About three decades published writing in the non-fiction world of freelance (e.g. health, travel, interviews, general interest) and of community journalism (yes, the excitement of stop sign-and-sewer permit-reportage from selectmen's meetings, but also the telling of stories of ordinary people doing interesting things). A few published poems here and there, the most recent in The Journal of Undiscovered Poets. About a half-decade as adjunct leading courses and workshops, my favorite being Writing to Heal and Rock & Write.
Now interested in writing cultural/personal stories of Acadian/Quebecois/Francos, mainly in the Northeast, but, as with most things, that's likely to morph/evolve/expand. Interested because I want to read these stories but they seem only sporadically available. This has been a long haunt of mine. If you're still with me, here's a life snippet that continues to grate:
Some years ago, during a trip to visit a writing pal in NYC, she, my older younger-brother, and my brother's BF took me to a Soho bookstore that purported to have A Million Books available. Surely I would find some gems in that abundance. One of the clerks brought me to the section marked Canada/Canadian History. Side-by-each in a two-by-three foot section on the lowest shelf, along with my crushed enthusiasm, were several rows of mostly travel books and superficial histories. Not even a French sounding something among them.
As we drove back to Massachusetts, I mentioned this to my brother. Did this mean an untapped market? An opportunity to tell stories that weren't mainstreamed in the US? To which he responded, "Maybe no one's interested in that." I considered for a moment, then thought and likely said something along the lines of: wait one damn minute. I'm someone, and I'm interested. I know I'm not unique. Surely others would be interested, too.
During the ensuing years, I've read anything I could find that dovetailed with the largely unarticulated interest that niggles at my soul and sometimes -- metaphorically -- hits me with a two-by-four. Time to tell a story, if even I am the only reader "who is interested in that."
Looking for a group of older/old soul writers to share ideas/commentary/observations/insights about works-in-progress, especially if a wonder is how our personal and cultural histories managed to shape the people we think we are today. Meeting monthly online (I have mobility "issues") would be ideal, but, that too, could morph/evolve/expand.