  This weekend, twenty tellers from all over Canada and beyond are gathering by Taylor Lake in Lanark County to tell the cycle of Norse Mythology – From Creation to Ragnarök.    The event is hosted by two well-known local tellers, Jan Andrews and Jennifer Cayley of 2 Women Productions.  And it should be awesome.

On Friday afternoon we’ll be setting up our tents and telling begins at 6.  I’ll be sharing my modest accommodations with storyteller Ruthanne Edward, who is one of the twenty tellers, and poet Kathryn Hunt, who is coming as a listener.  Throw in a Sean Zio and you’d have all the Kymeras in a very crowded living space!

Jennifer and Jan are setting up a big tent as our telling canopy, which is great since the forecast is rather bleak.  But it doesn’t matter.  Once creation sweeps us into existence, we won’t be able to let go until the end of the world in Ragnarök.  Aside from multiple meal and sleep breaks, anyway.

I’m telling the story of Thor’s battle with the giant Hrungnir, and I’ll be the last performer on the Saturday evening, just before 6 pm.  It’s a perfect closing story for a Saturday night, since it’s about drunk boys being stupid and fighting.  

Since the story is so vivid in its descriptions and at times downright silly for being a duel to the death, I’ve been having fun rehearsing it.  From drunken giants to head wounds to frozen toes turned into stars, this tale has it all. 

The whole event is wrapping up on Sunday at noon.    We might be cold and wet by then, but with any luck, we’ll have warmed up with Norse might!  Or a campfire.  Campfire might be more practical, actually. 

Or a combo?

Definitely a combo.

Have a great weekend, everyone!