It was a fine spring afternoon when, needing inspiration, I went outside to look for a metaphor. It was the first warm day of the year, full of sunshine and cheer. I needed to get some fresh air and I rather suspected that the good weather, like the tourists that visit our fair city, would hang around Victoria for a day or two and then move on.
I strolled through Chinatown, eyeing the exotic fruits at the outdoor markets, before heading towards the Westsong Walkway. I was pondering how a harbour seal could be metaphorical (“his eyes shifted hungrily, like a seal waiting for a piece of fresh salmon to be dangled over the edge of the dock…hmmm, not bad”) when I stopped and looked up. Above me, sky blue steel girders arched towards the clouds.
I was halfway over the Johnson Street Bridge when I was struck by how iconic this blue bridge is. While less photographed than the other structures and buildings around the Inner Harbour, it is no less a part of what makes Victoria unique.
Built in 1920, the Johnson Street Bridge is a double bascule bridge, which means it uses the large gray concrete counterweights to balance the flat road and railroad sections, which can be raised separately to allow boat traffic to pass underneath. It was designed by the Strauss Bascule Company, whose chief engineer would go on to design the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. Just as the Golden Gate does for its city, I believe that the Johnson Street Bridge helps make Victoria, well, Victoria. I had found my metaphor.
Writing is a lonely business. We often find ourselves at our computers or desks for long hours, ignoring our significant others and families. We may start writing a short story one afternoon and before we know it, seasons have passed, our kids are grown and our spouses are standing by the front door with two packed suitcases threatening to leave – or at least go on vacation to Mexico for a month – if we don’t spend more time with them.
“Of course, dear,” we say. “I have the perfect evening planned.”
“Great!” they exclaim. “Let me get my coat and you can tell me what we are doing on the way to the restaurant.”
“Restaurant?” we reply. “No, no, I thought you could read my story and then you could tell me what you thought.” We glance down at the pile of papers we are holding. “It’s only 142 pages.”
Several weeks later when our spouses call from Mexico to say that they finished the story while lying on a beach and sipping a margarita, our first question is always, “Well, what did you think?”
“I didn’t get it,” they inevitably reply. And it hits us: writing is a lonely business.
And here comes the metaphor I was seeking: it is important to have bridges to get us away from our computers and to connect us with people who are going through similar experiences, who can share their knowledge and listen to the things we have learned, who give us stories to read and who critique our writing in return.
On that note, I’m excited to note that the new issue of Island Writer Magazine, published by the Victoria Writers’ Society (VWS) and edited by yours truly in now available. It’s sold in bookstores throughout Victoria and via the VWS website.
My experiences of working as the Editor of Island Writer Magazine, as well as being part of the VWS, have taught me that writing shouldn't be a lonely activity. Indeed, most scribblings, musings, stories, and poems are much better when it's not.
Island Writer and the VWS are completely run by volunteers. Like the Johnson Street Bridge, the literary infrastructure that they (and everyone who has ever been part of the VWS and Island Writer) built, helps make Victoria unique. I’m always amazed and humbled by the talent of the writers and poets living in our community. Please keep on submitting and volunteering and I promise to remove all of the marine mammal and infrastructure metaphors from my next story before we review it at critique group.
(Like last time, parts of this entry were adapted from my editorial in the current issue of Island Writer)
