One of the aspects I found the most intriguing about Sarah Polley’s ‘Stories We Tell’ was the exigency of all those who came in contact with the story – the desire to ‘own’ the story. This is seen not only in Sarah, responsible for the documentary which saw her family’s secrets revealed to the public. Sarah’s father Michael (not biological) responded to the the news that Harry Gulkin fathered Sarah during his marriage to Diane prompted him to write. Sarah relates how Michael set to putting down the story of his marriage Diane, her affair, his relationship with his children and what he saw as the necessity for the children to tell their own story – their role in their mother’s life, her role in their lives and the manner in which she affected them. Harry Gulkin also sought to tell the story. For me, I was interested in the variety of reasons individual’s gave for why they wanted to tell the story – for catharsis, to preserve memories, to make sense of and move forward from a moment in life.

‘Stories We Tell’ took more than 5 years to be produced – with Polley having to take a break during production to focus her attention and energies elsewhere. For me, this was reminiscence of Art Speigelman’s two part text ‘Maus’ which saw the first installment published in 1987 and the second installment 4 years later in 1991. While both Polley and Spiegelman were in possession of the majority of the content, it became a question of how one might go about relating another’s history – especially in regards to morals and ethics. The final product, in both cases, reveals that while the focus of the work is one specific individual, it is impossible to consider them without considering others – particularly those separated by a generation. In the characters of both Polly and Spiegelman it is apparent that their history is experiences that preceded their births but were transmitted to them leaving them with absent experiences – memories of that which they had not and would to experience.

E Beverly Brown shared her photos not only to ‘pay tribute to the resilience, spirit and strength’ of the students of St. Michael’s Residential school but also ‘so that this period in our collective history is not forgotten’.  These were words that stuck with me as I made my way through Speaking to Memory: Images and Voices from St. Michael’s Residential School. The exhibit inspired a number of emotions. The strongest being guilt and shame – to a point where it was almost overwhelming. I am of the mind that it is absolutely necessary that Canadian’s acknowledge the entirety of their history – the good, the bad and the ugly – but at the same time simply acknowledging doesn’t feel like enough. I’ve taken a handful of Canadian History courses over the course of my academic career and I’ve been made aware of Canada’s dark history – its numerous violations of human rights. However, this exhibit made me realize that I’ve only been made aware. The fact of the matter is, I do not think about residential schools. I do not think about Chinese labor camps. I do not think about Japanese internment camps. Not unless I have to.

One thing that I struggled with in this exhibit was the chalkboard towards the rear entrance.
A place to share reflections on the residential schools for those who had taken the time to look at E Beverly Brown’s 39 photographs. For those who had read the 6 apology banners top to bottom. Who had sat down and perused the countless articles or even skimmed the 54 excerpts taken from former students. For me, the comments on the board only served to highlight the ignorance of Canadians. “[residential schools] were SO SO sad”

Residential schools were far more than ‘SO SO sad’.

The layout of the exhibit is one of the aspects that I found to be most effective. The triangular format of the entry – the wall of text leading into the exhibit, the photographs of students placed across from the excerpts of former students. The apology banners placed in a space where the next most prominent display speaks of the rampant tuberculosis – the consequence of entirely preventable yet overlooked overcrowding. As one leaves – the wall of text which admits Canada’s failure. I’ve asked a friend to check out the exhibit – to walk it from the back to the front – and share their interpretation. I would (could and have) do(ne) this but knowing what was in the exhibit changed the feeling. It wasn’t fresh. I knew what was to come. My experience had already been dictated by the manner in which I participated.

I must say that, despite raising my blood pressure, the short paper assignment turned into one of those rare assignments that I truly appreciate. Since declaring my major as English Literature four years ago I’ve spent significantly less time in bookstores. One might say I actively avoid them. It’s been far too long since I’ve read for pleasure. My excuse is my dining room table. Which probably doesn’t make much sense to you – so let e explain. My dining room table boasts four stacks of reasonably thick texts from September until April. Come May I shelve all the texts and spend the next four months giving my brain a break. Sure, I’ll sit by the pool with a good novel every once in a while but how I read these days as opposed to how I used to read in my younger years has changed dramatically. Forgive that tangent. Classes have just ended and I am more than ready for Reading Week.  Alas, this post must be up by midnight.

On with the show.

I appreciated the short paper assignment because it required that I spend some time in an actual bookstore. Wandering the biography section I came across a number of familiar names and familiar faces. Some texts I had read before, many (most) I had not. As the point of the assignment was to take into consideration the epitext and paratext, I spent a great deal of time examining individual texts and making notes. I came across the most bizarre life narratives as I read through references, acknowledgments, reviews, removed dustjackets, compared hardcover and softcovers among other suspicion inducing actions. I also came across a number of life narratives that made me ask “Why?” More specifically “Why was this life narrative published?” I was content to answer my own question with “Why not?”. However, browsing review sites (Amazon, Chapters and Goodreads) I found my answer.

No matter how bizarre (or in some cases ‘ordinary’) a life narrative – there was the potential to reach people. I came across countless reviews for the text I selected (Piece of Cake: A Memoir) that claimed the text inspired or influenced the reader’s (or someone known to the reader’s) life in a positive way.

TBC (Before Midnight Obviously)

Facebook. Twitter. Instagram. Snapchat.

There’s always something to be updated.

Something. Someone.

Friends. Family. Strangers. Data collecting bots.

From the extraordinary to the extra ordinary.

And why not? Facebook asks ‘What’s on your mind?’ and Twitter urges the user to ‘Compose a new tweet…’

In the words of Six Word Memoir’s founder Larry Smith “Everybody has a story, they just often need to be asked. And they need to be reminded that they are being heard.”

Likes and comments serve to act as reminders that the original poster is being heard.

Or so we (without a doubt all OPs of some content on the web) like to believe.

That’s not to say all those faceless post approving , commentary providing participants are just clicking their screens at random – some really do enjoy the content or feel as though something is worth of discussion. But the harsh reality is that very few people are being heard.

In 2010 Sysomos – the leading provider of social media monitoring and analytics tools maker of social media analysis tools- analyzed 1.2 billion tweets over a two-month period observing and recording the reception of tweets. The study results showed that:

-71% of all tweets produce no reaction — in the form of replies or retweets

-6% of all tweets produce a retweet

-23% of all tweets solicit replies

In the event of a reaction:

-96.9% of replies and 92.4% of retweets happen within the first hour

-5.97% à the chance of a retweet in or after the third hour

-2.22% likelihood of a retweet in or after the third hour

So why is it that we’re not being ‘heard’?

Personally, I believe it is because many of us are incredibly self centered.

Sysomos 2010 study can be seen to back up my feelings showing that ‘Only 10.7% of all tweets that generate a reply see a reply to the original reply, and only 1.53% of these conversations are three levels deep (meaning there’s a reply, a reply to the reply, and a reply to the reply of the reply)’.

As much as we desire and seek attention, we neglect to cultivate our online relationships. I know of many individuals with a Facebook friends lists with a friend counter in the quadruple digits. The same goes for Instagram and Twitter followers. Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t have the mental or emotional capacity to foster solid relationships with over… let’s say… twenty people. Even that may be pushing it. Consequently one stops caring about their ‘friends’ and followers. Certainly they’ll like a post here and there or leave a comment on one of every twenty posts or so, but it’s hard (damned near impossibly) to actively attend to everybody submitting content while attending to other responsibilities.

So that leaves me with a question for you:

Short of cutting down on friends and followers, is there an effective and efficient way to maintain some sort of meaningful connection with one’s online peers?