Friday Feedback: Endings and Beginnings . . . and Perspective.

Me, slightly filtered, last month
on my 54th birthday

Dearest Teachers Write campers,

< - - -  This is me. Here I am. The two -- or more -- of us together once again.

As I noted on my Friday Feedback facebook page, this will be the last Friday Feedback that is part of the #TeachersWrite program.

This was not my decision. In fact, I'm a rather loyal sort, and have loved every minute of Teachers Write, and so this particular ending has left me a tad bit heartbroken.

In my original draft of this post, I shared my version of what happened, but on second thought decided real life is the only proper place for these conversations.

Suffice it to say, that Friday Feedback existed before Teachers Write, and if I choose -- and you all beg accordingly ;) -- I could always continue it.

Meanwhile, I move forward with deep gratitude for the last six summers with Teachers Write. Being part of this endeavor that grew and grew, and meeting all of you, many IRL through the years, has been one of the greatest highlights of my published life.

And, now -- hooray!! -- on with FRIDAY FEEDBACK. If you haven't participated before, please make sure you read the RULES.

So, since today is sort of an ending, I thought, "Hmmm, what if I went back to the beginning. . ." So I went to the archives of my blog searching for my first Friday Feedback post from 2010 (!!!)

What I wrote back then about why I decided to start such a feature on my blog, still holds true for me today:

"Why am I so excited about this? Writers often write in a vacuum. As such, you’ll often hear us commenting that we have no idea if something we’ve written is great, or if it’s crap. I mean, you’d think we’d know, but sometimes, honestly, we just don’t. Sometimes, the chasm of doubt we stare down is that gaping and wide. 

If you don’t believe me, here’s a quote I love from an interview with one of my all-time favorite authors William Goldman . . . : 

“One of the things I love to do when I work with young writers is to disabuse them of the notion that I know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. . . as we are speaking, I am looking at my computer, tearing out my hair, thinking, well, is this horrible, or is this going to work? I don't know. Storytelling is always tricky."

And guess what, folks, nearly eight years and three more books -- almost four -- later, and, yeah, I still don't know what I'm doing. I mean there's a gut thing, sure, and some skill honed, but in the end, for me, it's mostly the knowledge I can write, the understanding that I will have to dig down and revise over and over again, and one giant leap of faith.

Now for those who follow me on twitter or facebook, you may know I've been steeped in a pretty rough round of revisions for my next book JACK KEROUAC IS DEAD TO ME (St. Martins/Wednesday Books 2020).

So imagine my humor and delight when I opened that 8-year-old post to see that the very excerpt I had shared for feedback was none other than the then-opening of a manuscript I stated, "bears the working title, Jack Kerouac is Dead to Me."

And imagine my fading humor and delight as I read my old words and suddenly wondered if I liked them way better than the opening I've been working with for years now.**

Hilarious, right?

via GIPHY

Here was that opening. YOU may be the judge when I share today's opening below:

"The butterflies arrived on a Saturday, but I waited till Sunday to open them since I needed Max’s help with the greenhouse. It was late April, and I had been dating Max Gordon a few weeks by then, but that particular day stuck with me because of how he built the greenhouse, and also because of what Aubrey had said. "

Here's the thing, the reasons I started Friday Feedback back then, still hold relevant today. We write in a vacuum. We overwrite. We over-revise. We get too close. We have no idea.

It helps to have someone chime in.

My beautiful, kind, talented friend, Nora
who I'd be lost without. . . 

When all of this unfolded, I did what we do. We look outside of the vacuum, and so I called Nora. I told her the story, then whimpered for help.

"I have no perspective anymore," I whined to her.

"It's this business," she said. "A writer friend once told me early on, 'Once you've been published, you never write the same again.' This always stuck with me. The trick is to write like you're never going to be published."

We both sighed. Of course we're both so grateful to be published, but for better or worse, it's a freedom neither of us has anymore. At least not without working hard to find our way back there. . .

But you do, friends. And so often it's viewed only as a hurdle, but not a freedom -- to write without constraints, perceived notions. To write within fear of the boxes you feel you must fit into. 

To simply explore your own voice.

To trust your instincts, and write forward.

And right now, you do.

So, enjoy the process and write forward.

Keep going.

All of those glorious things.

And now, my excerpt. The current opening of JACK KEROUAC:

Dearest Aubrey,

I’ve started this letter three times now, but each place I begin feels wrong. I get lost in the memories and my thoughts lose their way, and I have to start over again.

As hard as it is to find my way in, I know I need to try. I have to figure out why things happened the way they did between us, how we ended up hating each other so much. How we hurt each other the way we did.

Sometimes, I miss you so badly I can’t breathe, then I break down in tears, or get so mad at you I wonder why I even care if you hear me out, or understand. But, in my heart, I know why. It’s this simple: I need you to understand because you were the one person who always did.

So, maybe I’ll start a few months ago, in early spring, when the tropical butterflies arrived. That’s when everything changed, when things really went downhill.

I promise you this, Aubrey, everything I write is the truth, to the best of my ability to recount things. Both the good and the bad that led up to me leaving in the middle of the night. There’s so much you don’t know -- both the best parts, and the ugliest parts of what happened.

The last brutal part that nobody can ever know, except you, now, here.

Ugh, I was about to rip this up again and start over, or maybe scrap it altogether, but a butterfly just landed on the railing in front of me: Pontia Protodice, Common Checkered White, subtropical. We don’t get them there in New York.

It’s not that it’s such a special butterfly, rather just a small white thing with two black squares on the back of its wings. “False eyes,” they call them. They’re there to trick predators away. But, that’s the thing, Aubrey: think what you want, I don’t have false eyes. I did the best I could with Max, with Mom, with everything.

People think butterflies are solitary creatures by nature, because we see them so often on their own, flitting over a meadow, stopping to steal nectar from the throat of a flower, before moving on. Even this one, here, now, on this railing, is all alone.

But the truth is different. Butterflies are social by nature. They cluster when they are able to because they know there is safety in numbers.

You were always my best friend, Aubrey. My safety.

I hope you will understand.

***

With much love,

Gae

** p.s. In a panic, I wrote Nora with the blog post and the two beginnings. . . and I'll reveal what she wrote -- her "Friday Feedback" -- on Sunday in the comments. ;) 

***p.p.s. I have two different giveaways going on on my facebook author page for IN SIGHT OF STARS. Check them out HERE!

***p.p.p.s And on 8/12 Nora, Tom Rogers and I will be hosting a facebook event, called Teaching 9/11: Bringing Our Shared History to Young(er) Readers. Join us! There will be "Lit Circle" giveaways there, too! 

Friday Feedback with Nora Raleigh Baskin: Story is Story is Story - Six Tips for Writing Memoir

Hey campers,

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. . .

Ima do a really brief introduction because the post is long and chock-full of great information...

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.

           

Patty Dann, author of the beautiful book THE BUTTERFLY HOURS describes it like this:

"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.

 4.  There Is No Absolute Truth

            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 will write a different memoir today than you will write ten years from now. And that’s how it should be. Tell the truth the best you can in the time you are telling your story.

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:

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          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.

 - Nora & gae