Update on Memoir and Moving to Jonesborough, Tennessee
All is well.
There’s nothing quite like a major life transition to remind yourself that you’re still alive and have some kick left. I used to have a lovely home outside of Asheville overlooking the Blue Ridge Mountains. Now I’m out in the country and overlook a cornfield and the exquisite rolling Tennessee hills. All God’s country.
During the pandemic I felt stuck on that mountain, with neighbors at a great distance away. Isolated. Scared. Bored. In limbo. Trying to roll with what life handed us.
I didn’t anticipate any of the changes headed my way. But with the blessing and curse of free will, we can leave bad situations if we need to. We can run for the hills! We can start our lives over somewhere new. We can change our scenery. We can make new friends. Go on new adventures.
“Know thyself,” is a philosophical maxim which was inscribed upon the Temple of Apollo in the ancient Greek precinct of Delphi. It’s up to us to know what brings us alive. It’s up to us to know what feeds our souls. It’s up to us to know who the toxic people are and get away from them. It’s up to us to know what our purpose in life is on any given day. It doesn’t have to be grand. It can be smiling at four people today. Or having a chat with an elderly neighbor. It can be admiring a cornfield, or the flowers and trees in your yard, and thanking them for their service. It can be hugging your spouse or friend or pet and reminding them how much you love them.
As for the memoir, I’m about half-way through the “shitty” first draft. It is coming together, but it is still ‘shitty.’ It will get better, given time. I’ve been going to the library in Jonesborough to write just to get out of the house (lots of rainy days here lately). They are super nice in there. I appreciate having an additional place to go, other than my bedroom, where I often feel sleepy and there’s a 50/50 chance I’ll opt for a nap instead. (See photo of my writing chair facing the cornfield.)
I can honestly say that this memoir is the hardest thing I’ve ever written. As I’ve said before, I am an immensely private person. So an immensely private person writing a memoir is an interesting challenge. I’m used to hiding behind my fiction. But I am getting lots of naps and writing my heart out.
Feel free to email me periodically and encouage me. You can write things like:
“You can do it!”
“Sending you a smile.”
“Thinking of you!”
“Keep going!”
“You’ve got this!”
and so on…
Love you!
xo
Anyone who could write a wonderful novel like Temple Secrets (my very favorite) is so talented that a little hesitation is no problem. Sometimes “shitty” just means an “oh well, that’s life”. You have proven yourself to be a fantastic author who knows how to reach others in different ways. Try not to underestimate your talent.
I think memoirs are hard because you really have several audiences, and they are competing in your mind as you write: in your case you have your faithful readers, also family, friends, and professional colleagues. But we also have several inner voices that want us to tell our story, each in particular ways: the voice that wants us to be piercingly honest, no matter the cost; the voice that restrains us from that in order not to hurt the innocent; the voice that wants us to figure ourselves out--who and what caused us to be this way or that; the voice that wants to look at all the characters in our lives and see who influenced us and how; the voice that wants a sense of continuity but keeps getting distracted as we delve deeper into this, that or the other thing...and where was I now? How much is our memoir also a story of other people whose voices we may not be able to report with accuracy and authenticity they deserve? With all the audiences and inner voices competing for our attention, how many chocolate bars is going to take to get them all settled down so one can write!