The (CanL)It Crowd with Chanel Sutherland
So much is said in the silences. This is what I thought after reading Chanel Sutherland's 2021 CBC Nonfiction Prize-winning piece, Umbrella, and then again, when I read her 2022 CBC Short Story Prize-winning piece, Beneath the Softness of Snow. Chanel has an enviable ability to hold worlds of experience and thought in absence: what is not explicitly stated.
At some point, Chanel and I connected on social media. Seeing her posts, I began to notice how Chanel always had something interesting to say, whether it was advice to other writers, or encouragement, or sharing about her own writing life. Every time I saw Chanel in my feed, I felt warmth. I also knew that whatever I was about to read would be incisive. It would be measured, but not in any practiced manner. Chanel's words feel measured because they seem to come from a genuine place of curiosity, compassion, and reflection.
For all these reasons, when I started this series about literary community within the koan that is CanLit, Chanel was one of the first people I thought to invite. I'm delighted she said yes.
Welcome, Chanel, to The (CanL)It Crowd!
The (CanL)It Crowd with Chanel Sutherland: The Storyteller's Tribe
As a naturalized citizen in Canada from the Caribbean, I have a complicated relationship with the words citizenship and community. The sense of belonging has always been a tricky concept for me. Moving from a village where everyone knew my name and my story to a cosmopolitan city where I often felt like a stranger was disorienting. Writing became my anchor, a way to make sense of my experiences, to connect with the world around me, even when it felt foreign.
Where I came from, storytelling was a way of life. Elders would gather us around, sharing oral tales passed down through generations, or reading stories that were rich with history and culture. These moments were about more than just entertainment; they were about connecting us to our roots, to each other, and to the wisdom of those who came before us. Those stories were a lifeline, a way to feel grounded, to feel seen, and to belong.
Today, and what feels like many worlds away, the writing of stories often feels like a solitary endeavor. I sit at my desk, staring at the blinking cursor, alone with my thoughts, trying to wrangle words into sentences, and sentences into stories. The process itself is solitary, but writing as a practice does not have to be. In my own writing journey, I can trace every success back to one common thread: community. It’s my writing tribe, my fellow storytellers, who have uplifted me, inspired me, and pushed me forward, even when the words seemed impossible to find.
We, as humans, are part of a storytelling species. Long before there were pens and paper, or keyboards and screens, there were stories told around the fire. Our ancestors gathered close, sharing tales that were as much a part of survival as the fire itself. These stories were not mere entertainment; they were how knowledge was passed down, how history was preserved, how communities were built. The act of storytelling was—and still is—a communal act. It binds us together, forges connections, and reminds us that we are not alone.
This sense of belonging, this communal spirit, is what literary citizenship is all about. For me, it's about being a part of something greater than myself, about contributing to and nurturing a community of writers and readers. It's about giving back as much as I receive. Literary citizenship is not just about the act of writing; it's about being an active participant in the literary world, supporting others in their creative journeys, and finding support for my own.
When I find myself unable to write or stuck in the quicksand of self-doubt, it's my community that saves me. A conversation with a fellow writer can be the very thing that gets me past that block. It is through these interactions that I engage with writing in a different way, one that activates my creative brain and allows me to see possibilities I might have missed on my own. These connections spark new ideas, rekindle my passion, and remind me why I write in the first place.
We are social beings, and our creativity thrives on connection. The solitary nature of writing may require me to spend time alone, but my creative spirit is fed by the stories and experiences I share with others. The telling in storytelling, by definition, implies an audience, a listener, a community. It is in this exchange that stories come alive, that words find their meaning, and that I, as a writer, find my purpose.
In a world that often feels disconnected and fragmented, literary citizenship offers me a way to belong, to contribute, and to grow. It reminds me that while I may write alone, I am never truly alone. My stories, my voice, are part of a larger tapestry, one that is woven together by the hands of many. And it is through this tapestry of community that I find not only my place but also my strength.
So, I embrace my complicated relationship with citizenship and community, knowing that my writing tribe is my home. Together, we keep the fire of storytelling burning, and in its warmth, I find the courage to tell my own stories.
More about Chanel Sutherland:
Born in St. Vincent and the Grenadines, Chanel M. Sutherland moved to Montreal, Quebec, when she was ten. She holds a BA in English Literature from Concordia University. She is writing her first book – a collection of short stories exploring the Caribbean immigrant experience, especially those dealing with girlhood. Chanael is the winner of the 2021 CBC Nonfiction Prize and the 2022 CBC Short Story Prize. In addition, she was awarded the 2022 Mariruth Sarsfield Mentorship, longlisted for the 2022 Commonwealth Short Story Prize, and shortlisted for the Max Margles Fiction Prize. Chanel was also included on the CBC Books 30 Writers to Watch list for 2022.