We Are The Sum of Our Stories
Letter from the Editor as published in the March 2023 issue
I bought my first house when I was 24. It wasn’t because I was financially wise; it was because in 2004 there was a collective eagerness to help young people get into the market, and in a brief period where the downpayment requirement was 0%, I dove in.
My house was tiny and darling and after twenty passes with a borrowed carpet-cleaner, it was liveable. I recently drove past it and was reminded how deeply I missed that wrap-around covered porch where I used to sip tea and write blog posts, how I dug into the back garden to plant a tractor tire for my son’s sandbox, and how tomatoes grew like weeds in the flowerbed on the west side.
I remember coming home from the hardware store with a clothesline kit and installing it from one end of the porch to the other, using the cordless drill while Tom, the one-eyed neighbour, watched me, saying, “You sure you know what you’re doing there, Amanda?”
I was finally an adult. I had a house and a clothesline. But I didn’t know what I was doing. Even if Tom got my name wrong, he saw through to the root of my restlessness.
I didn’t know that I was designed to help others share their stories. It took me starting to share my own before I recognized my purpose. It took two other abandoned business attempts (recording studio and video editing services) before I found the platform that would allow me to serve others in a way that served that unspoken need within me.
I launched into publishing with 0% down and 100% heart. Trusting that I could build a home for creatives like myself and then hearing stories of how that home built confidence or launched a career has been the greatest gift.
Did I have any business buying a house in 2004? No. Did I have any business launching a publishing house in 2016? No. Did I do both of those things with zero regrets? Yes.
In one I served meatloaf. In the other I serve a community of beautiful people who want to bare their souls. In both I found the great joy of purpose.
The first time I hung the freshly laundered wash on my clothesline, I felt clever. The grey sky threatened rain, but I wasn’t afraid because my covered porch would protect my clothes. Look at all those less clever people scrambling to bring in their wash before the clouds opened. Ha!
Work smarter not harder, they say.
When I opened the first submission Blank Spaces ever received, I was overcome with gratitude and affirmation. Me, an Ontario mom with a clothesline who recently discovered a need to help others share their stories, opening a submission from a stranger in British Columbia because I was brave enough (foolish enough?) to believe I could do more than use a cordless drill.
Work truer, I say.
We are the sum of our stories. Over the years Blank Spaces has become a great net, capturing the essence of what it means to be a creative in Canada. As I hang each story on the line, I am moved by the tapestry we are creating together and so thankful that this vision was planted. And I vow, for as long as you let me, to protect your words and your art beneath the eave of my mission.
Alanna Rusnak
Editor in Chief, Blank Spaces
