I will write about the time I won a scholarship to a writing school for one month at the Summer School of the Arts in Qu'Appelle Valley, instructed by Ken Mitchell of Regina, Saskatchewan.
During the qualifying interview, we sat in a dimmly lit room where he revealed scarry things about me and my sixteen year old brain.
Horrified of this newly discovered self and suddenly excited about my future as a potential writer, I left the room dripping with sweat and weak in the knees as if I had finished a long, hard jog.
The next morning I slept in and missed my usual morning run.
That happened for six consecutive days.
My life had been altered by continuous late, late nights... writing and writing in a flurry of intracranial hemorrhaging.
On the seventh day, I finished creating my personal objective...a twelve inch heap of crinkled and previously scrunched up pieces of paper covered with bits of writing, strung together like beads of a necklace that I would wear forever as I expected to challenge my ability to wring the life out of every word I could possibly use in a well structured, dynamic sentence.
I started jogging again, until eventually, I would find myself hanging over the edge of my bed again, feet in the air, arms dangling to the floor and fingers loosely gripping a pencil while scrawling poetry and prose that were genuinely saturated with tangible feelings of desperation and contentment.
Oh, what a win can do to one!
However, that advent of highschool hegemony was also the beginning of ostracization and a realization that some things in life would simply require daunting self direction and tranquility.
I honestly preferred my wins at marbles on any dirt surface, during any sunny afternoon on the school playground, or in my parents' backyard on any weekend!
My siblings could tell you.
Causes Wendy McNally Supports
Cancer Support; Sick Kids