How do you know when the story you're telling isn't the right one?
How do you tell the story of a man like John A. Macdonald? How do any of us tell stories?
The Clothesline is written by a real person: Me! I’m Vanessa Chiasson, a writer and business coach based in Ottawa, Canada. I write travel and human interest narratives primarily for North American print and online outlets and I love reading, birds, beach glass, lattes, and nachos. I’m scared of roosters, dislike olives, and I cannot wink. You can check out my coaching services here and follow me on Instagram and LinkedIn.
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Food For Thought
How do you know when the story you’re telling is no longer the right one?
It’s a question I’ve considered on a small scale when I’ve been wracked by an essay or article that isn’t unfolding to my satisfaction, but this week, I had the opportunity to ponder it on a much bigger scale when I visited Bellevue House in Kingston, Ontario.
This architecturally significant Parks Canada property dates to 1840 and is most famous not for its beautiful design or stunning gardens but for its one-time tenant. Sir. John A Macdonald, Canada’s first prime minister, lived here for 13 months starting in August 1848.
Several years ago, the property was closed to the public as it grappled with some crumbling ceiling materials and a crumbling narrative. People across Canada rightfully demanded a more robust examination of Macdonald’s life. Many were learning what others had long known, that Macdonald’s policies left much to be desired. Macdonald was a founding father of the Canadian Confederation and also a proponent of genocide. He was a visionary who foresaw how the country could be connected by rail, and he subjected the very people who executed that vision to brutally racist policies. He was an early advocate of women’s suffrage but was motivated less by human rights and more by maintaining class structures.
How do you tell the story about a man like that?
Having visited the newly reopened Bellevue House, I was impressed by the staff’s willingness to discuss how much they (and we) have to learn about Macdonald’s life and legacy. I was touched by their compassion for the intense traumas Macdonald faced in his own life (including the loss of his infant son while living in Bellevue House) and by their unflinching denunciation of the pain he caused others (most notably by tearing Indigenous parents away from their own precious children through the residential school system). The man I and many Canadians learned about in school was given a neat and tidy story. He founded this. He established that. What the team at Bellevue House is doing isn’t neat and tidy. It’s complicated and messy, but it’s also heartfelt and sincere. In my short visit, I learned a lot and felt a lot, and it has made me think deeply about my storytelling efforts.
Some of us may one day be in a position where we play a pivotal role in righting a historic wrong through our writing. But it’s more likely that we are in a position now to prevent one. As such, I appreciate more than ever the value of editors who respectfully push back and ask for an additional source. I am grateful for writing groups that help me expand on story ideas and think beyond my initial ideas. I’m glad for my colleagues who see stories and situations differently from me because they help me grow as a writer. I hope you are too.
Until next time,
Vanessa