There is a wide divide between reality and remembering, and the memoirist is often left alone in his or her struggle to straddle that gap.
That’s why organizations such as the National Association of Memoir Writers, or NAMW, are so vital to a memoirist’s world. It’s the most important thing you can do for yourself as a writer: surround yourself with other writers. And for memoirists in particular, it’s often therapeutic to meet and converse with others who are facing the same challenges.
Twitter is the consummate writer’s salon. Like the salons of old, it is a forum for the exchange of ideas. That alone is a boon to writers – the ebb and flow of “why” and “how.” Politics, philosophy, science, religion and gossip intersect in the slipstream, the crisscrossing currents. Between the spoken and implied, we discover characters to hatch, plots to ripen, settings to evolve. The daily unfolding of millions of lives is a trove awaiting plunder.
Someone once said that writers write the stories that they badly want to read. These stories that writers write in order to read the stories they badly want to read are the stories that writers remember. Sometimes the words are overwhelming, if only because they often live inside for so long. These words become memories of events that have or haven’t happened, depending on the writer’s genre: nonfiction or fiction. These memories – our memories – inform who we are and what we do.
As a long-time veteran of how-to-write books, there isn’t much I haven’t been told, studied, or devoured in an attempt to improve my craft. Any book promising writing miracles in three months instills in me the desire to leave the tome on the shelf.
A transgender and Cognitive Behavioral Psychotherapist from the United Kingdom, Alex Drummond is out to help a 21st world better understand the notion of gender. In reality, western society in general takes gender for granted: We are born either male or female. It is a black-and-white issue with no room for asterisks, footnotes or alternatives.
When I was in college, as a naive twenty something, I imagined a literary agent to be on par with a unicorn: a magical being that can transport you from one place (unpublished) to another (published) in one swoop. They lived in a faraway place (NYC) and no one ever really saw them, or could prove their existence. Yet, we needed to believe in them… Just as I was giving up hope, I met Weronika Janczuk, a literary agent with Lynn Franklin Associates in New York City.
Yes, it’s a how-to book all right, but not just about dealing with the rejection of a manuscript. The goal of this book appears to be preemptive, an instruction manual on how to write so as to minimize the chance of rejection. That’s right: yet another tome on technique, writing dramatic scenes, developing characters, how and when to research, the do’s-and-don’ts of collaboration, writing query letters, preparing proposals, and, last but not least, marketing in all its facets, peddling to agents, publishers, self-publishing on the internet. But this one is different.
In the Prelude of The Blossoming of the World (Tell Me Press, July 2011), Brian H. Peterson describes himself as someone who loves to wrestle with images and words. This physical and mental combat results in a collection of essays and photographs that I found impossible to put down.
In the story of my life, libraries have been the setting. The answers I sought have always been found there, whether I was delving into Yeats’ symbolism or a breastfeeding dilemma. However, it was the question, “What shall I do with my life?” that somehow eluded me for so long. The answer was of course, at the library. I didn’t just want to read the books there – I wanted to write one, to make my own contribution to the catalog.
I reject the phrase, “the writing life.” I am also a hypocrite because, on occasion, I use the phrase “the writing life” as a catch-all to describe my life as a writer. It’s a poor excuse for a catch-all, the phrase. It attempts to lump all writers into a monolithic construct–a box, I mean–as though all writers write the same words, or write with the same style, or perceive the world through the same eyes.
