Wayson Choy – KEVIN CRAIG

Say His Name, Say His Name…Wayson Choy

This past Saturday was the 5th year anniversary of the passing of Canadian Literary icon Wayson Choy. I’m sure everyone who knew him gave a few minutes of contemplation over to Wayson this weekend. Wayson was just that kind of guy. He made you feel special, like you were the only one.

Just one of the many photos in existence filled with those lucky enough to have known and loved Wayson. This is the group of volunteers who made up the behemoth that was the Ontario Writers Conference. The OWC was a labour of love that Wayson took under his wing and nurtured for more than a decade. The decade was our Époque of Wayson and we will always have the cherished memories of that time.

Over the years in which I was fortunate enough to know Wayson, he imparted so much wisdom onto me…and he gave it freely and without expectation.

Every time I saw Wayson, he had something valuable to say. And he was one of those people who stopped the world around you when he spoke to you, just long enough for his words to sink in. His words came through without static…his natural ability to focus became a part of you while you were within his orbit. He slowed you down and then he gave you his gift. It was a bit mesmerizing, really…

I don’t know how to say it. Think of those creatures that have the ability to paralyze their prey with a cocktail of toxins prior to going in for the deadly blow…BUT in a good way. His demeanor would calm you to the point where you’d be sent to this zen-like space—and then he would move in for the final attack…WITH WISDOM!

Don’t get your panties in a knot. I’m certainly not saying that Wayson was like a cone snail, with their hypodermic needle tooth sending paralyzing venom into your veins. Not my intention at all. My intention is to say that Wayson was my Buddha. My calm place. He had an uncanny ability to put people into that place where they should always live…contentment.

Whenever he could, Wayson would give me actual writing advice specific to whatever hurdles I was facing at the time of our meeting. He had a way of peeling away the detritus and getting right to the point. And he would never let me wallow and seesaw about things. It was hard advice lovingly delivered.

Don’t ever be precious enough to carry a notebook too pretty to write in…because Wayson will pop that cherry. This is what he wrote in a notebook I carried to three OWC conferences without once writing a word in.

After a near-death experience, Wayson decided to write a memoir and it is one of the most beautiful memoirs I’ve ever read. NOT YET. He wasn’t ready to leave the beauty of this world behind…he fought to continue and he survived. Do yourself a favour and read this gem…

Anyway, today’s post is just to say his name. When you are in the memory of those you have left behind, you are still alive in them. Maybe today is a good time to think about Wayson and how his gentle nature impacted your life.

In our OWC circle, we used to joke about The Church of Wayson…but it wasn’t really a joke. It was a church I would attend.

There was something of the dickens in Wayson, and we all knew it. Take his book, ALL THAT MATTERS. What a great line to work into a dedication when book signing, right? He’d work that title into every signature…and we would walk away with our copy, hugging it to our chests thinking, “Oh my God, that’s so sweet! Wayson said that I was what matters!” And he’d give a bit of a rascally wink when handing back your copy. Only later, would we all realize we all received the ‘you matter‘ treatment in one form or another above his signature.

The deep truth of all those signings, though, and I’m sure you see it coming—is that we all did actually matter to Wayson. He meant the You Matter, You’re what Matters, You are All that Matters words he jotted down. It was okay that we compared notes, because he was sincere every time he wrote the words. He was present each time, singularly focused on the one person he was book signing for…pure Wayson.

Wayson was no angel, but he was an exemplary example of how humans could live their everyday lives. Make friends and take no hostages. Was it Bill & Ted who said, BE EXCELLENT TO EACH OTHER? Perhaps Wayson was just a fan who took those words to heart and lived them every day.

Keep resting in peace, Wayson. We’ll continue to say your name.

Rest In Peace, Wayson – The Thing About Wayson Choy

I have read so much about the act of being present. I sought it out in biographies and in documentaries and in fiction. I first heard it whispered in descriptions of sages and religious leaders. The Buddha, for instance, has always been held up as a glowing example of a being who was PRESENT.

But in my life–in my everyday life–I hadn’t really discovered any examples of anyone who seemed to be truly present. Here and now.

Until Wayson.

I won’t say Wayson was a saint. That isn’t what this is about. But the thing about Wayson was that he was present. And when you were in his presence, he treated you like you were in his presence. You had his attention. He was a mentor, a teacher, and a sage. And he was always willing to share himself with those around him. He couldn’t not encourage, teach, share. It wasn’t in him not to. And because of this, all who have met him–even for a brief period of time–feel a great sense of loss today. He was a giving gracious man, and he made you feel as though you mattered.

notyet — Do yourself a favour, and pick up Wayson’s memoir on almost dying. It’s a treasure.

I’ve heard a great many Asian Canadians speak of how important Wayson’s works were for them, how his books were the first experience they had had of seeing themselves reflected in fiction. He knew this fact, he knew it fully and completely and he carried it with him, filled with grace about it and knowing the importance of it.

What struck me, and what was important to me, was the way he often introduced himself as a gay man when beginning his speeches. He was a proud gay man. He spoke to me about this, too. He felt the importance of this pride, which was something I never truly understood. To me, pride was just a word thrown around about an event in the gay calendar. Wayson took it to a deeper level. Wayson made it real. He was someone who often talked about being courageous and telling the truth and being honest and being true to yourself. This was part of his being present. He knew the importance of authenticity. In order to exemplify that, he willingly put himself out there to show others what it meant to truly be authentic. He embraced it and allowed others to embrace it in themselves.

The Ontario Writers Conference Family. Wayson threw himself in to our little organization, fully and completely. He made us better.

“When you can tell other peoples’ lives truthfully you are telling it to yourself. You are saying this is who I am. I recognize what is important. Let me tell you about it.” ~ Wayson Choy

You are most like yourself when you are being authentic. Wayson knew this. And he knew how much others thirsted for that authenticity. And he was present enough to gently guide us in that direction. By example, and by humor and sometimes by the use of tough words.

FEAR IS THE FIRST REASON TO LIVE YOUR LIFE BOLDLY. ~ WAYSON CHOY

Thank you for sharing your wisdom so freely, Wayson. I’ll not forget your loving kindness. Thank you for helping me to wake up. I love you.

“You are a book, always being written…” ~ Wayson Choy

Ontario Writers’ Conference – A Legacy of Creativity and a Labour of Love…

The Ontario Writers’ Conference Gang Through the Years! – LIsa Craveiro, Deborah Rankine, Barbara Hunt, Sherry Hinman, Rosalyn Cronin, Cynthia Rattey, Sylvia Chiang, Dorothea Helms, Cathy Minz, Collette Yvonne, Lana Cutrara, Sandra Clarke, Janet Kopp Boccone, Jessica Outram, Karen Cole, Kevin Craig, Naomi Mesbur, and, last but not least, Wayson Choy. (missing from the picture, and unable to attend last night, is Anne MacLachlan)

Last night the members of the various Ontario Writers’ Conference planning committees and Boards of Directors assembled in one place to celebrate the legacy that the organization has become. And, of course, we brought our Wayson along for the ride!

We met at the lovely Nice Bistro in Whitby, just north of the four corners. The din in that restaurant was quite staggering, considering it was a closed gathering comprised only of those you see in the swarming selfie animation above. All were excited to see one another and catch up on life in general as well as our various writing lives.

Missing from the collage of selfies above are the hundreds and hundreds of attendees who made the conference the success it was, as well as the amazing array of workshop presenters and speakers and readers the organization has amassed over the years of its existence. Each and every person who moved through the conference served to make it what it was—a thriving nurturing hotbed of creativity inspiration.

When the opportunity for speeches arose, Wayson Choy was soon front and centre. He has always been mesmerized by the vitality of the OWC. Once again, he spoke to the passion involved in assembling such a space for the growth of creativity. He was all gratefulness and grace, as always.

As organic as the conference was, though, it was also a well-oiled machine run flawlessly and with a constant drive and desire of making it better. Attending the Ontario Writers’ Conference had become the must do event of every spring and the reason to leave the house after another long cold Canadian winter. Upon the arrival of the 2016 conference, it was announced that there would be no more conferences. And a collective sigh rose up against this sad news. An event that connected its participants year after year was no longer going to be an impetus to create, and impetus to meet, an impetus to discover an impetus.

Some of the patterns of attendance at the conference throughout the years spoke to its vitality and strength. What I affectionately referred to as the Ottawa Contingent seemed to pick up more writers along the way each year, perfectly demonstrating the Faberge Organics Shampoo commercial theory of friends telling friends. And we also saw workshop presenters become attendees as they looked around themselves at the conference and recognized the value in it.

The jewel in the crown was always the Honorary Patron, our very own Wayson Choy…with the conference from beginning to end. Wayson always delivered inspiration in his talks…an inspiration that would lift attendees’ souls and give them motivation to continue, to accept themselves on their individual paths, and to reach for more. In his caring and nurturing Wayson way, he reached down into the hearts of each of us and said, “It’s okay to write, to be a writer…tell your story.” Everywhere I go, I hear stories of how Wayson touched people who had been present in the audience at an Ontario Writers’ Conference event. He gave himself freely to all those in attendance, with grace and wit and light.

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It will be sad not to have this annual meeting of like-minded creative people assembling in celebration of this thing we love. But from the ashes of the fire rises the phoenix. The OWC is not gone…it is merely changing. No, there won’t be a yearly conference like there was in the past. But keep an eye out for announcements. I’m sure they’ll come. The OWC promises more…

Keep your eye on Naomi Mesbur – The Future of the OWC Organization is Coming!