Fray Day 4
On September 22, 2000, Derek threw a Birthday Party for his brainchild. His brainchild, of course, is one of the most wonderful story-telling websites, creating a community of far-flung and tight-knit storytellers and (in my case) storyreaders. The Fray is a place of experiences, of emotions, of sharing. I think that the Fray makes it possible for some of us to know that, maybe, we’re not so unusual or forsaken as we might be inclined to think—that some things that we all have in common and things that make each of us an interesting read.
I attended Fray Day 4, which I had been planning to do for some time, but never quite got around to doing (much in the same manner that I’m actually writing this piece two weeks after the event…oops), partially because I didn’t live in California during most of that time, and partially because when I did, I was working on launching a big project at a start-up and working a lot. Excuses, excuses. This time, however, I would not allow an excuse. I was determined to go and meet all these people who were in my daily reading list—people who had written stories that moved me.
It takes a special gift to be able and willing to write about yourself in such a way that people are entertained and, perhaps, learn something about you and themselves. When asked for my stories, I am frequently at a loss, insisting that my life is boring and that I have no good stories. What is boring to one, however, is extremely interesting to others. So it was that I headed up to San Francisco to commune with people with whom I felt a connection, despite none of them having any idea who I am.
I arrived and caught John Halcyon Styn telling a story about being on the early 90s TV show, “Studs“. It was so funny. His storytelling is engaging and full of expressions, physical and vocal. “It became clear to me that I was about to get rejected by three women on national television…,” he said. “And the most glorious thing happened — my life didn’t end.” This hilarious tale imparted the wisdom that nothing is so bad as it seems and all things are temporary. Thanks for the story, John.
Lance Arthur got up about half an hour later and started reading a story that he had written on his Palm Pilot on the plane on the way to San Francisco. It started out slow, very like a story read, instead of a story delivered from notes. It was a story of his childhood and it seemed like any other innocent story like everyone has of five-year-olds at play. But, then, “She [mama] says, ‘Daddy is not coming home ever again.’ She says that Daddy is dead, that Daddy died.” Everyone listened in stunned silence as Lance’s voice broke, “‘I wish your father had lived long enough to see this [his first day of school],’ she says. … I wonder what my life would have been like if my father hadn’t died.” What an incredibly moving story, especially for me. My father died when I was in high school and my sister died when she was three weeks from high school graduation. I wouldn’t have been brave enough to share that with so many strangers.
Other storytellers included Dinah, who opened a bookstore in San José, Tom, who always has a lot of Craic, Rory, an Aussie who found wealth and fame cashing in traveller’s checks in Africa, and many others. There were so many wonderful stories and songs that I listened to the webcast a few times. Wow.
I met many wonderful people, including Melissa, whose ear I talked off, The Phil, who was once a missionary in Moscow, Idaho, Jish, a Canadian web designer, Maggie, who plays guitar and graciously didn’t yell about the junk in my car, Isaac, who drove in from the Central Valley, and, of course, Derek, who is one of the most genuinely nice people I’ve ever met.
The evening ended without my having worked up the nerve to introduce myself to Kottke, Meg, or Brig. I also didn’t present a story at the open-mic portion of the event, so I volunteered afterwards to help clean up the space. I swept and mopped the main room and had a pretty good time doing it, while talking to The Phil and a couple of others. At the end of the evening, a bunch of us ended up going to Orphan Andy’s on the Castro for food. It was a wonderful evening.
I think I made a few friends, with whom I have corresponded in e-mail. I have, for some time, made an effort to keep to myself and do things anonymously, but Derek‘s brainchild and the people who love her make me want to be part of this community that I’ve admired from a distance for two years. Thanks, Derek. Thank you ever so much. And I wear the T-shirts proudly.