On July 22, 2015 I was finally able to post something on the website and blog program “wordpress.” I decided to post part of the first chapter of the old “It is no fairytale” manuscript I had written in 2005 and which I had submitted to a few publishers who had dismissed it and which was still sitting somewhere on my computer.
From that first posting on I was committed. I received so much positive feed-back from my care workers and friends, I had to put on new posts regardless. I decided that Monday morning would be a good time to put them on. Instead of writing a letter to my mother every Monday morning I would now put on a new post of “It is no fairytale.” I set up a domain called nofairytale.net and the rest is history, as you, followers of my blog, know. My mother passed away in 1992, but by producing a new post every Monday morning, it felt as if I was still honouring her memory. This is how come my manuscript has now turned into a serial.
I never knew when I would come to the end, but for 76 weeks, every Monday morning, I edited and sometimes rewrote parts of the next chapter of my old manuscript. It was something that kept me going during some difficult periods in my life, as it is being ruled by home care, unusual technocracy and other things that are a continuing concern for people with major disabilities. I remember producing episodes on my little notebook computer in the months I couldn’t get to my desktop upstairs, because of elevator problems. I remember producing an episode at a kitchen table in Hollister, California, a day before visiting the Google compound in Palo Alto (my friends’ son is working not for them, but in a building in that compound), and another one at a breakfast table in a hostel in Riviere du Loup, on our way to the CAMMAC summer music camp, with the guests, mostly young people from Europe or elsewhere in Canada, milling about me. And then of course the one I produced when I was really sick in the hospital. After 76 weeks of doing that, being happy to survive all that time, and talking about it on line, as well as in person with my friends, care workers and relatives, I understood that the time had come to make a book out of all these little chapters.
I had self-published a book before, so, why not do it again? I asked the artist who produced the painting I have had on my living room wall for so long, if I could use his work for the cover of the book-to-be. After he said yes, it became a done deal. I called the print shop I had used before and not long after, actually about a month ago, I took the two buses (itself an exciting adventure) to get to them, then finding myself in the little cafe adjacent to the print shop, waiting for the lady whom I was going to deal with. It was while I was waiting there, taking in the atmosphere and looking at the different crafts that were offered for sale (“future birds”) that I realised in enormous gratitude the incredible things that have been accomplished just because of the care and concern given by talented and devoted people to people who in earlier times would not have had a chance. The print shop I was going to use is part of “Building Futures,” which itself is a place where the mentally challenged find meaningful work. I was happy to ask them to do the printing job at hand, and I think they were happy to take it on.