When I shared the subscribe link to this newsletter, Kevin M. asked, “Will there be an audio component?” Good idea, Kevin. Good point. I’m at an audio storytelling workshop, so why not let voices do the work. Preferably not my own voice. Good thing you can barely hear me because I’m terrible at moving the mic around. It’s because I don’t use a shotgun mic when I’m interviewing kids. They would stop talking if I shoved one in their faces. With them, I just place the recorder on the table and eventually they forget it’s there. But now I’m talking to adults and it’s a conversation where I’m allowed to interject at times to dig for more. So I’m noticing patterns, learning, adjusting.

Here is a snippet I recorded today with a local as part of our morning “go out and get VOX” exercise.

John V. of Bombay Beach 🔈

I asked the stupid question first. “What is VOX?” I mean I kinda knew what it was, but not what it stands for. Where did this term come from? Ashleyanne, our co-instructor who actually lives really close to me and I’m so excited, told me — it’s the voice of the people. Vox populi. How beautiful. Suddenly, a human layer to some jargon. Here’s Ashleyanne tearing apart some salad for our group dinner.

It’s intimidating to walk up to a stranger with giant headphones on, cords dangling, gizmo in hand. “Hi? Can I talk to you?” It takes a special kind of person to say yes. Before I ran into John, I saw some younger guys with knuckle tattoos hanging out in a patio eating avocado toast. I should have known it was going nowhere right then and there, but I tried anyway. I explained why I was out in the neighborhood. “I’m here for this audio storytelling workshop. We have this assignment where we have to go out and collect VOX,” and I dished out the teacher explanation Ashleyanne gave me. And these guys just weren’t having it. I should be nicer. I’m being a judgy bitch about the avocado toast. One guy tried, but then he said something about “Coming down from ketamine,” and “I just can’t do this right now,” so I said thank you and we all gave each other an out.

John V. saw me and our eyes locked. He was tinkering and came to the mouth of his garage as I approached his driveway. His beautiful King Charles Spaniel barked once, but I passed the sniff test and John said, “Easy, Easy.” (That’s the dog’s name. Easy.) “Easy is Easy,” he said. And I thought to myself, Damn. I wish I had that on tape.

I told John what I was up to, he invited me in, and moved two resin chairs close together. And there we sat for twelve minutes, talking about his childhood visiting Bombay Beach, and the multigenerational bond he has with the place. This was supposed to be one question long. Something like, “What makes you feel a sense of belonging here,” or “What activates a community,” which is kind of a wonky question, but I’ve been having surprising luck with it out here. We ended up talking all about the town, things that are changing, problems with California.

I loved what John V. said about “being five years old again.” I was a little redundant in my questions because he kept mentioning his childhood without really telling me about it. Then there was this moment when he went back in time to his grandmother, and what her taking his daily catch seriously meant to him. He also said something profound about boyhood. Something I think about often because I work with “troubled kids.” How this was a place where you could cause some trouble without falling into trouble. Because deep trouble is a place of its own it’s hard to get out of. I shared this with my housemate Jenny, also editing VOX on the dining table below deck in this boat we’re living in, and she talked about landmines. How there are places full of them, but there are less here, and sometimes you just need statistics on your side.

After our morning fieldwork assignment and lunch, we convened for some listening and analysis with our instructors David and Ashleyanne, and we went around the table sharing our interview subjects, what we know about them, and blitzed each other with possible questions and story angles. This group of people, all coming at this form of storytelling from such diverse lived experiences, ideas, and desires, is so incredible. It’s a privilege to be in this room, and I am just so grateful. I am grateful that, with the support of family and friends, I was able to disconnect from my everyday life to be come here and be fully present for an entire week. It feels like a miracle, and I’m wondering what took so long, why now, why I’ve always waited on school, jobs, and other institutions to organize this sort of experience for me. Sure, Transom is an institution, but it feels so organic, this convening of hearts and minds.

I want to close on that tonight. I’m about to break some bread with these beautiful people and finish a heavy pour of cab. I told Jenny, “Just a smidge more,” and she filled up my glass like a soccer mom overzealous with Kool-Aid. I receive it, along with everything else gifted to me today. The company, the creative minds, and the unbelievable connections.