Cégep de Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu, fall session 1993, I study pure sciences. Gradually it becomes a nightmare for me. The calculus course gives me a headache. In chemistry, I choose my lab partners carefully because, quite honestly, I don’t understand what to do — and more importantly, why we do it. The only class I don’t hate, other than basketball physical education, but that doesn’t count, is grammar. We agree, grammar is not exciting. But it gives me a break.
I look at the other students around me. They seem to be in their place. They like it and understand what is expected of them. One day, the math teacher demonstrates on the board, for about ten minutes, that 1 + 1 = 1. The numbers and letters get tangled up in my head, my heart and even my teeth hurt. But what am I doing here? Oh yes it’s true. I want to become a veterinarian and treat racehorses.
Except that at the end of this session, I decided to abandon science; the orienteer does everything possible to dissuade me. He asks me what I want to redirect myself to. I think about grammar, which is so easy for me and doesn’t make me want to run away and never come back.
— I’m going to go into letters.
– Oh yes ? ! To do what ?
I grab the notebook with the college-level education program descriptions from his desk. I go to the “Arts, letters and communication” page, I locate the career opportunities section.
— Well, I don’t know, it says “Literature, communication and teaching”.
Under his big mustache, I see a grimace emerging.
Winter 1994, I landed in letters. On my schedule: a detective literature course; an introduction to Spanish; a poetry class where I am introduced to The Night Islands by Alain Grandbois. A sort of fever seizes me. I do radio at midday. In theater, I fell in love with a tall guy who draws well. I became editor-in-chief of the CEGEP newspaper and I wrote editorials.
One day, a poet comes to class: Jacques Brault. Another time, it’s Pierre Morency. A door opens to a world of maddening beauty. I want to access it, too, I want to fuel on the same drug as these two gentlemen. The key to entry is right there: you have to drag words onto a page.
My poetry teacher sends me to the writing marathon. Coming from the four corners of Quebec, me and all the others outcasts of my kind, we spend a night writing with Marie Laberge, Réjean Tremblay and the editorialist at Duty Jean-Robert Sansfaçon. When the sun rises in the early morning, I am electric, as if intoxicated with words.
Behind all these meetings, there is the Talk to me about a language program managed and coordinated by the Union of Quebec Writers (UNEQ) for more than 25 years and which exists thanks to the financial support of the Government of Quebec. Quebec. However, this program was almost not renewed by the new Ministry of the French Language, responsible for ensuring the promotion, enhancement and protection of our language.
After numerous reminders that remained unanswered since last summer, Geneviève Lauzon, general director of UNEQ, had to sound the alarm a few days ago, mobilize writers and professors, write to Minister Roberge, communicate with everyone his contacts at the Ministry of Culture and with other organizations to ask for their support. The UNEQ also contacted the other parties (PLQ, PQ, QS). A motion was voted unanimously on Wednesday in the National Assembly and the program, which has existed for 27 years, will finally be renewed. That said, at the time these lines were written, UNEQ was awaiting the text of the agreement and the grant money…
Mr. fervent reader and Prime Minister François Legault, Mr. Minister of the French Language Jean-François Roberge, also author of a book entitled What if we reinvented school?, it is not normal that the renewal of such a promising program is so laborious, year after year. A fatigue tinged with wear and exasperation sets in. Please, make the decisions that are necessary, and do what you must.