Hope your first week of Teachers Write (or whatever else you did this week) was wonderful! Friday Feedback, for sure, is full of pure wonderfulness today. No, seriously, you'll see. . .
Suffice it to say, Nora Raleigh Baskin is guest hosting, and for those who don't know, Nora is not only one of my favorite writers, author of many award-winning middle grade and young adult novels, she's also been working on her memoir (and will be teaching memoir writing this fall at SUNY Purchase!) which she's been serializing on her blog, called WHY I'M LIKE THIS, and you can quickly see how poignant and beautiful her writing is there! If you want to subscribe to her blog you may do so HERE. In addition to all that, she's one of the kindest, most deeply-feeling humans on earth and pretty much my BFF, to boot.
So, today, she's talking about memoir writing, but to be sure, as the title says, Story is Story is Story -- so whatever you're working on, feel free to share an excerpt here. In the spirit of the theme, if you can choose an intimate and personal moment in your WIP (Work In Progress) even better! Look forward to seeing you in the comments!
And Nora and all my guest authors (and I!) work hard to write these posts, give you feedback, and share our thoughts with you, so please, please, please order Nora's books. If you can't afford to order yet one more book (we understand!), please call your local library and make sure they've ordered her newest titles, NINE, TEN: A September 11 Story and RUBY ON THE OUTSIDE in!
Writing Memoir
In some
ways it seems only natural for me, that
after 13 semi-autobiographical fictional novels for young readers, I would now
be brought back to writing the same stories, the same characters, the same
themes, the same history, but this time with no barriers, this time as memoir.
There is
also no lack of irony here, as our contemporary world moves the line of
non-fiction closer to what was once considered fiction, the line of fiction
gets blurred as well.
Yet here
I find myself: passionately drawn to telling
another another form of the same truth, once again, for the first time.
So why write
memoir?
I don’t
think I can explain (at least my
reasons) any better than I did in my actual weekly-serialized-memoir-experiment
(http://www.norabaskin.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=1182&action=edit) so if you are interested you can read this entry, and
hopefully you’ll want to subscribe (just add your email) and join me on this
journey. I’d be honored to have you.
But for
this Friday Feedback I thought I would take you through some of the pitfalls
and successes, some of the things I’ve learned over the thirty plus years I’ve
been trying to figure out who I am through this crazy process of creative
writing, both fiction and non-fiction.
So here goes:
1. Story with a capital S
The same exact “rules” for writing fiction apply to
writing memoir. In other words STORY comes first, which is just a little
trickier when your hands are tied by having to
stick to the facts. (which by the way, you HAVE to do in memoir!)
So by
“rules” (knowing that rules are meant to be broken- but not until you know what
they are, and are proficient in using them)
I mean:
Beginning,
middle, and end.
Rising
action, conflict, climax, resolution.
Character
development, motivation, meaningful dialogue.
plot,
tension.
All
those same annoying things you have to think about, even when you are free to
make everything up.
"Writing fiction is like digging holes for posts in
hard earth, steadying the posts, stringing the line, and then hanging up the
clothes, with clothespins in your mouth, all the while watching out for rain.
With memoir writing, the posts are there, and maybe the line is stung,
but you still have to figure out how to hang the clothes."
Mary Karr, the brilliant memoirist ,writes in her book The Art of the Memoir,
“I once heard Don Lillo quip that a fiction writer starts
with meaning and then manufactures events to represent it; a memoirist starts
with events, then derives meaning from them.”
Bottom
line, don’t be fooled. Good memoir writing is not easy at all. In many ways, it’s harder than writing
fiction. Interestingly it’s harder to tell the truth when you are stuck with
the facts.
2. Have Some
Distance
While it
is crucial (I believe) that one should write —as Patty Dann says—out of “Love
or Anger” you are probably going to need a little (a lot) of distance from the
experience, or from yourself ,to see clearly, to see other’s, to see without
the cloud of too much LOVE or too
much ANGER.
I’m not
saying that revenge isn't a good motivator, but you’ve got to be far enough
back to see the forest through the trees. To see the whole picture. To not
paint yourself a victim. To truly
find the truth. It may taking writing the story, the same story over and over and over again for years, before this
happens.
But it
will happen.
Wait for
it.
3. You had a terrible childhood, yeah so what?
Everyone has..or thinks they have.
Some stories are truly tragic and we are drawn to them
because we love
survival stories. Educated by Tara
Westover and of course, Glass Castle by
Jeanette Walls as well as Frank McCourt, and dozens of others. But there are
quieter, less dramatic memoirs like Let’s Take the Long Way Home by Gail Caldwell, about friendship. It’s all in the language, the story
telling, the observations. It’s not in the history.
One of
the best learning experiences I had happened when I took a memoir writing
course with Joyce Maynard at Sarah
Lawrence College— and by the way, if you ever have the opportunity to take a
class with her . . . do it!
We all
had to read samples of each other’s work during the week-long intensive and one
women wrote exclusively about being hit as a child. It was self-indulgent and
pathetic. She clearly wanted the reader to feel sorry for her but what she
achieved was quite the opposite. It was dark and humorless, and well boring.
But I
learned something very important reading her story: It really isn’t what
happened to you (many people of a certain generation were spanked pretty
severely as child) but how you perceived it.
Self-pity makes for a terrible book.
We want
to feel for the narrator, not feel sorry for them, so don’t write about your
experience until have gotten over yourself.
What
insight, what meaning, of what importance is your story?
Traumatic
experiences don’t make great memoir writing, great writing does. Your vision, your lens, the way you organize
history to reveal something new. That’s a memoir. You are NOT writing an auto-biography, a list of events, a play by play of
your life, not unless you are Johnny Depp or Hilary Clinton or Jane Fonda.
3. Friends and
Family Beware
If you
are not ready or willing to sell everyone down the river with you, don’t bother
writing. Or wait till they are dead.
Or tell
a different story.
Or write
fiction.
You
can’t protect your loved ones when writing memoir if you are going to write
about them, any more than you should protect yourself. Joyce Maynard was
brutally attacked by critics (mostly J. D. Salinger fans) when she wrote her
memoir At Home in the World (https://www.amazon.com/At-Home-World-Joyce-Maynard/dp/1250046440) She was called,
amongst other things, “shameless.” She
will tell be happy to let you know today, that’s exactly what you have to be to
write a memoir: Shameless.…without SHAME.
You have
to be brave. Willing to look at yourself honestly. Willing to expose your
pimples and warts. Take responsibility. See all sides.
In other words you have to be your best self while
revealing your worst.
Remember,
whether in fiction or non-fiction even the antagonist doesn’t think he’s the
bad guy of the story. As I said before,
revenge writing isn’t wrong (as a motivator) but twisting a story to get back
at someone is. Twisting a story to make someone look BETTER than they are is also.. . well, wrong.
premature p.s. -- I am going to interject something
here that may or may not belong in this exact spot. But when rendering
dialogue in memoir it is, of course, impossible to remember verbatim words from
yesterday, let alone twenty years ago. So, there is an unspoken acceptance
that you will try to duplicate dialogue to the best of your ability, your most
honest recollection, to get the gist of what what was said, if not the exact
words.
And
there is an unspoken understanding that you may be completely full of shit.
Both.
So do
your best. And, as in fiction, keep
dialogue brief, and meaningful, and as realistic as possible.
You are a truth-seeker, NOT a truth-teller.
No one is the keeper of that.
Truth changes. It is not static,
it is not even true.
When you understand that you will write a better memoir.
5. READ Like There
is No Tomorrow
Lastly —
because who am I to tell anyone anything about writing, let alone writing
memoir?— There is only one true teacher: READING.
Read
what you love AND read what sucks.
Read
something great, and try to reach for that level of excellence. Analyze it.
Dissect it. Look for the structure, the climax, the themes, the lyrical
language, great word choice. What works? Why do you love it? How does the
author play with time? Does he write in chronologic order or jump back and
forth between past and present? Does she write in the child voice and grow as
the years go by (Jeanette Walls), or is written as an adult looking back with
that perspective and wisdom (as does Marry Karr)? Or a combination?
Most of
all look for what the author has chosen to show the reader. Memoir is a
manipulation. Of course it is. It has to be. It’s nothing less, but nothing
more than your version of the truth.
Look for
which scenes the author has chosen to put side by side. That is your color
pallet and your brushes. (words are your colors) Juxtaposition is crucial—that’s where the
story lies. Between the lines.
A memoir writer is a master manipulator, but not an
exploiter.
And then read some really awful memoirs (contact me if
you need a list!) and you’ll quickly
realize: Hey, I can do better than that piece of crap!
Look,
everyone has a story to tell. They do. But you need to know WHY you want to
tell your story and you have to tell it well. You have to write beautifully,
specifically, meaningfully, with only salient
details, and with heart.
But write it down.
Get it out on paper because no matter how many times you’ve
regaled your friends at the dinner table with your interesting story, no matter
how many years you’ve ruminated and spent processing your unique history, no
matter how many hours you’ve spent in therapy,
it is very, very, VERY different when you write your story down.
So trust the
process.
Something
powerful, and maybe a little magical, happens when you let the memory flow from
your brain, to your hands, to the tips of your fingers, and out onto a blank
page. Smells you’ve forgotten, sounds you didn’t know you heard, things you
didn’t remember seeing, illuminations and revelations will present themselves
to you in ways you never expected.
So stand naked and go forth!
And now, since it is Friday Feedback, time to do some sharing and critiquing! If you aren't familiar with the RULES please read them HERE FIRST: http://ghpolisner.blogspot.com/2018/07/friday-feedback-where-will-your-spark.html
And here is Nora's excerpt from her Memoir, Closer to the Sun:
-->
I
missed my sister terribly. If I had ever felt whole, it would have been like
having an arm cut off, or an eye taken out, but to be honest, at this point, I
was pretty used to operating with fewer cylinders, less gas, a flat tire or
two. I still had my bike, my body, and now, a whole dairy farm spread out in
front of me. Cornfields to run through, a flat country road that ran along the
river to explore, the town library where I could take out books as often as I
could ride my bike there. And food, like ice cream, readily available.
But Anne’s visits were hard for me.
I can’t think of explaining it any other way, except for this: Imagine someone
you loved very much and expected would be in your life forever suddenly dumped
you, letting you know you were just about the most unlovable, worthless human
on earth. However this person who dumped you, didn’t dump your sister. So every
time your sister comes to visit, you know she is going to go back to be with
the very person who didn’t want you anymore. But still wanted her.
And
then you would have it. Sort of.
Until
Anne’s mother dumped her, too.
But
not exactly.
Because
this is where stories can collide and can actually explode, showering down with
shards of glass that cut and wound deeply but never reflect the whole truth,
only slivers of it.
My
father will say that Jean had a boyfriend who was moving to California and
didn’t want Anne anymore, so she set up a situation whereby he had to go to
court and sue for full custody. And Jean will say that my dad wanted Anne to
live with him, had more money and more resources, sued for full custody in
family court, and won. My dad will say it was becoming so clear that Jean was
an unfit mother he had to sue for full custody to protect Anne. Jean will say
he dragged her through the mud, with lawyers and even the testimony of his new
blond, perky wife, Barbara, and that she had no other choice but to move to
California with her new boyfriend, Alvin. And have another baby.
So
after a year and half, Anne came to live with us on Springtown Road.
Oh, those words...."you are just like your mother" and the recipient knows the truth. Wow. Powerful, universal and definitely on track for a stunning YA story.
ReplyDeleteMy question to you, Gae is do you ever get anxious during the swim that you'll forget bits of your inspiration before getting a chance to write it down? Then, after you scribble it down in a notebook and go back to it later does it look dull and lifeless instead of shiny and cool? I'm asking for a friend, of course!
I saw that Nora Raleigh Baskin would be here today. YAY! Here's my excerpt. I'll be trolling FF for tips on how to be a better FF-er.
Because I had read "The Endless Steppe," I would be prepared. Right? I would take layers of clothes, food…maybe even seeds, utensils, matches, paper and pencils, first aid kit, toiletries and if it fit, my Girl Scout Handbook...all stuffed into the satin-lined suitcase my mother received as a wedding gift.
Now, the ten minutes under the glare of Nazi soldiers would be difficult. I squirreled things away in my room…close enough to grab…just in case. I knew the suitcase was at the top of the attic steps…that would take a full minute on its own. Mom and Dad wouldn’t understand a packed suitcase in my room in case of Nazis. I’d have to leave it in the attic.
As I went to sleep at night, I found myself planning, packing and re-packing that suitcase. Sometimes, I added candles and batteries, sometimes I added a luxury item that could be sold or exchanged on the black market like Esther’s mother had done with her silk lingerie and silver candlesticks in the story. My luxury items were books, notebooks, pens.
My ante-dreaming lasted through middle and high school, college and into adulthood. Each night I’d leave a little bit of more behind and pack something better and more efficient for an unknowable future. Sometimes...
So, you can see by my post that I'm ACTUALLY responding to last week's FF entry. I will get this down. Summer Brain Syndrome...its a thing.
DeleteLove your writing here. The packed suitcase. I wonder what "something better" would be? It would be so cool to see different images of the suitcase contents.
DeleteSummer Brain Syndrome. Love it. Also love the piece you wrote too. Very visual and relatable.
DeleteI have the summer brain syndrome as well, Linda. Love this piece of writing and am wondering what manuscript is goes into. Sounds like a YA, but is it memoir? The suitcase is a metaphor for so many things in a lifetime.
DeleteI LOVE LOVE LOVE this..Linda..I also read the Endless Steppe..in fact, I own it..and I totally relate to this entry. I am not sure at what point in your story it comes. I don't even care..I love the voice, the kind of self-aware humor (the 10 minute glare...) ..the obsession. The idea of being prepared..and comparing yourself to experiencing the Holocaust is so real..and so powerful. And juxtaposed in her ordinary life..works so well.
DeleteLinda Mitchell, will read your piece later because I am running today and you are in better hands with Nora anyway! ;) But to answer this quickly:
Delete"My question to you, Gae is do you ever get anxious during the swim that you'll forget bits of your inspiration before getting a chance to write it down? Then, after you scribble it down in a notebook and go back to it later does it look dull and lifeless instead of shiny and cool?"
YES, all the time. But if I can hold on to a kernel, enough to know I had it, then I can put the rest of the process -- struggle, self doubt, crap writing, revision and hopefully ultimately gem -- into place. The kernel, for me, is EVERYTHING. Hope this helps!
Linda,
DeleteWhy have I not read "The Endless Steppe"? I've put it on my Goodreads list.
As always, your writing is clear, lovely, and reflective. I definitely want to know where this is headed...Why does your MC feels she needs to be prepared? Obviously not for the Nazis, but...what? I want to see where you go with this.
Linda, this is my favorite moment:
Delete"I added a luxury item that could be sold or exchanged on the black market like Esther’s mother had done with her silk lingerie and silver candlesticks in the story. My luxury items were books, notebooks, pens."
Nora, I truly appreciate that you have made me think more deeply about writing memoir. I've read your ms, and now your serialization of your memoir...your post above...It's challenging to dig deeply into our lives and extract meaning from the chaos. It hurts. It's embarrassing. It's cleansing. Thank you for the nudge. Below is my first public attempt at memoir.
ReplyDelete********************
I swipe away a tear before the cold October wind can grab it. The waves on Lake Ontario rumble and crash into each other, then race up the shore, and I take steps backwards to avoid getting wet feet. I bury my hands deep into my pockets, my right hand grasping a piece of drift wood. I gaze across the water, imagining (as I did as a child) that I can see the Canadian shore on the other side.
This is harder than I thought it would be. I had not paid too much attention to how it would really feel when it happened. When Mom put the house up for sale last year, I was relieved for her; she was nearing 70, had just had triple-bypass, and was not able to maintain the residence like she should. On top of that, in order to get out to her car, she had to trudge up an inclined sidewalk, and go down 70 steps to her parking space. This journey was not something she relished, and in fact the prospect of venturing out kept her inside more often than not.
Still, the house had been my childhood home. Well, for the first ten years of my life anyway. I was born in the hospital not far from there, and Mom brought me home and I joined my older brother in the house that belonged to, and was also occupied by, my grandparents. I imagine that my grandmother, Grace, (a not particularly warm person ) was not at all thrilled that her eldest, divorced daughter and children (one illegitimate) living under her Catholic roof. A few years later, Mom would add my baby brother to the mix. Three children, by at least two different fathers, under the care of their unwed mother, was too much for my grandmother to bear. The story goes that she forced us out, much to the dismay of my grandfather.
While this sort of family arrangement goes on all the time now, especially in hard economic times, my young life began in the mid-1960s, when an unplanned pregnancy by an unwed mother was still scandalous. That Grace, a devout Catholic, had even taken us in to begin with was astounding. To this day I’m still not sure whether she banished us because of her faith, her pride, or her nerves. I was not happy to have to move because I adored my grandfather, Charles. I could not say the same for my grandmother. In fact, after my grandfather died three months after we moved, I rarely saw or spoke to my grandmother. It goes without saying that I hardly knew her. That was until we moved back in after I graduated from high school.
Kudos for your bravery in sharing your memoir attempt! I love how you opened this piece, with the details of the lake and the waves.
DeleteI think I like best how the keeper of the house is adapting to the additions, much like a home might when the owner must change something by way of arrangement and/or affect. Homes can be most amendable by way of appearance. . .and facade. The house is a story. The dweller is the teller.
DeleteWendy..this is not an "attempt" it is beautiful. It is well written, clean, descriptive and so alive..so alive. There is SO much here..I wonder if this isn't just a start..almost an overview. Are you imagining the story beginning high school? What is the story you want to tell/show? I could see you going either way..using this as an introduction or retelling all of this in several chapters. (does that make any sense?) The hardest thing in writing memoir is deciding what to show..and from what point in time and using what voice. The adult (as you have done) or the child or a combination. Do not be embarrassed..this is lovely. And I ate it up. .the writing. the honesty. and well, the story..it's interesting. Brava. brave.
DeleteThank you, Nora! I say "attempt" as I am still exploring where this is taking me. I still have a lot of reflection to do to figure it all out.
DeletePaul,
DeleteYes...the house IS the story...that is definitely on my mind.
Wendy! Hugs and hugs. It's so good to see you here in your words. This bit of memoir is such strong scaffolding of what is to come. I feel the bump of mother needing to leave home, the set--Grace was a cold and non-approving mother....I'm looking forward to the spike! It feels like there's a lot of emotional layers to work and weave with here. Keep going!
DeleteI'm with Andrea: adore that opening.
DeleteOh my word, I love the two of you - individually, together - I can't get enough. I've been lurking for a few years, and this year my goal is to write a little bit every day. As a teacher, I have yet to be able to practice what I preach. So here goes...
ReplyDelete9:10 p.m. Two hours after his bedtime.
"But I don't want too..." whines his little two year old falsetto. "I sleep with my eyes open."
The eternal battle of bedtime, night after night - a war to end all wars. I use the only trick I have left.
I dig through the wad of bunched up blankets and stuffed animals, past the Cheerios and toy car until the matted fleece is in my grasp. With slow and deliberate pause - so as not to spook the little one - I arrange his blankie just so. Taggie facing up, just grazing his balled up fist.
And we have lift off. His head finally rests on the pillow and his hand finds the courage in the dark. Nothing invites sleep more than the repetitive feel of comfort between his fingertips.
The tension relaxes until the only sound is the gentle caress of satin and the fluttering of tired eyelashes. He has given up his valiant fight to live and dream another day.
The comfort of familiarity and routine settles him back into his nest, his home, where the safety of that blanket will keep ward from the shadows and monsters of the day.
Lovely writing! I think you've captured so nicely the way a blankie works magic!
DeleteRemember that scene from RADIO FLYER wherein the narrator (Tom Hanks), tells us about the "rules of childhood?" The blanket is part of those rules and it is captured nicely here.
DeleteAh yes! What a great way to generate more scenes like this!
DeleteI must have a thing for blankies. I just realized I wrote another blanket themed quick write after yesterday's post:
DeleteWhen the world heats up and melts down the hands of time, I round up those scattered seconds, minutes, and hours and horde them for myself.
Hold them close to my chest so I can breathe again.
Inhale the sunlight that thaws my soul.
Inhale the breeze that blows past my cheek, whispering sweet melodies to soothe my weary mind.
I can finally lie down in grass that swarms with life. Take time to appreciate the energy that lifts my gaze to the sky. Colors so vibrant, my focus gets sharper.
I can see the leaves on the trees, and venture past them.
Hear birds sing their songs and lift up my worries to the clouds. Feel my roots spread down into the earth below me, feeding me with a place to grow taller and deeper.
Time to reflect.
Time to learn.
Time to grow.
Life becomes a security blanket in which to wrap myself rather than a to-do list that unravels me.
This blanket cocoons me, builds me anew. Allows me to to emerge a better person. Read to fly back out into the world and spread as much beauty and kindness as I can through those dark times of cold isolation.
I reassemble that clock and appreciate every minute I have left.
Jenn- your piece just exudes motherhood and love. The way you arrange the blanket, knowing what your child wants, knowing that the blanket is really an extension of you, the you your child can take with him and hold. And then to read your second piece..where YOU are comforted by metaphoric blankets..it comes full circle. How very lovely. . thank you for sharing it and warming me, too!
Deleteawwwwwww. what a tender, tender moment. And, its so universal. Have you seen the little video on facebook about boy moms and girl moms? It's hilarious because all day things are different until the last moments before sleep. I think lift off is a funny term for celebrating the kid falling asleep. It really paints a unique voice---and scienc-y. That's cool.
DeleteJenn, look at you here, being brave!!!
DeleteThis moment, for me, is everything: "fluttering of tired eyelashes."
Keep diving in!
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteAs a parodist (not a good one, but I can work one out now and then), I like the reworking of a song for the addition of a verse that belongs to this one singer. Much like writing, it's a verse that becomes that person's chapter. The melody is there, right? Why do songs ever end? Because they run out of verses? Or participants? Or time?
DeleteMargaret,
DeleteWhere you there is one of my favorite spirituals. I love what you've done with it. I do feel like it ends to quickly...it prematurely jumps to the breaking of the chains. Maybe one more verse before that one..
Hello Friend, It's so nice to see you here! You know what I think. I love this poem.....and the last line is perfect.
DeleteI am not a poet..and I know enough not to try and comment as such. I do know that poetry is about the language and the words..perhaps the purist form of writing. It can be without character and without scene. And for that..the most difficult.
DeleteDear Nora,
ReplyDeleteThank you for coming by and giving us such valuable information. And Gae, thanks as always. I really like all the emotion your writing invokes, Nora. The tug of back and forth in court is heart wrenching. Beautiful work.
I was going to share a snippet from my fiction WIP but because I was inspired by what you wrote, Nora, I decided to share something I wrote when my mom died. She passed away this April and I jotted down thoughts, etc. I don’t know that I’ll do anything with them yet but it was helpful to me in the grieving process, so here goes.
So it’s May and in 2 days it will be a month since Mom died and I’m still waiting for the How-To-Handle-Your-Mother’s-Death manual to arrive. Because there should be a manual that says it’s okay to use words to describe your feelings like suck and crap and empty and ALONE and all the other shit you want to say and are afraid to say because people will think you need Xanax or hormones or soap for your mouth.
I LOVE the voice in your piece. It really captures the raw emotion of grief and coping. So genuine.
DeleteMartha, I can relate to the raw emotion in your piece of writing. So sorry for your loss. My mom passed away in February and every day I have several moments where I just feel sad. I'd like that manual too!
DeleteUnfiltered grief. There's no card for that. And this is probably why I am a firm believer in multi-genre approach to writing. What might this look like if the work were woven with the pages from the manual you suggest here?
DeleteMartha,
DeleteI'm so sorry for your loss. I wish I could say it gets better, but I would by lying. It's been just over 5 years since my mom passed, and the only thing different for me is that the pain is a bit duller. It never goes away. Having said that, writing is very healing...and what Paul said above is a great question/idea! I would read that manual!
Amen, sister! You are singing my song. Keep going with this.
DeleteMartha..I too, am so sorry for your loss. And wow..in this very short segment you surely expressed how much it well, sucks. The idea of a manual, the metaphor of not knowing what to do..not being prepared and there being no words is so perfect here. And the touch the humor that is so necessary..You want all these benign words in the manual to describe all the "shit" you are feeling. It actually made me smile in understanding..and revealed a deeply sweet side to you. I loved it. And got it. And thank you.
DeleteMartha, I love Paul's suggestion! Don't miss it. And that you include "soap for your mouth" which brings one back to being a child... even without our mothers, or especially, we are still all children. <3
DeleteThank, Gae and Nora, for your writing guidance and openness to share!
ReplyDeleteWhile I am a high school teacher of English (just finished year 19... shocked at that number), I have so much still to learn (“antagonist doesn’t know he is the villain/antagonist” ... why haven’t I realized this before!?). In terms of writing memoir, my life has not been traumatic nor dramatic. I know I have stories from teaching, but I have to admit, my cognitive load keeps me living in the present and planning for the future so much so that the past is a blur, a vague impression. While you state that the writer must get over his/herself (yes! The story matters most!), in my case (and I’m sure others), I need to see myself and my experiences as something important and memorable to write about. It is funny, ironic, sad: when it comes to my own writing, the self-doubt monster whispers in my ear, “Who do you think you are? You think this is good? Worth other people’s time to read?” But when it comes to teaching you to deconstruct a text, integrate technology, or structure your class for flipped learning, the self doubt monster has been vanquished. Ok, so I need to get over myself (and my self doubt) and just write. I am working on (ok, it is still in my head, but I’m working on it) writing an educational how-to book based on my classroom and professional development experiences. So your advice for memoir is applicable: story matters. I will trust the process, focus on the story, and keep writing.
Love you both and the Teachers Write! Group!!!!
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ x infinity
-Kate
It sounds like you are well on your way to writing and sharing a story about those teaching experiences. One time, Penny Kittle told me that it is dangerous thinking to tell yourself that your story doesn't matter or won't have an affect upon another person. Your story may resonate in a most real way with a reader that those other voices are not reaching right now. Maybe not in a book but in a blog. Maybe not in a page, but in a post. Maybe a series of shares (serial) like Nora is doing out there.
DeleteEducation is such a hard thing anymore with so many challenges. I agree with Paul that your story and experiences do matter. If just one life is touched by what you share, than it was good that you put yourself out there.
DeleteWow..Kate..this is everything Paul H. and I were talking about this morning. I get everything you are saying..I struggle with this whole concept of writing myself. It is the perfect storm of total narcissism and total insecurity. A fierce desire to tell your story (whether fiction or non-fiction) and the really doubts about why anyone would want to read anything you write (at least that's how I feel!) I think that is part of the process..and should be right there in the words..in the story. Yes, trust the process..I truly believe if you care deeply about something and you let that come through..someone will feel it. They will want to know it and share it with you.
DeleteKate: This is what Friday Feedback is about, if it could matter the most: "So your advice for memoir is applicable: story matters. I will trust the process, focus on the story, and keep writing."
DeleteSO, yay. We earned our keep! Pay on your way out the door. ;) And come back next Friday. <3
from WITNESS, BOY (whatever this might be)
ReplyDeleteDuring the summer, there are two places I go. The watchtower and the workshop.
I could get to the watchtower three times a week: at the Bible study, at the Thursday night meeting, and at Sunday meeting. But, these times were never for the telling about what happened the other day. These were times for talking about Jehovah and what he would do in the near future to those who did not believe in Him. These were called "the end-times."
Sitting to the side of the property with its one window facing Maple Wood Drive and not the house, the work shed was always there in those non-meeting times. The before-they-come-from-work-times. The be-good-for-your-grandpa-and-grandma times. The every-single-day times. Now, these would be the-what-happened-yesterday times. The will-it-happen-again-today times.
I could still hear the yesterday words in my ears, in my head. I could feel them in my stomach, "This is okay. Your Jehovah cannot punish anyone who doesn't go to your church. The only one in trouble here would be you. And I would never tell if you don't."
This is beautiful. I love this innocent, yet anxious tone you've set up as well as the "dashing adjectives" :) One of my favorite "voices".
DeleteOh, wow. There is a definite building of suspense....all that I think I know about Jehovah Witnesses comes into play immediately. And, I want to know what the secret is! Nicely done.
DeletePaul- it's so interesting that we were just talking about WHY ..why write a memoir..why write your story. The only way it works is if it so personal and so detailed and in a way, so private, as yours is. My favorite thing (other than "dashing adjectives"- love that Jenn!) is when the writer tells a story as if we DO understand and as if they trust us. That is how your piece feels to me. As if we are part of the inner circle..MAYBE that is why I love memoir..like I love yours, because it feels like I belong. On another note, I personally love stories about religion..and religions. You have GOT to read Educated. And you have got to finish this story..besides, the title is to die for.
DeleteIs this a first for you posting your writing here, Paul? Was there another time or two with God of Clover (another fab title by the way?!) At any rate, what they all said, and this moment: "I could feel them in my stomach, "This is okay. Your Jehovah cannot punish anyone who doesn't go to your church. The only one in trouble here would be you. And I would never tell if you don't."
DeleteI'm not working on a memoir. I'm posting a snippet of a new section I put into the middle grade novel I'm revising:
ReplyDeleteMy sweaty fingers slid off the latch before I could open the gate. Everyone stared, including the new boy.
I reached down to pat Whisper. “It’s okay girl. We did this last time. We can do it again.”
Of course, last time was the perfect example of how not to behave at Dog School. This time wasn't turning out any better. When Whisper got close to one of the other dogs, she pulled away from me and towards the gate. The other dogs looked at their owners when they heard a command. Even the new boy, Luke, managed to get his dog Panther to pay attention to him. Whisper just danced nervously on the end of the leash.
“Sit.” I looked quickly down at Whisper, trying to pretend I hadn’t noticed Luke watching me.
“Ayla, try to not to mumble,” Jamie said gently. “Speak confidently so Whisper knows you’re the boss.”
Jamie’s correction made things so much worse. My throat got tight. I mumbled even more. Whisper either pulled towards the gate or hid behind my legs. By the end of the class, Robyn, the girl whose hair was like Rebecca’s and her Sheltie, Pepper, walked calmly side by side. When Robyn gave a command, her voice was clear like a bell. Pepper looked at her and listened. How did they learn to be a perfect team so quickly? While I was watching them, Whisper did one of her circle dances and wrapped her leash around my legs. I almost tripped.
“Don’t get discouraged,” Jamie said. “It will take Whisper a long time to get over her anxiety. The time you’re spending with her helps, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”
I nodded slightly but my eyes burned. This wasn’t working out. I had to untangle my legs so we could walk out of the training pen. I did it super slowly, so the others would be long gone by the time I got to the parking lot. All I wanted was to get in the truck and leave.
This scene has me in its grasp. I can relate so well to the anxiety of wanting to perform and things not going well. Phrases like "dancing nervously on the end of the leash" and "wrapped her leach around my legs. I almost tripped" made me feel the tension. Comparing to others who seem to excel at first try and pushing down the frustration that wants to ooze out of us - so relatable!
DeleteAndrea- Wonderful..anything with dogs and anxiety works for me. You painted the emotional picture very well. And knowing this poor girl had been through this before added to the tension. Even help from her friend, has a bad outcome. It's like the terrible horrible day..nothing is going right. You captured that perfectly..as well, as true sympathy for this girl. In this short little scene you've packed a lot..AND made her a likable character. We are rooting for her..and that is so important in telling a story. In keeping us hooked..We are hooked.
Deleteoh ..ps..doesn't this line: "The time you’re spending with her helps, even if it doesn’t seem like it."..sum up everything about writing!!! :)
DeleteThank you for your thoughts, Jenn and Nora! Yes, you're so right, Nora - it's exactly like writing!
DeleteAndrea, ahhh.. Whisper... <3
DeleteThis moment made me smile so much, this dumb sweet dog who we're rooting for to just try -- try -- to do one right thing:
"While I was watching them, Whisper did one of her circle dances and wrapped her leash around my legs. I almost tripped."
Thank you, Nora, for the post. I have never been interested in writing a memoir, but I am very interested in the idea and development of a memoir.
ReplyDeleteI thoroughly enjoyed reading your excerpt. I want to read more. I will be checking out your blog next.:)
Here is my excerpt from a chapter book that I am working on (resolution – discovering another side of the antagonist):
The whole day, even gym class, is awful. I can’t stop thinking about Jared sitting in the office. What is wrong with me? He lied and said that I cheated on the project. He told Ms. Dean that I cheated and he did all of the work. Why do I feel bad for him?
Just three minutes and the school day will be over. As I am putting my school books in my backpack, Ms. Dean says, “Samuel, may I see you in the hallway?” Oh, no.
When I enter the hallway, Jared is standing there and Ms. Dean goes back into the classroom.
“I’m sorry, Sammy. I did the wrong thing. I just wanted to win our soccer game and I knew that we couldn’t do it if you were playing.” He says with tears in his eyes.
Did he just admit that I am a good soccer player?
He continues, “I knew it was the wrong thing to do and I shouldn’t have done it. I hope that you’ll forgive me.” He puts out his hand.
I hesitate. Is he just doing this because Ms. Dean wants him to? The tears are rolling down his face. He’s not faking. I give him a fist bump and say, “I forgive you.”
He smiles, puts his arm around my waist for a half hug, and says, “I gotta get back to the office. My parents are picking me up and they are still furious with me. I’m sorry for everything.” And he heads back towards the front of the school.
I watch him walk away and think. I just lost my best enemy.
PS - Hi, Gae! It's good to be back. I hope that you are well. THANK YOU for another summer of Teachers Write.
I really love the final sentence! "I just lost my best enemy." I would love to find out what their relationship was like before this resolution!
DeleteBest line ever.....I just lost my best enemy! What a great lead up to that line. Nice to see you! I hope you've been writing all year? If not, you're here now. And, that is good.
Deleteme too!! I was just going to say that..Best last line ever!! I also love the idea of exploring the "bad guy" ..Motivation is everything in a fiction (so funny ..it is the one thing so hard to capture ..if not impossible in memoir unless you are speaking about yourself. How can you ever know someone else's truth motivation) BUT in fiction..You HAVE to..that is how you create believable characters..which you've done so perfectly here. It is so boy..and so boy, to have him forgive his "enemy" ..especially since he has just flattered him. But my favorite is seeing the tears. I know that would be the truth indicator..for both of them. It works so well. I love this..
DeleteHi, Andy! Well didn't you just win the "best last line of a scene ever" award. I should mail you a gold sticker. :) I wonder if you slowed this scene down the tiniest -- and I mean tiniest -- bit, gave a few hesitations and stammers and pauses, that awkward guy space when they have to do stuff like this, it would make that ending even MORE powerful. Great stuff. Keep going. :)
DeleteThanks for all the kind words. Maybe I should write it up as a manual. Thanks for the idea.
ReplyDeleteNora,
ReplyDeleteThanks you so much for your post on memoir writing. I purchased a book a few years ago to help me with memoir writing called: Your Life is a Book: How to Craft a Publish Your Memoir by Brenda Peterson and Sarah Jane Freymann that is really helpful and inspiring. Your ideas are great! I have kept pretty good journals over my lifetime which is also helpful.
Here is an excerpt of something I have been working on during 2010 of my life when we had to move twice becuase of the recession in our area. (I need to work on the "tense")
I decided to go through the stack of mail, which had been a constant eye sore for a few weeks on my countertop. I open my computer and log into my checking account. Wedding invitations, birth and graduation announcements have been missed, and I am reminded of my best friend’s birthday luncheon in a few days. Weeks have gone by, and I have done nothing.
I squint as my eyes start to fill with tears, and I rest my eyes on a Christmas nesting doll on my dresser. I pick up the nesting doll and pull the top off. Deluges of memories come rushing out as I carefully line up each doll, biggest to smallest. Like my family, there are seven: a father, a mother, and five children. I line the dolls up evenly, unlike my life, with so many ups and downs. Even I know that life does not line up neatly. The dolls remind me of my joys, sorrows, hardships, and anger over the last 30 years since I received it. The layers of grief, but also good times. I glance at my paperless credit card bills, my master's tuition, my daughter's tuition, and wonder how to fix it all on my online checking account.
Frustrated, I touch the dolls, one by one. Our children are at college, or married, with only Brett at home. And for some reason, when we were packing, I grabbed this nesting doll, and put it with my socks, and then when we moved in, I stuck it on this bare shelf. All of my other possessions are in boxes. I look at the nesting doll, and I feel a little better, stronger. We can do this. There will be better days ahead, like Christmas. All our kids will be home. The dolls can be lined up together in a neat little row, if only for a few days.
Lovely, KayB. For me, especially, this tiny moment:
DeleteI line the dolls up evenly, unlike my life, with so many ups and downs.
Here, on revision, would love you to really bring us fully into the moment with some tactile information which could also help repetition... for example, when I think of the Matruska (sp?) dolls at my MIL's old house -- long gone -- I can FEEL their smooth glazed wood surface, slippery to the touch, always cool...the bright painted colors, etc. What do the nesting dolls that are so important in this piece LOOK like? You say Christmas. What does this mean? Is there one that's a favorite? One that makes you sad? I can remember the itty bitty one in the center that barely had its own face...
So, this with the multiple repetition of dolls:
I squint as my eyes start to fill with tears, and I rest my eyes on a Christmas nesting doll on my dresser. I pick up the nesting doll and pull the top off. Deluges of memories come rushing out as I carefully line up each doll, biggest to smallest. Like my family, there are seven: a father, a mother, and five children. I line the dolls up evenly, unlike my life, with so many ups and downs.
Could eventually become something more descriptive like:
I squint as my eyes start to fill with tears, and I rest my gaze on a Christmas nesting doll on my dresser. I pick up the first, her painted blue dress still bright and glossy, and pull the top half off. [Who comes next? A duplicate or a different face? details? Which ones make the memories come?] Deluges of memories come rushing out as I carefully line up each one, biggest to smallest. Like my family, there are seven: a father, a mother, and five children, lined up evenly, unlike my life, with so many ups and downs.
I’m just making stuff up here, but you get the gist. I want to see and feel those dolls. ☺
So much here to forge forward with if you wanted to... Good stuff!!
oh Kay..that was so beautiful..I can't imagine a more fitting symbol than the nesting dolls. You didn't even need to explain..just the image alone was so very powerful. Your friend's upcoming birthday was also very powerful..There is something about your voice in this piece that tugs at my heart. Its as if I could hear you talking..to yourself. which ultimately is what a memoir is. thank you for the book suggestion, too. I hope you continue writing..the bills, and the nesting dolls..what a literary juxtaposition.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much, feedback is appreciated. I will be adding my name to your blog, so inspiring for any writer.
DeleteI will be adding another blog post tomorrow..so if anyone wants notification just add your name to my subscription list.. here's the link! http://www.norabaskin.com/blog/subscribe/
ReplyDeleteThis one was very very hard to write..I debated even posting it.
Nora and Gae, thanks so much for this particular post. I have been sick for a couple of days, so I haven't been able to much of anything but sleep, so I read it this morning. I realized right away that this post is important because it terrifies me. Every word stuck a cord. It is funny how every year, TW gives me at least a nugget (and often a bucketful) of what I need to push forward with whatever it is that I am writing. I appreciate you both so much and look forward to being terrified, but living to tell the tale. Much love to you both.
ReplyDeleteAh, Susan, glad you found something you needed in here. Sorry you've been sick!!!
DeleteI have given myself permission to start. Sorry for the late submission, I hope you have a chance to review. Here goes:
ReplyDeleteMy family is a bunch of liars. I blame my grandfather. He was fond of saying that we should never let the truth get in the way of a good story. Many of us took this advice to heart, so not only are our memories painted through our individual perspectives, they are also embellished with our personal creativity. Trying to figure out the truth behind my life stories has been further impeded by my mother's failing memory. At nearly 88 years old, she has earned the right to forget a few things.
Debating family folklore has been a happy hour tradition on the lake for generations. The story I share here is my best recollection of how the events of my life unfolded, so for the cousins and other family members who care to challenge the verity of this tale, I encourage you to write your own rebuttal, and present it on the deck at happy hour for our consideration.
Ah, Susan, I love this. What a cool thing it would be, too, if the rebuttals came to life. I know my family history -- my mother's -- has its challengers... Keep going. So happy to see you here, wading in!!!
DeleteThank you so much, Gae. Your feedback is always so thoughtful and appreciated. Glad to be here and writing this summer.
ReplyDelete