The (CanL)It Crowd with Adelle Purdham

Adelle Purdham is one of the sweetest people in my literary circle. Yes, she’s a talented writer, but Adelle is also notably generous with her time and support. I’m delighted to call her a friend. I am also delighted to host Adelle on my blog for this year’s first episode of The (CanL)It Crowd to share her thoughts on literary citizenship and community within the koan that is CanLit.

Welcome, Adelle!

Adelle!

On Community: Finding Your People in CanLit

By Adelle Purdham

What does it mean to be a part of a community? I’ve thought about this when considering my place in the disability community as a parent to a daughter with Down syndrome. As someone who cares deeply about the issues that affect the disability community, where am I situated in relation to that group of people? A few questions I could ask myself are: What is my relationship and investment level as a parent? What stake do I have in that community as an able-bodied person?

When thinking about the CanLit community, I can ask myself the same questions: Where am I situated, what’s my relationship, level of investment, and what stake do I have to lay claim to this particular group?

Who gets to belong?

With any community I’ve ever belonged to, I harbour the mindset of ‘the more the merrier!’ In other words, if you want to belong, you do belong. But of course, to call yourself a writer you have to do the work.

Years ago, as a fledgling writer, I reached out to a local writing group that was reserved for citizens of a specific city that will remain unnamed. I lived a mere 30-minute drive outside of this particular city/district, and the place where I lived at the time had no formalized writing groups or organizations that I could take part in. I knew the group was for locals, but I reached out to the organizers and pleaded my case, enthusiastically introduced myself, shared my commitment to writing, and spoke about the book I was working on. I explained I had no local group to turn to. They wrote me back stating that, as per their rules, I could not enter the group—sorry, not sorry— and that the best they could do was to add me to their newsletter list. As someone who was actively searching for community, I was heartbroken, but yes, please, sure, add me to your list. As their email newsletter arrived regularly in my inbox filled with opportunities that interested me, but remained out of reach, I vowed to remember exclusivity as a negative, and so it bears saying I don’t think CanLit is or needs to be some exclusive club where some writers belong and others don’t make the cut. 

I now sit on the new member committee for The Writer’s Union of Canada and cast my vote to decide if potential members are admitted or not. The ones who truly want to belong, who take their writing seriously as professionals, aren’t hard to pick out, and I err on the side of generosity. 

Writers face enough rejection as it is without tearing each other down.

Another one of my philosophies in life when it comes to building community is that ‘if we’ve met then you are my friend’. This is a nice way of being, in my humble opinion, but of course, wearing your heart on your sleeve and being open to others means I occasionally get burned (or scorched to the ground). I have had to learn the hard way that—I know, shocking—not everyone wants to be my friend. This may be one of the hardest life lessons I continue to grapple with into adulthood as a people-pleasing-deep feeler (where are my empaths? My introverted-extroverts?) I have a core memory, from grade eight, of the first time I was openly mocked for my friendliness. I was hanging out with a group of teenagers that consisted of my ninth-grade boyfriend and his friends. When I was introduced to some girls the boys knew, I reached out to shake hands with one of the girls (who I later learned apparently had a crush on my boyfriend.) 

“Hi, I’m Adelle!” 

The girl ignored my hand and turned around to her friends and said, “Hi! I’m Adelle” in a mock tone. I stood there in shock, until a friend turned me away gently by the shoulders; I walked away with the fresh knowledge that good intentions could not save me from someone else’s bad attitude.

I’ve since learned that when someone treats you badly, and tries to pull you down, it’s really about them and their issues (not mine). I have my own shit to deal with, thank you very much. This wasn’t the first ‘mean girl’ incident to shape my life, and I know it won’t be the last, but what I have learned is to find my people. 

Find your people. ‘Your people’ in CanLit are the ones who get you, who love your work; they are your supporters. Your people are the ones who won’t tear you down, and in reality, just like how my book isn’t going to be for every reader, I’m not going to be for every writer either (no matter how hard I try). The dictum that ‘if everyone agrees with what you have to say then you haven’t said anything’ seems relevant here. I would rather say something that I deem worthwhile than to narrow my stance—or myself—to try and please my critics or fit in with a group where I’m not wanted.

‘Your people’, your community, in CanLit are the authors who like and share your work on social media. They subscribe to your author newsletter. They send you book-themed jewelry to match your debut’s cover. They invite you to their reading series and put your name forward for literary festivals and sign up for your writing workshops. They attend your book launch events and send encouraging text messages. They write endorsements for your book and help to promote it. They commiserate over rejections and celebrate your writing wins. They take photos of themselves with your book in far off places and post publicly. Your people support you in whatever way they can, when they can, understanding that no one person can do it all or be all of these things to another writer. Your people see you for you and appreciate the writer that you are. I have been so fortunate to find my people within CanLit, and to pay it forward I want to share my secret in how to do so. It’s quite simple. Show up. Show up and be all of these things for others. Show up in the ways that feel true and genuine for you, and you will absolutely find your people.

As a Canadian author, I am part of CanLit. If you write in Canada or are a Canadian writer overseas or identify with either one of these identities, you are part of CanLit, too. Within CanLit, I have found my people, and within CanLit I am certain, you will find your people, too. 

On the plus side, if we’ve met, you already have at least one CanLit friend. 

I Don’t Do Disability And Other Lies I’ve Told Myself by Adelle Purdham (Dundurn Press, 2024)

About Adelle Purdham:

Adelle Purdham (she/her) is an educator, parent disability ally, and bestselling author of the memoir-in-essays I Don’t Do Disability And Other Lies I’ve Told Myself (Dundurn Press, 2024), which was named an Indigo and 49th Shelf ‘Most Anticipated’ Memoir & Biography and a 2024 ‘Nonfiction Book of the Year’ by The Miramichi Reader. She holds an MFA in Creative Nonfiction from The University of King’s College. Her prose and poetry appear in literary journals, anthologies, magazines, newspapers and online. Adelle is Sessional Part-time Faculty at Trent University where she teaches creative writing. She lives and writes in her hometown, Nogojiwanong (Peterborough), Ontario.