Reframeables
Do you feel alone in your own head when it comes to navigating life’s big and small problems? Do you find self-care language a little too self-focused but know you still need to do the work? Join us on Reframeables and eavesdrop your way into some new perspectives — we promise you'll feel less alone as you listen. We are Nat and Bec, two very different sisters who come together each week to reframe some of life's big and small stuff. Nat's a PhD whose favourite phrase is “let’s reframe that!” Bec's an artist who tends more toward “why me?” Through candid, vulnerable yet entertaining conversations with each other, as well as guests, we find a way to meet in the middle each week and offer you, our listeners, new perspectives along the way. From a painful divorce that still needs processing, to grief that sticks around, to the simple day-to-day problems of managing a grumpy teenager, to a dynamic interview with Giller winner Ian Williams or radio personality and co-star of the Jann Arden podcast Caitlin Green sharing her vulnerable story of loss: Join our intimate conversations with authors, actors, activists, and voices from the crowd — those who inspire us to think differently about the world so we can reframe living in it.
Reframeables
Reframing Rage with Kathryn Mockler
On this episode of Reframeables, we are reframing rage with author Kathryn Mockler. She spoke with us about the despair of writing and editing climate justice work, and how she’s moved forward from rage and exchanged hurt for the earth for human connection. She calls it ‘post-hope,’ though instead of ‘hope,’ her preferred word is ‘possibility’ — a possibility for shared concerns in community, be it in her writing or in her teaching.
Kathryn Mockler is a writer, screenwriter, experimental filmmaker, editor, and publisher and the author of the story collection Anecdotes (Book*hug Press, 2023). She co-edited the print anthology Watch Your Head: Writers and Artists Respond to the Climate Crisis (Coach House Books, 2020) and is the publisher of the Watch Your Head website. Her films have screened at TIFF, EMFA, the Palm Springs Film Festival and most recently at the Arizona Underground Film Festival and REELPoetry/HoustonTX. She runs the literary newsletter Send My Love to Anyone.
Links:
Anecdotes
For more from Kathryn, check out her website
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Natalie
Hey, it’s Nat.
Rebecca
And Bec — two very different sisters who come together to reframe some of life’s big and small problems. We’re moms, writers.
Natalie
We have soft boundaries. We see the world differently, but we both lean into vulnerability together and with our guests, because we like deep dives. So come with us — let’s reframe something.
On this episode of Reframeables, we are reframing rage with author Kathryn Mockler. She spoke with us about the despair of writing and editing climate justice work, and how she’s moved forward from rage and exchanged hurt for the earth for human connection. She calls it ‘post-hope,’ though instead of ‘hope,’ her preferred word is ‘possibility’ — a possibility for shared concerns in community, be it in her writing or in her teaching. So here it is: reframing rage with Kathryn Mockler
We are talking today with Kathryn Mockler, the author of Anecdotes — that has, like, honestly the best cover. It’s a panty liner — like, honestly.
Rebecca
It’s a pad, right?
Kathryn
Maxi Pad.
Natalie
It’s a pad, ok — pad, panty liner.
Rebecca
Let’s get specific.
Natalie
Ok, and what size? Because there it is, there’s that part of it too. Oh my gosh, I follow that Honey Pot brand online, and it’s basically like hygienic options for folks who bleed, and it’s black-owned. It’s the States, so it’s an American kind of perspective. You know, it’s kind of good to sort of pepper our Canadian followings with, like, lots of different perspectives from everywhere, but there was this one TikTok video that they had linked to which was, like, a male partner buying their female partner pads and his comment in the video was, “Baby what size is your pussy again?”
Kathryn
Oh my god, oh my god. I love that.
Natalie
And I was just like, “Oh my god. That’s so brilliant.” I know, right? And so anyways, I’m connecting that with, like, the beauty of your cover, which I think we posted a picture of your book cover on our Instagram in the middle of a bookstore that we love — like, a couple hours outside of Toronto, an independent bookstore. And it’s just great, those moments when the cover speaks to the author.
Kathryn
I really am very partial to that cover. I wish I could say I had thought of it, but actually it was my editor, Malcolm Sutton, and it was in the middle of the summer — like, two years ago, I think. Anyways, he also designs the books. I was like, “Oh, maybe we could use this artwork for the cover.” And then he just said, “Well, I’ve done some designs. Why don’t you have a look at them?” And I was in the car with my husband and, you know, this came up and I just started crying. I was like, “Oh my god.” And I don’t know if it’s like the age that I came of age — you know, there was a lot of shame. There probably still is, but shame around periods and stuff like that. It would never in my life had occurred to me to put a pad on the cover of a book. I wish I could say it would have. And then he was worried — he was like, “I hope this doesn’t offend you.” I’m like, “No, it’s amazing.”
But I think maybe someone reading the collection, not having that shame (you know, probably understanding shames attached to it) — the image probably didn’t have that kind of thing that’s just ingrained in you without you even realizing it. I think that’s why I cried, because there was a lot of stuff about shame in the book. And it was so nice to have the person who edited it read the book and then come away with this cover. I just feel very lucky. Malcolm is a writer, editor, and designer, and he designed the whole book. Yeah, I love it.
Natalie
And it’s just such an amazing gift to have. You don’t know what people are going to take from a text, but especially in those early stages.
Kathryn
Exactly — and also a man, too. You know what I mean?
Natalie
Right, yeah.
Kathryn
I just thought it was really great. It was really sweet. And also the sense of humour, too. He really got my sense of humour, too.
Rebecca
Kathryn, have you had lots of people be struck by that story about the girl who puts the Maxi Pad on her wall? Because I love it.
Natalie
It’s like an art piece.
Rebecca
As an art piece, and then she has this friend that calls her out on it and then she feels shamed. Does that strike people?
Kathryn
I don’t know. No one’s really mentioned that one. I read that once people laughed. Yeah, I don’t know. No one has talked to me about that particular story. I find people either really like The Past and the Future, or they really like the autofiction pieces. The others too, but usually if someone, you know, sends me a note or whatever, they’re usually responding to one or the two things. So yeah, no one’s talked to me specifically about that pad one.
Rebecca
You call that autofiction?
Kathryn
Yeah, that whole section is autofictional. Yeah. I’ve made up things — like, that did happen, I was the kid who put that thing on the wall. But the circumstances around — like, you know, it’s been fictionalized, some of the people. You know, I fictionalized it to protect the assholes. That’s what I’d say. So…
Natalie
Doesn’t that sort of say that your art — that’s activism, you know what I mean? Like, putting the Maxi Pad on the wall, from when you were a child then, but then also putting it now on the cover of your book.
Kathryn
That’s why it meant so much to me, I think, because I was like, “Oh, that’s kind of who I was since I was a little kid.” I didn’t know about, like, ready-mades or, you know, conceptual art, or anything like that. I’m just like, “Oh, what’s this? I’m just going to stick it on my wall.” And then I knew that there was something attached to it. I knew what it was for and everything, but I knew that a Maxi Pad is not supposed to be on a wall. You know, I just thought it was funny, and then my best friend thought it was funny. And it was just when someone, you know, who I wanted to impress came in onto the scene that the shame aspect came in.
Rebecca
You write shame so well. Like, I really felt all those… I mean, I didn’t have those experiences, obviously we all have different experiences, but I could really viscerally relate to the feeling of shame with my own story. So that’s something you just really tap into in a very precise way, so thank you.
Natalie
Thanks for naming the stuff that we’re having a hard time doing. As I was running down here to get set up for the podcast, I’d just finished writing something to a student, and I had made a TikTok this morning. I was laughing at myself for my inability in my early years to name feelings. I didn’t have the words. And it’s funny, because as a writer now and basically all the way through — I was an English student, I was an English teacher. I mean, like, I should have had access to all the words. But feelings were not there. And I have a girlfriend and she would tease me, like, in my twenties, and she’s like, “Yeah, we’re just dead inside,” and I’m like, “I don’t know that that’s the joke.” So it is really interesting to read somebody’s piece where I’m like, “Shit they have the words.” And I’m getting there, but I’m 45. I would hope I have some words now, but it’s taken some time.
Kathryn
I also would put myself in the ‘dead inside’ category too. Sort of now I’m starting to have more feelings. It’s not that I don’t have feelings, but I’ve had that experience where I’m like, “I feel weird in my body. What’s going on?” I had a positive experience of it once. When I started getting into some environmental activism, I started to feel euphoria, and I had never felt that before because it was like I was with a group of people who cared about the same things that I cared about. And the group I was involved in ended up being a little bit culty, and I was like, “Oh, this is how people get into cults.” I realized after. Yeah, I had never experienced, like, euphoria before. Oh, no… was it euphoria? No. I don’t think it was euphoria. Shit. It’s a kind of a high that people get. Is it euphoria? Maybe it is. That’s not quite the word.
Natalie
Feels right to me.
Kathryn
Anyways, I won’t obsess over this word. I’ll wake up in the middle of night. But anyways, I experienced… it starts with an E, I think.
Rebecca
Exaltation?
Natalie
Ecstatic?
Kathryn
No, no — oh my god.
Rebecca
Exuberance?
Kathryn
I had this, like, heightened feeling that I had never felt before. And so I’m like, “What is it that people feel when they feel connected to a group?” I had to, like, Google it. I can’t even remember the word now, but it was like euphoria, but I don’t think it was really euphoria. There was, like, this almost high. I quickly came down from it as things fell apart in that group. You know, I moved on to other things and kind of got more grounded, but it was a weird feeling. And I was, like, asking people, “Have you had this feeling before?” It was so weird.
Natalie
And searching for language, right? To name it.
Kathryn
Yeah, I was just wanting to name it, and I knew I had never experienced before, and it was just that sort of deep connection. I mean, I don’t think it was bad — I think it was a really good thing. But, you know, you can’t stay in that state, especially when you’re dealing with the climate stuff. It was short-lived.
Rebecca
When you are writing, like, maybe is that the other end of the emotional spectrum — euphoria, or whatever that word is, and shame? I don’t know where they fall in the spectrums, but do you have to, like, buckle down and be like, “I’m writing about this now.” Or are you not thinking that way?
Kathryn
You know what, I’m so instinctual — I just have an idea and go with it. It’s sort of a problematic way to write when you have a deadline. I struggled a bit with this book. You know, obviously it was under contract, the pandemic came in, I was doing a climate anthology, and then I had this book due — so it was kind of a lot of things happening at once. And, you know, writing a book felt really trite after reading hundreds and hundreds of submissions of people, you know, just in such agony over the climate crisis, you know, ongoing colonialism, you know, worldwide injustice — and writing a book of little stories. I just had a really hard time thinking that was a valued thing for me to do after. You know, and I got quite burnt out after. I loved doing the anthology, but I did get quite burnt out after that.
Natalie
Which maybe speaks to the necessity of this book, of Anecdotes, of being able to put feelings into a bit of a container. Because that’s what I attached to short story texts — like I really feel like they are often containers for bigger things. That’s what it felt like a little bit for me — like you’ve got this big project, which is activism in quite a literal big sense, global sense, but then you’ve got this personal activist container for your own story.
Kathryn
Yeah, and it’s like, what do you do when so many people are grappling with it? How do we kind of live our lives in the context of, you know, really terrible things that are happening around the world that we’re the beneficiaries of? It’s really a hard way to exist. And sometimes I will talk about the climate anthology that I co-edited, Watch Your Head, and it kind of came out of some of the, you know, on the ground activism I was doing. I started a website, and then Coach House asked if we wanted to do a print anthology, and so we had 14 editors from the Watch Your Head collective soliciting work and choosing work, and everyone had sort of different roles.
But I often will say, like, “Forgive me my rage.” Like, I wrote this book after working on that project. And working on that project, you know, to be honest, I was in quite a hopeless state. I sometimes say, and I think even here even, the words are ‘post-hope,’ which my friend Kirby wrote on the back: “It’s a post-hope classic.” But I don’t necessarily mean post-hope in terms of hopelessness — I sort of mean like it’s not something I can solve. I’m a control freak, and I want to pitch in and do things. And when I sort of realized, “Oh, I’m getting burnt out. It’s just, I’m not going to be able to solve this, obviously.” And it’s not fully solveable because the people who can make a difference are making it worse — and, like, to what end? Billionaires in bunkers — I can’t really understand it, but if that’s the future they want for themselves, I guess that’s what they’re going to get. I hope it’s miserable and there’s nothing to watch on TV.
But yes, I’m kind of, like, in this thing of despair and hopelessness, and sort of what came out of it — ok, well, what can I do? I can publish works that I care about. I can have deeper connections with people and I can try to, like, engage in sort of injustice and really focus on, like, what’s going on with different human beings around the world, different injustices and stuff. So that’s kind of where I’ve settled myself. I’m not in that place of, “Oh, we’re going to save the planet.” You know, that’s just not going to happen — but, like, I’m not going to, you know, close my briefcase and walk away, you know? Like, so now I’m sort of interested in connection, and so that hopelessness has moved me to a place of connection with people. And, you know, with my students, I try to give them hope for their careers and their future. And I teach screenwriting and fiction — and yeah, I’m happy not to be teaching stuff about the climate. You know, because that’s how I sort of came through it. And then writing this book was also that — you know, sharing anecdotes. “This is my experience,” and then that reminds you of something of your experience. So that’s kind of where I ended up.
Rebecca
I’m a screenwriter too, so where do you sit on this question of the unlikable female character protagonist that comes up? I’m thinking, because your protagonist… I think that’s funny, the short story where all her friends are converting to Christianity. And she’s just like, “No, I’m not. Like, I just won’t.” And she’s pretty resistant, and she’s not afraid of going against the flow. (It’s funny, the flow, thinking of Maxi Pad. We’ll just keep that imagery going.) Yeah. I mean, how do you deal with that? I’m in some groups, writing / producing groups that are quite mainstream Hollywood, and that comes up all the time.
Kathryn
Oh, does it really?
Rebecca
And even, you know, Sofia Coppola — I noticed that one of her projects just got canceled by Apple because they were like, “I just don’t understand your female protagonist.” And I think really what they’re saying is, “We just don’t like her.” I mean, do you deal with that with your students, or what do you think of all that? Or you’re just like, “Fuck it, I don’t care.”
Kathryn
Well, there’s a couple of things, because there’s the thing that happens where people don’t like female-centric stories when women don’t behave according to gender norms, and that makes people uncomfortable — therefore they don’t like her. And then there’s also a real thing that happens in screenwriting where the people who have written the story have not provided enough context for us to understand the motivation of the behaviour. And those two things could happen at the same time. And it’s just that, you know, women are often told that their characters aren’t likeable. Maybe a part of it could be that, you know, we’ve seen endless stories of unlikeable characters who are male and so people immediately identify them. So maybe the way of dealing with that is providing more context — not that I’m saying the onus is on us to make the characters more understandable. So not having enough context can make people not understand characters.
Often women are told that their characters are unlikeable because they’re subverting gender norms. And that’s happened to me — that happened to me in a feature film project that I wrote that was actually based on Freight, which is probably the oldest story in the collection that I wrote in my twenties when I was at UBC. And then I made it into a feature film and it got optioned, it got really close and, you know, all the people who were involved were women and really got the mother character who was an alcoholic. And then it just didn’t get funding and I just kind of was told that, you know, the mother character just wasn’t, you know, likeable enough because she was a bad mother. So it was really frustrating to kind of think… I mean, I’m sure there are other reasons why that project fell apart. You know, I worked on it for a long time, it had some structural problems and stuff, but that was a feedback I was getting a lot and it would enrage me. So I’ve been on the receiving end of that feedback.
I’ve been told also, “Your stories are too small.” That’s the other one that really enrages me. And that’s sort of why I called this Anecdotes, because when you’re getting feedback, especially if you’re a young person, and you’re told like, “Oh, this isn’t an important enough story.” Like, a story about a child living with an alcoholic mother’s apparently not a big enough story to warrant a feature film. Or, you know, a story about periods — or, you know, if men got their periods, there’d be, like, I don’t know, there’d be period statues and days off, and, you know, all the products would be free, you know, because we don’t hear stories about periods. So yeah, that kind of feedback, the way women are told to write their characters, really, I find very enraging. And the unlikeable protagonist is a part of that — like, it’s very frustrating to be told that. And so I sort of find the weapon is context — ok, fine, you can make anybody interesting, likeable, whatever, if people understand some context about them. I approached all my characters that way anyway, but I take care if I want a character to subvert gender norms.
Rebecca
I’ll have that in my head if I’m getting that feedback. I’m like, “What context could I add for you?”
Natalie
Yeah, the weapon as context or context as a weapon, that could be a reframing kind of takeaway that could be applied to other things, not just to screenwriting.
Rebecca
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Natalie
There’s something powerful in the form of the short story — and I mean, you’ve published a lot in terms of poetry. So we’re talking about, like, forms that change size, right? I mean, you’ve got poems. I mean, I know there are epic poems, but, like, poems generally are thought of as shorter and then you’ve got short stories, but then you’ve got screenplays for feature films — well, that’s a lot longer. You’ve got these books, these anthologies.
I think the idea of the form of a short story is very interesting to me because it was always my favourite form to teach. And I think I liked it because there was so little context, so it obligated of my mind the effort to be put into, like, really building a world outside of the story so that I could put meaning into it or extract from it — but I also didn’t have to, it could just be a moment. And I liked that, but not everybody knows how. It’s like we need scaffolding to kind of, like, set people up for success when it comes to these forms — which I think, again, Anecdotes did really well. Like, it was lots of small moments, but there was enough context built into the connecting of them all that probably allows someone who maybe doesn’t have, like, a great love for necessarily, like, a short story form to see it as something other.
Kathryn
Yeah, and I think of context too as not, like, kind of, like, explaining the story to make it easy for them. It’s more like: what is the information that we need to understand this world and character? And sometimes it can be a moment, a line, a piece of dialogue that might not be, like, a long thing. You know, when I went through creative writing school, it was all about, you know, Hemingway’s iceberg theory. And you only need to know… You know, you’re supposed to be subtle, and you’re supposed to let the reader come to it. But there’ve been some critiques to that, because the people who that benefits are the people for whom stories have been allowed, have been told, have been celebrated — which are often cis white men.
So yeah, you can be subtle because everybody already knows your context, you know? And so people who’ve sort of been left out, subtlety is a violence in many cases, you know? I think of a short story by Jamaica Kincaid called Girl, and it’s in sort of monologue form, and it’s very overt — you know, it’s all the things that in a creative writing workshop you’re not supposed to do. Like, show don’t tell is almost a very violent, white supremacist way of teaching people about storytelling. Now, you know, it’s a tool to have in your toolbox. I’m not saying, like, “Show don’t tell is always a problem,” but yeah.
So sort of critiquing how writing has been taught, what we’re taught to think of as a short story and, like, in my experience, kind of coming through those programs I was always told my stories weren’t big enough. And so that’s why I’m like, “Ok, fuck you. I’m going to write a book called Anecdotes.” So the title is very much in response to that as well. It’s like, “I’m going to tell a story about, you know, banging into a fire hydrant.” You know, all the things that aren’t supposed to matter, but seem to matter with certain people in the world and don’t matter with other people. So that was sort of how that section unfolded for me. How different people are told how they can write stories is really frustrating, and the unlikeable character is just one manifestation of that, but it’s so frustrating.
Rebecca
And it’s interesting because, like, when I listen to my daughters, when they talk about the things that have been upsetting to them… so they’re 15 and 10. But they’re small — like it was the time the teacher singled me out in French class and I had to go sit at the round table, even though it wasn’t me. Ok, that’s, like, such a small thing, but that is something my daughter carries. And that’s worth a story. And I love that you’re doing that. Someone else might not see that as a big story, but for her, that was a big story and a big introduction to shame — or something. So it’s like, why can’t those be stories? I love what you’re doing.
Natalie
Well, and thinking of children, actually, one of my favourite stories was Human Microphone, which I thought was so fascinating because, I mean, you can read the story as, like, a woman finding her voice — well, that was certainly a key takeaway for me. But needing support to be heard was a part of her growth experience. And, I mean, that’s actually what we really try and do here with Reframeables — like, we really want to sort of say, “We can all find the words and the reframing tools together, but we’re going to do it with conversations that are happening with artists and authors who we can use their work as, like, a lens through which to kind of reframe our own next steps, right?” That’s kind of the idea. So it’s community building — that’s the big vision. So in that community work though, of your story, it was this chorus of children who essentially show up for this character and chant for her — like, they’re like her cheerleaders. And it actually made me a little bit emotional when I was reading — like, look, I could even do it to myself right now, because I honestly spent 20 years as a grade nine through 12 English teacher, and oh my god, those kids were champions.
Rebecca
We should give our listeners just a better sense of that story for those who haven’t read it. Do you want to, Kathryn, just tell us the context?
Kathryn
Yeah, I can tell you the context. This is, like, the opening section, which is called “The Boy Is Dead.” And it’s more of the kind of the weird absurdist stories. And The Human Microphone is a woman is on a packed bus and all these school children go on, and so it’s like you’re packed like sardines. I think they’re about 13. And she’s having a panic attack and needs to get off the bus, and then she tries to yell to the bus driver and he doesn’t listen to her. And she’s getting more distressed. The children start chanting and become a human microphone, until eventually I think the bus driver opens the thing.
That anecdote in itself actually happened to me as written. I wrote it as a Facebook post, and it was a very haunting experience. Like, the real thing that happened — so that first part of that story was something that happened to me. I was on this bus, I was trying to get the bus driver’s attention. The whole bus was kids and they were screaming, and it was so satisfying. And then there was this annoyed man beside me who thought I was creating fuss. But anyway, and then I thought, “God, that was such a weird… like, did that really happen?” When I got spit out of the bus, I was like, “Did that happen?” Like, “Did that just happen to me?” It was so weird. And then I thought, you know, what if these kids were with me, you know, when I was taking back that sweater, or when I was doing something else.
So that’s how I kind of just sort of imagined. It was kind of a real life thing, and then a ‘what if?,’ and I just sort of imagined these different scenarios. You know, and then I thought, “Well, at some point, you know, she’s going to be able to do it on her own too.” So yeah, that was how that story unfolded. And you know, I don’t really write a story with a, like, set meaning — just something interests me and I follow it. You know, I do have ADHD and my writing practice is reflected in that, you know? I just kind of go with where I want to go and I don’t really think about, “What does this mean?” And then after I think, “Oh, these kind of things line up,” but I never go in knowing what I’m doing, really. Something usually personal happens and then I expand on it, is usually how I write things.
Natalie
Well, it’s kind of fun then maybe, I don’t know, for you as a writer to hear a reader saying to you, “Well that was a symbol for me,” right? Like, it was a symbol to have these kids’ voices.
Kathryn
Yes, it was very fun.
Natalie
And I was like, “Oh my fuck,” — that’s amazing that I can actually look back on my experiences with all of those students and their voices can be, like, cheerleader moments in terms of, like, my own voice-finding. Which I just think it’s very interesting. I didn’t expect to get any sort of emotion as I’m asking you this question, because I had planned this question.
Kathryn
Yeah, isn’t that interesting? Yeah.
Natalie
But wow, like it really is quite a striking experience to need support to find words. And maybe it’s the kids that are going to save us — all of us, the world.
Kathryn
I really like this generation, I have to say. They are the recipients of terrible, terrible decisions, and I feel really bad. I see sort of the pain in the students that I work with. It’s pretty scary, but they’re very impressive. I think they’re a really smart generation and they’re very resilient and they’re really delightful to teach.
Natalie
In your piece “When a Tree Develops Problems,” (and I’m going to read a quote from it if it’s ok) you start off with these words. You write: “Let’s be vague. Instead of talking, let’s perform our favorite emojis for the crowd. Don’t worry, no one’s watching. No one cares what we say or do unless we take a picture of ourselves in a mirror and put it on the internet.” So I was like, “Oh my gosh — like, she just named all the things right there.” And then it made me just want to ask you: so is that an example for you of storytelling as activism?
Kathryn
I mean, I think storytelling can be activism. I don’t go and think, “Oh, I’m going to write about trees.” Like, this particular piece — in 2017, Gary Barwin and I did a collaboration in the summer. It just started, like, on Facebook. I sent him something and then I’m like, “Write a poem,” and then he wrote a poem. And then he sent me something and I wrote from that. And we just kind of did this back-and-forth. Gary collaborates with a lot of other people, I don’t. So it was a really new thing for me, and the pressure of having to write a piece a day… We did publish a chapbook of some of these pieces through Knife Fork Book. It was a collaborative chapbook. And then both of us also have taken some of the pieces and then put them in our own story collections or whatever. So, you know, there would have been something that he wrote about that I responded to.
And so that’s kind of how it was written. Again, very intuitive, responsive, just sort of my overall kind of worldview. I just respond to the world, I think, is what happens with me. I never really go like, “Oh, I’m going to write a book about climate change. I’m going to write a book about coming of age.” I just sort of, like, think, “Oh that’s interesting,” and then I, like, go off — and that’s how I live my life. I used to feel really bad about that writing process because it’s not very productive and then, you know, you’re told, “Oh, you’re not supposed to write for inspiration,” and stuff like that, and then I was like, “Well, then I don’t want to do it, because if it is a daily chore then I’m just…” So anyway, that’s a very long rambly answer. It came out of a collaboration. These are things I’m just generally concerned about. So I don’t see it as activism, but I’m not opposed to it being seen as activism.
Rebecca
That kind of idea that the writer is responding to the world, it’s all the more important that we as writers… you guys, tell me if this is true, but, like, that we be good / conscientious humans, or something. Like, it matters who we are as people. I’m thinking as writers, if we’re responding to the world and then it’s going to have this impact that you don’t even intend it necessarily, you’re just responding, it matters what kind of people we are. What do you think? Could we be bad people?
Kathryn
Well, I mean, I think we’re all terrible people, to be honest. It’s not really possible to, you know, be pure and live in this world, you know? Like, we’re terrible people. You know, for the phones we use, children are enslaved, you know what I mean? Like, everything we do makes us terrible people. So I think it’s not possible to be good. I try not to think in terms of good or bad, and I don’t know that other people write in that way — I mean some people do, but I don’t know if everybody is just kind of, like, following a fly when they write. That’s just sort of my approach to it. And if I have an intention, it goes back to connection. Like, if the story is activism to someone, then that’s really great. I’m really happy that I was able to connect and have them think about the world. If somebody remembers a shame incident from their childhood and connects with that, or thinks, “Hey, oh my god, I can tell a story about this really small thing because somebody else did it,” — you know, if I can connect with people that way, then I find that really exciting. So good or bad doesn’t necessarily matter in that context. If somebody responds, that’s really all I’m really after — is just, like, being around people who care about the same things that I do is kind of where I’m at. So that’s kind of what I mean. It’s more connection with other people. It’s not hopelessness. It’s just, you know, kind of like you’re reframing it, reframing it as: all that’s left when nothing’s left is connecting with other people and trying to make things less bad.
Rebecca
Kathryn, in the last section, you have these characters Past and Future and Progress — those are the characters. Can you talk about that section?
Kathryn
So this is the final section, and it’s again a series of sort of anecdotes where the past and the future are personified as different characters. So in one, they might be a couple, in another they might be, like, two friends, they might be roommates in the attic — you know, they’re just kind of all different. They’re not the same. They’re not the same sort of identities. Their gender pronouns are ‘they,’ they’re not given a lot of identifying description. So they’re meant to be kind of vague, so you can kind of, you know, fit your assumptions of them into it as you’re reading it. And so they’re in a constant struggle with each other often. And often but not always, the past is sort of the one who’s causing a lot of the trouble — but not always, sometimes the future comes in and does things too. The present makes an appearance at one point. So sometimes they’re friends. In one, the past and the future gang up on the present. In another, they’re in a literal tug of war. So it’s a little weird world where the past and the future, it’s like a little series where they are constantly at odds with each other.
And this book’s been written in bits and pieces for a while. Some are more new than others, but I have been working on this past and future for about, I don’t know… time is… I don’t know about time anymore. But pre-2020, let’s just say. And I included some of them in the chapbook in 2017 that I collaborated on with my husband, David Poolman. But yeah, so they were, you know, again, a response to climate and world issues, violence, suppression. And so even though I thought a lot about, you know, climate stuff — even, like, adding more to them, because I added more to them more recently. But they kind of are a stand-in for oppression, really. All different kinds of oppression I think. I think they fit many different scenarios. So they’re kind of relevant now even though that wasn’t fully the intention. But when you’re thinking about climate crisis, you can’t not separate that from Western imperialism, land grabs, violence. So they’re quite violent. I had my mom read them to me, and recording them and just getting her reaction, and she was like, “Oh my goodness, you’re very sad.” Like, some of them will be really violent — it’s so funny to hear her, the juxtaposition of hearing her read these little pieces. Yeah, I think I’m going to do some kind of project this summer where she reads them. It’s very funny.
Rebecca
Who’s always pushing the other down the stairs? Past?
Kathryn
I think I sort of was mad at baby boomers at one point, so it was always the past for a while, but then I thought, “Well, I can’t just always have it be… you know, the future is also…” Anyway, so they both kind of are a little bit bad to each other, but it’s more often the past than the future. But the future becomes the past, anyway, so it’s really both of them. And then one of them, they switch identity. I mean, you know, I’m mad at baby boomers and then, you know, I become a middle-aged person. You know what I mean? It’s not one generation. It’s just probably the way we interact as a whole. And, you know, the future does become the past. We’re kind of locked into this frustration that is also ending.
Natalie
It’s like a reckoning.
Kathryn
Yeah, and it’s also like, you know, contributing to where we’re headed, unfortunately.
Natalie
Ok, well, so at the end Future does say to a sleeping Past — so Past is not responding, but Future says, “Things always get better, don’t they?” And I liked that line, because I was like, “Ok, that fits with, like, my hope for my nine-year-old.” You know what I mean? So I don’t know, what do you think? Do you think that writing the book was like a reframing of anything for you?
Kathryn
Yeah. I think it kind of goes into that thing of like, yeah, I have my days where I think it’s a done deal. And then I have days where I see possibility. So I did kind of want to leave the book on… I don’t love the word ‘hope’ for myself, but I do like the word ‘possibility.’ And I do believe that if we say that, “Oh, everything’s over,” which I sometimes say, then it will be — like, it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy if you give up. You know, there are things that can be done. You know, impossible things have been done before. So that’s why I do like to end it where if you’re in that moment where you can taste the possibility, you know, I don’t just want it to be like this endless struggle and then we all die or whatever, you know?
So some days I feel like that, and then sometimes I feel like, “Oh no, there’s something more.” I sort of leave it on that. It’s sort of up to you — where you’re at and what you need. I think not recognizing the problems and not trying to do something about it, that’s what leaves me really hopeless — like, actually hopeless. But I think just sort of talking about it, having shared concerns, can move you a step forward. And so, yeah, do I personally believe things always get better? I don’t know. But you have to leave that opening. I didn’t want it to be super bleak.
Rebecca
Thanks. We appreciate the…
Kathryn
Yeah.
Natalie
The opportunity.
Rebecca
The opportunity — yeah, yeah.
Kathryn
Yeah.
Natalie
I mean, that’s what it’s got to be.
Kathryn
Yeah, because I think actually if you have no hope, you don’t talk about it. You don’t bring up the discussion, right? You’re not interested in connection. You know, in some ways our lives are hopeless, because we’re all going to die. So do you live thinking I’m going to die every second, and not try to connect with people? You know what I mean? Like, so it is sort of like, “What are you going to do with what you have and what is possible within your realm?” And, you know, for me as a teacher, I love that I get to teach creative writing and screenwriting, and that I can help students enrich their lives when there is chaos all around — like, that just feels like a really great privilege to be able to do that. I used to think it was sort of trite to teach creative writing, and now I think it’s really important, no matter whether they go on or not. But just kind of, you know, that they have this in their lives because being able to express yourself is one thing you’re going to need in the future, anyway — which everybody needs all the time, so yeah.
Natalie
Yeah, that’s going back to us starting with finding the words, so there we go. Words and art and art on the wall. Maxi Pad, or whatever.
Rebecca
Whatever that is behind me.
Kathryn
And humour, too.
Rebecca
And humour.
Natalie
Yeah.
Kathryn
Yeah, you know, that’s the other thing: is it’s important even to laugh while you’re crying, I guess.
Rebecca
Kathryn, can we do a very quick speed round with you? I didn’t warn you about this, but we’ll just ask you some quick questions and you just answer them as you can.
Kathryn
Oh gosh, ok. This is terrible. I have an honesty problem, ok.
Rebecca
Oh, yay.
Kathryn
This is terrible.
Rebecca
Ok, what is the funnest thing you’re going to do today?
Kathryn
Well, I’m actually going to be reading in Victoria at the Wild Prose Reading Series at… I can’t remember where it is, but anyways, it’s on my website. But yeah, I’m going to do a reading today. So I’m really looking forward to that.
Natalie
Ok, how would somebody who’s, like, super close to you describe you, in three words?
Kathryn
I know one thing: my husband would say I’m messy. I’m hyper hygienic, but I’m messy. I’m… oh, this is a horrible question.
Natalie
You’re welcome.
Kathryn
I know, thank you. No, they’re great questions, but also… Ok, messy. I would say they think I’m pretty, like, moral actually. I think they would say that. And I’ve been with my husband for 30 years, and about 15 years ago, he’d say, “You’re really funnier than you used to be,” and then I was, like, enraged about this. I was like, “I’ve always been funny. What do you mean I’m funnier? You’re just noticing?” Anyway, so I think they’d probably say I’m kind of funny.
Rebecca
What do you need to be creative?
Kathryn
I need others’ art and writing. If I’m going to write something, I always read before. Like, I kind of get into the mindset. I need to read or go to an art show or somehow I need to experience art. I mean, I get ideas from other things, but if I’m going to just sit down and someone says, “Be creative right now,” the first thing I do is read somebody else who I think will help.
Natalie
I love that answer. Becca, we’ve had so many people answer that one with ‘time,’ which is totally fine…
Rebecca
Yeah — I was going to give you a hint, if you need it. But I love that answer, yeah.
Natalie
Yeah, that’s like, I can get behind that.
Kathryn
Oh really? I find I make time. Like, I have really learned that if you have 10 minutes, you can do a writing prompt. That’s what I do with my students and they create, like, the most magnificent things in 10 minutes. You just need 10 minutes. Creativity has sort of ruled my life, whether I like it or not. I don’t feel like it was a choice. And so I don’t always write — like, I don’t always have actually the time to write, but I always make it a part of my life, even if I’m in a busy time. Like if there’s four months I can’t write or something, that’s ok — I’m like, “Ok, then I’m living and experiencing things.” But I always find a way to make the time or accept when I don’t have time. If I’m, like, forced to be creative, I need other people — which again, speaks to my interest in connection and community, I guess, which I didn’t really think of till now.
Natalie
Ok, well then what’s a common myth about your profession? You can choose which profession, because you have a few.
Kathryn
I think people think you choose it. That is a myth. I don’t know who on earth would decide to set themselves up for anguish, despair, rejection, hope, you know. I always say to my students, like, “What fool would ever decide to make their life be creative in, like, a really serious way?” Because even if you have another job and you’re a poet or, you know… most people have to have another job and be creative. So most people don’t just suddenly get to be a creative being and not have any other responsibilities. People are parents, they are caregivers — like, there’s all kinds of scenarios. I don’t think anybody has a life, unless you’re privileged and rich, that is conducive to being a creative person. So you’re choosing that. You know, other people, like, have hobbies. They don’t stay home on Saturday nights. Or they try and enjoy their lives, or they go home… you know what I mean? Like, it takes up a lot of time, it takes up a lot of emotional energy. Like, I like it because I have, like, conditioned to it. I think people think you choose it, and I just don’t think that you would choose it.
And working with students for 20 years, you know, the ones who go on are not always the ones who are the, like, star of the class. I don’t really believe in talent. Sometimes you just happen to write well in a particular time. Those are not often the ones who go on. It’s really the ones who struggle. I was a very mediocre student when I was studying creative writing, and it wasn’t about being good at it. It was just that I couldn’t stop. It was more about being obsessive. You know, it’s a compulsion. For me, that has been my experience — like, just why would you put yourself through that heartbreak, my god? It’s brutal.
Rebecca
I’m with you on that, because I was speaking with someone who works at a bank about an arts grant. So I was, like, trying to pick her brain about money. And then we were discussing her job at the bank and pensions and I was like, “That sounds so good.” Like, wow. If I wasn’t so obsessive and compelled, I would just work at a bank.
Kathryn
Yeah, it doesn’t make sense.
Rebecca
Gosh, you’re just done at five o’clock — yeah.
Kathryn
And then you can, like, plan, like, a vacation or something. I don’t know. Unless you’re a banker and a poet, you know, then you’re suffering and you get to have all this other…
Rebecca
Yeah, that might be the perfect combination, a banker and a poet.
Natalie
Kathryn, thanks for this. Thank you for this time.
Kathryn
Thank you so much for having me on the show. I love your podcast, I am going to spread the word on my newsletter. I love what you’re doing — I love to support it, as well. Thank you so much for having me on.