I have a byline at Westword. That's so fuckin' cool.

It finally hit me how cool that was when I was walking towards the Westword building to talk with my editor about some things the other day. I have a fuckin' byline at Denver Westword! I get some small ducats sometimes from Westword!

More than 17 years ago, when I first moved to Denver Colorado, I wondered how you got your foot into the door at places like Westword and The Denver Post. I might not yet have known about Denver Westword's office, but I did go downtown and enter into the lobby where The Denver Post was held, and I walked up to the security desk and asked how I could get a job there. heh. That's how I thought things worked, and really, up until I'd moved to Denver, things kind of seemed to work that way for me. I mean. . . Boise is a little bit smaller, and for the most part folks are pretty open and nice about what they know. Or were when I lived there. I'm pretty much out of the Boise loop these days. 

Since then, I've worked at a click-bait site (now defunct), written hundreds of articles, conducted numerous interviews, written for a minute over at Colorado Independent (their freelancer budget dried up), taken a handful of journalism MOOCs, and completed a grip of ghostwritten things that paid alright while they lasted. ...and this is all outside of the creative writing stuff I do (which generally doesn't pay, but feels good when it's published).

Anyway. . .this kind of work is so super humbling. I have a lot to learn since I've entered into journalism through the back door, and I get edited a lot. This work is challenging, but I think I like things that way. I'm always working upwards on the curve, learning all I can, and as part of that, failing a lot. Failing is part of the practice and the work. I get better and better by failing. That's just how it is. 

I like telling my students how challenging writing is generally when they say that they want writing to get easier and that they're just bad at it. I tell them writing is a learned skill and it is always work, always learning. I tell them that I just received an article or review or essay back from my editors or writing group that was red-marked to hell with stuff I needed to change for whichever audience, or because I was inadvertently hiding something that was too important not to be left out, or because my language was super fuzzy or flowery or not concise. 

I've been writing for a long time, sometimes get paid for it, and I still write shit. I still need other eyes to help me to see through it and to compost what's salvageable, and continue on with something better.

For the most part, hearing this allays classroom excuses. I am a working writer and I still write shit. It's okay. We'll all learn together. Give yourself permission to "write shit" (I first heard this sentiment, shit attached, from a workshop writer and editor Heidi Pitlor conducted at Regis University's Mile-High MFA program).

I'm not writing these things to brag. I'm doing this more so to take stock. It's important to take stock. I know a lot of really brilliant writers and journalists, and some of them work much harder than I do at just writing. A good deal of them have gone to journalism school and/or have been in the game for decades doing the thing more than intermittently. I piecemeal my life and my income from massage therapy, teaching, freelancing, and many other odds and ends when and if they come. I still do my best. And I still feel green. And when I start feeling like I'm failing too much, I take a moment to look at the tip of the iceberg, the stuff I have to show for the work I have been doing, which in some sense has been constant. 

I still feel so new at this, and at the same time, I've been able to take stock and see where some successes were, and this gives me a little more confidence to aim higher as I continue learning and writing.

Blah. This is another blog post with a flat ending, but I'm ending it here, just the same. I honestly needed to pick myself up this morning, and to do a little writing warm-up before I address the stuff my editors have sent back. At any rate. . .yeah. There it is, for whoever cares or wants to know. :P If you want to, we can talk about it (in the comments). 

Gitz Crazy Boy, Bree Davies, inspiration, collaboration and starting where you are for social action

My neighborhood is now a "hot" neighborhood where buyers can buy "pre-scrape" lots, have the existing houses torn down to make room for homes that fit many more people into those lots for $300,000-$500,000 or more per unit. This is a drastic change that means current residents must leave in order to find new housing that is hopefully affordable. Of course, this is good for the buyers and in many cases for anyone who can sell during what seems to be a big economical boom in Denver.

One of my favorite and most transformative experiences from my time at the last Arise Music Festival was meeting and talking with a man named Gitz Crazy Boy. Gitz is a Blackfoot and Dene youth worker and environmental activist who fights a fierce fight via peaceful activism against tar sands extraction in his Native lands. He's been featured in the documentary "The Yes Men Are Revolting", and travels far and wide to educate people about what is happening with the tar sands in Canada, why tar sands extraction is unethical and destructive and what can be done about it.

Gitz was a panelist during a talk at Arise about activism and doing the self work necessary to create change. The panel moved along with an aim to instill hope for those who were in attendance. I -- and I assume many of us who were in attendance that day -- see a lot of injustice and foul play in our respective worlds on a daily basis. However, feeling a bit helpless and unable to voice what is felt, it is often difficult to see whether we (can I say we?) are able to produce effective and long lasting change that is inclusive of a much larger scope than current paradigms based on consumption and capitalism allow. I know that I yearn to see changes in an unscrupulous world that seems to be ruled by an ethic of discarding, not only raw materials from the earth, but people themselves. I also know that I am not alone in this yearning.

During the workshop, Gitz made the answer to the internal dilemmas I was feeling radically clear and palpable. "You need to get the ideas of deus ex machina and tech ex machina out of your minds right now," he said during the panel. He pointed out that we all have a choice: We can sit back and watch things happen or we can do something about what is happening.

Later that day, I crossed paths with Gitz on the festival grounds. I decided to shirk my usual social awkwardness and just walk straight up to him to if nothing else, thank him for what he said at the panel. We chatted for a good while, and during that chat, he reiterated a detail from the panel that didn't quite hit me until we were talking face to face. He said that all anyone has to do is to start in their own neighborhoods. It seemed so simple but I remember feeling lost and frantic, already overwhelmed. The comment was familiar. It ran along the same lines as the common slogan from environmental movements everywhere: "Act locally; Think globally." The imperative was evident.

I wanted to do something but even in that moment, I wasn't sure I had any power. At the same time, I was thinking about one of the biggest sticks in my spine about the drastic changes that are happening in my current neighborhood. I've lived here a little more than three years and I have seen the neighborhood change from a place where I felt comfortable, a place where my neighbors would greet and talk with me, to a place where barely anyone says anything at all (I have even been run away from in this new iteration of the 'hood). I have seen this neighborhood literally scraped up, its past residents bought or pushed out. It's uncomfortable and angering.

I thought that maybe I would write letters to all of the old neighbors that are left, ask them what they think about what is happening in the neighborhood, or at least say, "Hi." I didn't do that, though.

Three weeks after that panel, I admittedly was back to my insecurities about whether or not there was anything I could do. But then, I had a coffee meeting with a local writer a few days ago from Westword and The Colorado Independent. Her name is Bree Davies.

Bree and I learned that gentrification is a subject that flips both of our emotional switches.  We learned that while I have been taking pictures of my neighborhood and posting them into an album on Facebook, she has been reporting, blogging, tweeting, talking with people and taking pictures, as well. Our talks continued after that coffee meeting and then there was that question again: What do we do and where do we start?

Bree suggested that we put together a Tumblr showing others what is happening and what the changes look like. We'll include stories, insights, news blurbs, information, talks with people who are involved with these changes, and just about anything we can think of. We also have made this project available for others so they can share their thoughts, ideas, concerns, stories and images, as well.

If you are in Denver and the changes are disconcerting to you, if you are an artist who lives here, a teacher, a resident of any kind who is affected, we want to hear from you. We want this conversation to be huge and to make waves. Starting from where we are, we can make big changes. Let's rock the boat and let's start here: http://disappearingdenver.tumblr.com/.