The Art Of A Memoir: The Golden Sky

Everyone has a story to tell and there are millions of writers out there telling them. Often these are fiction, stories we shape from the crazy characters yammering on in our heads. But then there are those who tell their own stories: the memoir writers who pull their inspiration from a piece of their lives.

One of my favorite books is Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt. I was fortunate to listen to it on audio. I’m not sure I would’ve fallen in love with it as much simply reading the words, but hearing it . . . I’m not sure how to explain the power of Frank McCourt’s voice as he told his heartbreaking tale. I felt a surge of honor listening to his story and smiled as he sang his Irish ditties. But mostly, I was mesmerized, mesmerized by his strength and his will to carry on.

Another favorite of mine is Night by Elie Weisel. It’s the story of a young Jewish boy and his father struggling to survive a Nazi concentration camp during WWII. At one point, Elie refers to his father as “dead weight”. The burden that boy must’ve felt as he silently wished for his father’s death settled into my soul and never left. This was a real boy, experiencing real torture. Not made up. Not a dream.

Then of course, there is The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank, which I also prefer on audio. The audio brings her life—life which should’ve never been taken away. This young writer leads us through her adolescence with hope, despite all the death around her. We want her to succeed, however we know something that Anne does not. Each day she writes to her fabled “Kitty,” we know is a day closer to death, a day she wouldn’t see her dreams realized.

A couple years ago, I had the privilege of reading the journal of another young girl—a woman embarking on a journey of her own. At nineteen, she discovered the baby she carried inside her had serious birth defects. Doctors suggested she terminate the pregnancy. It was hopeless: the baby wouldn’t survive.

Elisa struggled to come to terms with the idea of ending the life of the baby who still moved and fluttered within her. She fought with God and ultimately decided to give her child a chance. 

Zeke is born and struggles to hang on, but that does not deter Elisa from doing what any mother should and fight for strength. He has good days and bad yet he still clings to life. There was hope  at one point, unfortunately, a nurse’s mistake changes everything and little Zeke takes a turn.

Elisa and her husband, Cade, watch their son falter and struggle against the pain of living. It is then they make the decision to let him go—to breathe on his own for the final time.

The rest of the memoir shows what happens to their lives as they battle through guilt, loss, and anger. Their relationship crumbles; Elisa questions her faith in God, survives a “rogue skunk,” finds redemption in “the good morning yahoos” all the while caring for her three-year-old daughter. Money is tight—nonexistent—and she often relies simply on the “oatmeal option” to make it day to day.

As heartbreaking as her story is, it was laugh out loud funny. I’ve known the writer for some time and had experienced all the crazy things that only seemed to happen to her, but I couldn’t believe her luck with the absurd.

Ever wonder what happens when your husband doesn't get around to fixing the toilet?  Elisa's husband doesn't. 

To preserve the authenticity of her journal, Elisa copied her words straight from the spiral notebooks, napkins, scrap papers, and hardbound diaries to the computer. It’s all real—all her. She struggled with how much to take out, while making it readable and real. She’s a storyteller by nature and although she could’ve taken liberties with her story, she didn’t. She wanted the words of that naïve and impressionable nineteen year old to come through. She once told me that although it was painful and terribly personal to put herself out there for all to dissect, she had to do it. If her story could help one person, then she’d relive it all over and over again. 

Because . . . 

The Golden Sky  comes after the storm

http://www.amazon.com/The-Golden-Sky-ebook/dp/B006FD16DQ/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1326772492&sr=8-2

I'm honored to add Elisa's story to my favorite memoirs. Not only does she show strength in the face of such sadness, but she shows us all that despite the pain, we can laugh and find the bright light in anything. 

If you have a moment check out the link above and consider adding The Golden Sky to your list too. Or if you simply want a laugh or several, check out Elisa at her blog: The Crazy Life of a Writing Mom 

Too Many #aspiringwriters Out There? Have You Considered A Career Change?

I’ve been popping in and out of twitter in my quest to get back in the writing groove. At first, I felt a little revived—I even edited a bit—but now I’m feeling a bit like the last person in line for Black Friday. The fact is there are a crapload of writers out there and each, it seems, is one-step ahead of me.

I knew there were a lot of aspiring writers, but in the short time I've been on hiatus, there have been a surge of self published writers all tweeting for me to buy their book, read their blog, review this, retweet that . . .  Ay yi yi. Am I foolish in my endeavors to become a writer?

Maybe. I chose the wrong career in the first place. I could be wrong again.

I’ve been doing some research and have found several promising careers that I’m betting are safer, more reachable. After all, the world is my oyster, right? Lots of opportunities.

Speaking of Oysters . . .

I could be an “Oyster Floater”. No really, I could. Did you know oysters need to float in specially attuned water in order to remove impurities? Yep, it’s true. Who likes impure Oysters? Not this girl. I like mine as unadulterated as a Hallmark commercial.

What about a “Pet Food Taster”? I’ve been meaning to give up real food for good, since it’s so delicious and makes my ass big. What better way than to taste pet food for a living? I can’t imagine I’d ever want to put anything in my mouth ever again, especially after I went to my part-time job as a . . .

“Vomit Collector”. Yep, no theme park would be complete without those folks whose sole purpose is to clean up the yak around the rides that inspire the worst motion sickness.

After excelling at those, I would be quite the “Odor Judge”. I mean, who wouldn’t want their nose shoved into a hairy ol’ armpit. I’m thinking after I ate some pet food and cleaned up barf all day, a whiff of an armpit would be like soft serve ice cream on a hot day.

Or, I can go a whole different route and work with animals. I love animals. I could be a “Chicken Sexer”. Think how important it is to decipher the genitalia of newly-hatched birds and inventorying the males vs. the females. That’s a big time job.

And after I checked the kibbles and bits of poultry, I could slip on over to the barn and inseminate Bessie the cow. “Animal Insemination” is a necessary for us to keep up our food supply. 

Similar to this line of work is one that I think not many would pass up. In fact, I’m surprised I didn’t hear about it before. A “Livestock Masturbator” (nope, not making this up) acquires the body fluids necessary for conception, which as all you know, play an integral role in our food supply. Have you thanked your Livestock Masturbator lately? If not, you should. A plate of cookies at Christmas would be nice. I would just avoid the cream filled center kind. 

I’m feeling a little better knowing that even though I’m one of many in a sea of wanna-be writers, I have options. There are career paths out there waiting for me. So if you see me on twitter #amvomitcollecting or #chickensexing, you’ll know I’ve embarked on a new journey.

BTW, those are real job titles. Not making it up.

So how are you feeling amongst all the promising writers out there? Feeling like jumping ship, perhaps becoming an Ostrich Babysitter? Are you overwhelmed as I am with all the pimping of books and blogs. 

Unlikable Characters? Fear Not. You too, Can Be A Published Author.

One thing I expect as a parent is to be annoyed on a daily basis. Whining, arguing, spills, bills, boogers, poop, blah, blah, blah. Last night’s annoyance took me on a different tangent, however and back to writing.

My daughter was watching one of her favorite movies: “Pippi Longstocking.” Ugh! This movie kills me with the songs, bad acting, and horrible main character.

I don’t like Pippi. She drives me insane, and I don’t see how my daughter loves her. The secondary characters are boring; the monkey is even annoying. Her father is a jackass who abandons her with only her big arse shoes and dilapidated house. Why isn’t my daughter watching “Annie” or “Anne of Green Gables”: two red headed orphans with a penchant for trouble and a tongue full of sass? Those two are likable and readable.

So Pippi Lamestocking had me thinking about other annoying characters that made it to literature and even a movie. Since I’m on the children's side of things, I’ll continue with The Cat in the Hat. I hate the cat. He’s not funny. He’s annoying. I’ve read this book a few times as a kid and then a couple more when I had my own, and I’ve never loved it. Cute rhyming, sure, but the cat is an ass. I don’t like him. The Grinch was also an ass but we see him change and become likable, we root for the Grinch to love Christmas. The Cat? We want to kick the cat out of the damn house before the fish goes belly up from a heart attack—at least I do. Where's a squirt bottle when you need one?

Next, there’s Isabella Swan. Oh mama, how I hate this character. I admit that I read the books. I actually didn’t mind the story, even tolerated the love or should I say “hunger” for Edward, because I saw the potential for something great with the Italian Vamps and a possible shakedown in the undead world—oh, how you went wrong Ms. Meyer. Anyway, Bella is whiny, mopey, lame, and more lame. Seriously, how much scrambled eggs can a person eat?

I didn’t care about her; didn’t care which beastie she chose to love; didn’t care that she nearly died. Nothing. I just wanted her to grow up somehow, transform into something redeemable. Unfortunately, being a vamp was apparently the only answer because then she gets the best power of them all and becomes the prettiest vamp—LAME!

I didn’t love Twilight but the next book I’m going to talk about I did like—a lot. Hunger Games was an exciting book. Yes, there were some writing issues that I didn’t love, and the final book was a complete waste of time, but I truly liked the story. Katniss, on the other hand, I didn’t care for so much. She is a tough chick, but something about her bothered me. I loved Peeta; I sympathized with Peeta; I wanted the best for him. Katniss . . . I’m not sure. I rooted for her simply because of Peeta. She needed to win, to stay alive for his sake. The story kept me going more than the MC.

I was trying to think of a literary/movie character for adults to compare to and was having a hard time until I remembered Gone with the Wind and Scarlet. She’s a selfish bitch, yet for many of us we can’t wait to see what happens, which somehow makes her likable or at least readable. And, tomorrow, after all, is another day. 

So when someone critiques your writing and tells you your MC is unlikeable, don’t just jump on what they have to say. Likeability is different for everyone. Think of Hannibal Lector, is likability the right word? We shouldn’t like him, he is evil, yet we read on because he is dynamic—interesting. Dexter Morgan, same thing. He kills people. Sure, they are also serial killers, but his actions also screw up the lives of innocent people around him—he makes big mistakes. Doakes was a shithead, but he was not a killer. (spoiler) Dexter’s actions lead to his death. All of this aside, Dexter is interesting, complex, and we can’t get enough of him. We turn the page or buy DVDs, because we simply have to know what will happen next in the life of a serial killer with a conscience.

Harry Potter wasn’t a bowl full of excitement. He was average. He succeeded because he had a mess of great characters surrounding him, helping him grow into the great wizard he was born to be. By himself, Harry wouldn’t have grabbed me (oops, sounds a bit pervy). But add in the twins, Hagrid, Luna, and the rest and we have interesting and dynamic personalities that keep us going.

What characters have you found unlikable? And, what makes a character likeable to you? Have you ever been told your MC is unlikeable? Did you agree?  Talk to me. 

I'm Ba-aaackk!

Holy crap, it’s been a long time since I’ve blogged. It’s a bit dusty in here to tell you the truth. Ahhh, but it’s good to be back.

So much has happened in my life the last six months. I’m not going to go into the details because life isn’t about dwelling in the past, especially if the dweller is absent a pint of ice cream—which I am. A hiatus from blogging, tweeting, and following other blogs was just too much for my already full plate. But now I think it’s time to jump back in feet first.

I started writing again and I’m determined to finish my Nanowrimo from last year. I was stranded at 63,000 words. I have heard about people starting books and not finishing them, but I was never that girl. My characters wouldn’t allow that. I don’t know if was the process of Nano or just my life that made finishing it a burden.  I’m determined to get to “the end” even if it kills me.

So if anyone is out there [taps mic] I’d love to check out your blog and find out what you’ve been up to. I would like to find some new blogs and rekindle my affections for some of the old ones. Leave a comment with your link and I’ll check you out. (if you say this with a Joey voice it’s much better). 

Hope to see ya around. 

Luck Be Damned!

“Depend on the rabbit’s foot if you will, but remember it didn’t work for the rabbit.” ~R.E. Shay

Bad luck has had its way with me the last few months. It seems like every time we climb one hurdle another pops up. This past weekend was no different and convinced me more than ever how much it sucks being a muggle.

My husband and I moved back to our hometown to start over after a punch in the gut and a scare of the pocket book. We’re selling our house, which in this market is good times let me tell ya. Every now and then we need to head back to Utah to make sure it’s still standing and weed the flower beds (weed barriers are actually just a weed blankey and don’t do anything but keep weeds nice and snuggly).

My daughter just turned eight and we thought it would be great to have one last birthday shindig with her friends. So, I rushed home from work on Friday, fixed dinner, vacuumed, packed, tended to my very sick husband and then loaded the kids for a trip home. We had a late start so by the time we made it half way it was getting dark.

As I climbed the steepest grade, my husband’s truck started bouncing a bit—vibrating. I wasn’t sure what the heck was up, other than the road to Utah is always marred by construction. I pulled into the rest stop and looked over the tires, then popped the hood. Red—my husband’s beastly truck—is a pain in my ass most of the time. It’s old, it makes noises that it shouldn’t, and it burns oil. After spending ten minutes trying to open the hood, I checked the oil. It was fine. Checking oil is the extent of my car expertise, so I wrangled my two young kids back in Red and made my way to the summit of the pass.

It was a bit rough still. Something was wrong and it was getting darker. Ten minutes later Red swerved to the side. I pulled over and checked the tires—they were fine. I eased back on the road, ready to take the next exit, when a load pop rattled the truck and my kids.

I called my husband back in Idaho. He had a crazy ear infection which knocked his equilibrium outta whack and couldn’t make the trip with us. He called me a tow truck and despite being told to stay in bed, made his way toward us. I didn’t want him to drive, but we were stranded, and my daughter had fourteen kids RSVP’d for the next day.

Marvin the tow truck driver made it about forty minutes and two pees in the weeds later. My kids thought he was the coolest thing since Super Mario Galaxy 2, but I couldn’t help but wonder how Marvin’s eyebrows grew perfectly arched as they were—not a hair out of line, trimmed to girly perfection.

Apparently, the tread to the rear tire came loose and pulled the exhaust through the wheel well. Marvin was going to have to heat up the exhaust and melt a pipe to something and then do something else to something and then he’d give us a “jingle” when he got ‘er done on Saturday—after my daughter’s party.

Manicured Marvin took us to the motel and we scored the last of two rooms. We had one queen bed for four people. I called my husband to tell him the room number and to check up on him. He was sipping on coffee and focusing on the road, trying his best not to move his head too much or he’d get dizzy.

I felt like shit. I should have taken my car, but I wanted to load the back with some of our belongings. The last time my husband drove Red that far the radiator hoses burst. I was an idiot for trusting her. I knew something was going to happen: I sensed it before the trip even started.

“I hate your truck,” I said to my husband.

“It’s not . . . Hey, why is that guy braking?”

Click

I tried and tried to reach my husband. What just happened? Is he okay? This was getting worse by the minute. I hate Red. I hate that we had to move. I hate . . . everything.

Ten long arse minutes later, my husband called. He was fine. We just got cut off. (Hey Verizon, no I can’t hear you now!)

We made it to our house the next day. Marvin was going to fix the truck and everything was going to be okay. Except that we had to leave right after the party because my husband was scheduled for Sunday.

To sum up this really, really long story the party went well, we got Red and made it home. 

My luck continued to stink on Monday when I lost half of my final test for my new job. Yay, me!

I think in the writing world, luck plays a big part. I’ve read some pretty crappy books, while really good ones sit in a drawer for ten years waiting to be discovered. (I think Matterhorn took thiryty years and it is highly praised). I want to know what you guys think as far as luck goes. Are some of us just lucky? And are others tested more than they should be?

Laptop Lovin'

Last night, after I finished loading the dishes , I went to park my butt on the couch to watch a bit of Harry Potter with the fam when my husband blurted out, “Did you just stroke your laptop?” 

“Did I what?” I sat down and rolled my eyes. I heard him, but I needed time to summon up a great comeback. We’ve played this game before—the ‘you’re always on the computer game.’ I usually lose this game. 

“You stroked your laptop,” he repeated with even more complacency. 

It took a second and then it hit me. When I had stumbled over my husband’s feet to sit next to him, I reached over and swept my hand across my laptop. A love pat? No. I was checking to see if it had cooled down. 

So yes, I stroked my laptop. I don’t love love my laptop. I wouldn’t stroke it in a loving way. I don’t think about its warmth on my legs and the wonderful click-clacking sound as my fingers scramble over the keys when we’re apart. I don’t. 

Okay, maybe I do. 

I love my laptop. It is the one thing that is mine; the one thing that I do just for me. I write, blog, and critique manuscripts every day. So I do spend a lot of time on my computer and get a ton of flack from my husband. 

Perhaps one day, when all this writing business pays off, he’ll be less inclined to reach for absurdities just to rattle me, or point out that my lovin’ feelings for the inanimate aren’t normal. 

Funny thing, though, right after the “stroking” incident I went upstairs to take a bath. It took all of five minutes before I heard a knock, knock, knock on the door with my kids on the other side, screaming to get in. Another couple of minutes later, the cat reached her paw under the door and started howling. There’s never a dull or quiet moment in a mother’s day; so, I say let me stroke my laptop. As long as mama’s happy . . . right? 

Have you stroked your laptop today? 

The Road To Publication: Are You A Time-Waster?

In Writer’s Digest’s July/August issue, Jane Friedman listed five time wasters for those of us hoping to walk that road to publication. Here’s my take on her list.

Time-Waster 1: Submitting manuscripts that aren’t your best work

There is this certain surge of euphoria that takes over after the completion of a novel. The months spent wandering through the muck with our imaginary creations is emotional and intense. We conquered something many haven’t. That means something, right? A special spot on the NY Times Best Seller’s list for sure. We gotta hurry, beat out the other schmuck writers. Run baby, run.

I’m not sure why many of us are so eager to query before we’ve had the opportunity to let things simmer.

I’m guilty of this too. I finished my first manuscript and after my first revision, I went right to the query. I thought it was good. But just like Jane Friedman says, “It can’t be good. ‘Good’ gets rejected. Your work has to be the best.” And rejected it was. Thank you, baby Jesus. It’s embarrassing to imagine agents reading my first few pages. Sure, I have readers who said they loved it. I placed in contests, but it still isn’t great.

I see this same thing on my group blog Ready, Aim, Hook Me. We’ve received a ton of submissions, but many of them are not ready. The trouble is the writer ran out and self-pubbed prematurely.

Time-Waster 2: Self-Publishing when no one is listening

Yes, it is a great time to be a writer in terms of easy access and affordability of self-publishing. But just because that’s true, should we? Unless you have an audience already in place, who’s going to buy it?

In 2009, more than 760,000 titles were published “non-traditionally”. Can you imagine how big that number is in 2011? We have a lot of competition. What are you doing prior to clicking “publish” to ensure your novel’s success? A blog with two hundred faces? How many of those faces are invested in your work?

Time-Waster 3: Publishing your work digitally when your audience wants print

E-books are on fire. We love new gadgets and it seems like every other month a new eReader or Tablet comes out to taunt us with its fabulousness. Not only that, creating books in eformat is easy and cheap. That’s all fine and dandy if your audience is made up of mostly eReaders. Don’t forget that there are still many people devoted to print.

For those of you considering self-publishing, do you know your audience? What do they prefer?

The same goes for print.

Time-Waster 4: Looking for major publication of regional or niche work

This has to do with writing something that may not have national appeal. It’s easy to feel the wind in your hair when self-publishing. We have freedom from restrictions, but we also need to remember the business aspect of this.

Time-Waster 5: Focusing on publishing when you should be writing

I love this. So many of us bounce from blog to blog. We read tips and strategies for producing the best query; we register on QueryTracker; stalk the Query Shark; #FF agents and publishers. This is important, I suppose, but remember Jane’s first time-waster. Unless we have “great”, there is no point in running to publication. Spend some time on blogs, twitter, etc. but use the majority of the time writing and perfecting.

So with all that being said, how do you know when it’s really time?

Jane has several questions she asks during her critique sessions with writers. How long have you been working on the current manuscript, and who has seen it? Is this the first manuscript you’ve ever completed? And: How long have you been actively writing?

Here’s her reasoning:

Most first manuscripts aren’t publishable, even after revision. They are important in our growth, but that doesn’t mean they are great. Also, a writer who has worked on one project for years and years without writing anything else may not be motivated. We need to write a lot in order to get to our best work. Writers who actively write on more than one project and are involved in a critiquing process are more positioned to publication, she says. They know their strengths and weaknesses and have their own structured revision process. For those of us in this spot, good news, we may only need a bit o’ luck on our side.

Is there a point when we need to veer off course?

Ask yourself these questions: Is your work commercially viable? Are readers responding to something you didn’t expect? (i.e. you’re passionate about your fiction, but you have a large audience on your humor blog) And, Are you getting bitter?

I think the last one is important. In order for you to write good fiction, you have to love it. If you’re writing simply for the glory, the money, whatevs—stop right now. If you’re one of those people who started writing simply for the love of it, but have found yourself tempted by the allure of the “best seller” I suggest regrouping. It doesn’t mean you won’t achieve that goal, but you can’t let it rule you. Love what you do first and foremost. The rest is gravy, baby.

Now quit reading my drivel and go write already! After you shoot me a comment, of course.