For Laura Gibbs’ #microfiction stream (AKA Critical Pedagogy and Storytelling) at Digital Pedagogy Lab 2021 (DPL), I am documenting my writing process here.
This time I did concoct (is that a term writers use? – I wouldn’t know) an original story. It’s set in the future and is roughly based on a current outdoor project of mine. It also pokes a bit of fun at my wokeness and my embrace of Tuck & Yang’s 2012 article, Decolonizing is not a Metaphor. Instead of writing a draft this time, I turned on the otter.ai app on my phone as I related my story idea to my wife. Below is the unedited text including my “Like that?” question to my wife at the end before I stopped the recording.
Detour Warning: Text to speech can be a powerfully freeing tool for those who struggle with basic writing skills but it might require some creative approaches. Voice recognition has not yet matured enough to embrace most Indigenous Canadian speech patterns. I teach* adult learners for whom the education system failed. They have great stories to tell, but asking them to write chokes any enjoyment or creativity out of it. I started by writing their dictation myself, moved to recording them to make that easier, and finally repeated their stories phrase by phrase while they watched the transcript appear in a Google doc.
*taught – have to keep reminding myself of my recent reassignment to a faculty development role in our new CTL
End of Detour
Ok, the draft:
Walking trees. Why did that white guy plant such a crooked row of trees. Well, now that’s an interesting story. He lived here with us for over 30 years and started going on and on about decolonizing his fence. He figured that if you planted trees that would be a more welcoming marker of the survey boundary than a fence, we kept going on and on about this and he actually took the fence down. Wow. It was rotten and falling over anyhow. Then he planted trees. He said they’d be more, they they acknowledged this survey line, but they’d be more welcoming inviting people to walk between them where the fence, seemed to say keep out. One morning he got up and found that the trees were no longer in a straight row. Oh my goodness, he said I didn’t carry the colonizing decolonizing far enough, and the trees decolonized themselves and rearrange themselves in a more natural pattern. So that’s why his row of trees are crooked. He’s gone now, along with a lot of the people who lived here when he did. I wonder if over there, they ever told him about the night. They quietly dug up his trees and replanted them like that.
Now the 100-word edit
Why did that white guy plant such a crooked row of trees?
Interesting question. Thirty years he’s with us when he sets about decolonializing his fence. “Trees,” he tells us, “indicate the survey line, but invite walking through it.”
One morning, those trees are growin’ all over the place. “Ah,” he reckons, “I didn’t carry decolonization far enough, so the trees walked themselves into more natural patterns.”
He’s buried here in our graveyard beside plenty of our people from that time. I wonder if, over there, they ever told him about the night we quietly replanted his row of trees.
