As a writer often featured in Bridge House’s publications, I was aware of its annual short story anthology. I’ve had stories published in them twice before.
I began writing stories in their short form because I felt intimidated by attempting the longer form of a novel (That has since changed). Also, for me, writing a story in fictionalized form is a way of telling the truth without running the risk of being hauled into court.
When I saw the theme of this year’s anthology, I thought I had a story which might fit, and Bridge House’s editors seemed to agree.
I never enter writing competitions unless there is no fee to enter. It is a game of chance, and one has more chances winning a lottery. Also, in playing a lottery, there is no labour involved.
The only advice I can offer to anyone who would like to write stories is to read them.
These days, I feel less of a need to disguise what I want to say. Mostly I write in the form categorized as creative non-fiction. I have had two memoirs published; one in England and one in my native Canada. It has been suggested that my “subject” is the postwar lives of Holocaust survivors. I hope my repertoire is broader, and the novel I’ve written is a Holocaust-free zone. But it is true that I keep returning to this theme and re-examining it, as if twisting the knob of a kaleidoscope. We know what happened during the war to my ancestors and their community, but what happened after? How did those who survived rebuild their shattered lives? Did they find peace? Did they find meaning? Did they find love? Did they find joy? After what they endured, one hopes that they did.
Recently I was approached by a foundation to work with them in creating a presentation which will tour high schools. Through the telling of my mother’s story, students will learn and be alerted to the signs of hate which lead to genocide. I was ambivalent about taking this on, but ultimately accepted because I recognized the assignment as worthwhile. With a prepared text illustrated by photographs and film clips, come the next school year I will be speaking to high school audiences throughout my native province of Quebec.
My mum dubbed me her “memory keeper.” Eleven years after her death, it turns out to be true.
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