In 2008 I ended up at a month-long artists’ residency at the Blue Mountain Center, which was amazing. I worked on two stage plays while I was there, one of which never went anywhere and which I’ve only recently begun to tackle again as a prose project. The second became a memoir play that I continued to draft throughout the following months. That became Decaffeinated Tragedy, a one-man show that I took to the Prague Fringe Festival in 2009, and which won an award there. At the time, I was using Blogger and writing about the Prague Fringe in general – those updates are here.
The script is about memory and friendship using art and coffee as the primary metaphors and devices for exploration. It focused on my friend Jen who died eight days shy of her 22 birthday back when I was a freshman in college. She was not only a talented artist, she was a really remarkable human being. She wore vibrant colors, made postcards to send to friends, and made jokes and comforted the people around her all the way to her final surgery that was supposed to keep her alive.
I’ve known and written about a couple of friends who’ve died here on this site, Anthony and Lucka in particular. It made sense and felt right at the time. I’m not writing about Susan in her current last months now for the same reasons – it makes sense and it feels right. We avoid death not simply as an end-of-life, but often as a topic-of-thought (The Order of the Good Death, rather irreverently, is trying to take a stand in the face of this nonsense).
Jen, knowing that her life was perilously fragile – it always had been ever since she was born – approached it with much flair and with few reservations.
November 18. Went to a bar in Dundas this afternoon with Sue, Darcy, Val, and Beth. I felt alive. I’m torn in half by waiting. I want to fall in love and wear my cowboy boots. I want to drive across the country, paint deserts. All these things I have to wait to do. There are so many things I want that take more energy than I have. But still, I’m coming to think that the peak of human experience is sitting around in a coffee shop, a truck stop, or a small town bar with a good group of friends. Today I felt just like I was dancing.
Her parents are currently working with a writer to see about publishing her journals. I don’t know much beyond that other than she hopes to be able to start querying this summer.
It’s obviously not my writing, but it’s still writing that is near and dear to my heart.