Friday Fridge Clean-Out: Links for Writers -- March 2, 2018 Edition

> Publishers Weekly is reporting that Barnes & Noble is opening five new prototype stores over the next 14 months, each about half the size of their typical large format. Turns out the first will be in northern NJ -- my stomping grounds!

> Writers who have taken classes at Grub Street or attended Muse & the Marketplace in Boston, will be interested in this Boston Globe interview with founder Eve Bridburg.

> Another interview of interest, this one with Natalie Singer, about her brand new essay collection, California Calling: A Self-Interrogation (Hawthorne Books).

> I'm in the thick of planning bookstore events for my forthcoming memoir, and appreciated this straight-shooting advice from Volumes Bookcafe in Chicago.

> If you're struggling through a revision, these quotes from 15 poets on revision, might help (via The Millions).

> Lee Martin, with another excellent post on writing craft, this time, the power of a pause in a narrative (and, by extension, in life!).

Have a great weekend!

Friday Fridge Clean-Out: Links for Writers -- September 15, 2017 Edition

> This-just-in department: "House Votes to Save Library Funding, NEA and NEH" according to Publishers Weekly.

> As they mark their 10th anniversary, Fiction Writers Review is featuring interviews from the archives, including this one with Jesmyn Ward about "Getting the Sough Right" on the page.

> Speaking of Ward, her novel, Sing, Unburied, Sing, is on the 2017 National Book Award longlist.

> Bookish offers its Fall 2017 Nonfiction Book Preview. And now I need an eighth day in every week.

> Shelf Awareness reports how some Florida bookstores are getting back to business after Irma, and what one publisher is doing to help.

> Thomas E. Ricks tells the story of how his latest book was vastly improved during a long, thorough revision/rewriting process, after his editor trashed his initial manuscript.

> The WOW! Women on Writing newsletter features (and connects to) myriad topics of interest, including craft and technique, submission, publishing, and marketing issues facing writers. I'm pleased to be featured in the current issue in "Success Stories From You," amid so much other helpful information.

> Here's what's new in the just-published 17th edition of the Chicago Manual of Style. (Or, as it's known in my house - Mom's Paperweight.)

> Wondering if the newish American Writers Museum in Chicago is worth a visit? Wonder no more.

> Finally -- We've all seen the article or blog post about how publishing a book is like birthing a baby or having kids (I even featured a guest post like that.) But the way Austin Gilkeson does it at The Rumpus in "Congratulations on Publishing Your First Baby" is an entirely new and fun take on the trope. Enjoy!

Have a great weekend!

Image: Flickr/CreativeCommons 

Memoir Book Report: Part II -- Final Manuscript Revisions

This is the second in a series, following my memoir manuscript from contract to published book.

Late May and most of June were dedicated to final revisions. I happen to love revision; that precious second (third, two-hundredth!) chance to work on precision, so the reader will understand what I'm trying to say, describe, recreate. Making sure I do, too. And, in the process, often discovering new, perhaps tiny but crucial points.

As I mentioned in the first installment, the best part about making those revisions was being deeply immersed in the world of the book for weeks. This allowed me to be more curious about things I'd already written. Now, I could think more about those events that helped shape the narrative and ask myself additional questions. Was there anything new to learn, to weave in?

The memoir's main story is about my reconnecting to my father after his death, while I was in the middle of marriage, motherhood, and an MFA. Several important flashbacks and backstories though also come into play, helping a reader understand how Dad and I once interacted earlier and the particular world we occupied.

The memoir writer works hard to recreate that vanished world. I'd thought I'd done that—and where I'd struggled, my earlier beta readers had pointed out where more work was needed, and I'd attended to it months before. And yet, coming back to the manuscript again, I saw places where that world wasn't quite as clear as it could be. The revision recommendation notes from my publisher highlighted a few areas I thought were done, done, done.

At first, reading some of those revision recommendations, I had a sense of "Nah, don't think so." But when I let the ideas settle in my head for a few days, I realized it wasn't about anything being "wrong" with the manuscript. Instead, these were opportunities for better clarity and richer storytelling.

For example, I was urged to write more scenes about our family's first class travels when I was a child and teen, as my father's income rose; to introduce and develop the character of my childhood BFF earlier in the text (she frequently traveled with us and still figures in the story 40 years later when Dad dies); and to expand the material about my life in the competitive world of horse shows (which my father financed).

As I re-read and re-read the manuscript—three times through, with pencil, sticky notes, and highlighter in hand—I saw where there were still openings and that filling them would only enhance and deepen the story, more effectively inviting in readers who'd otherwise have no means to visualize certain events and understand their emotional significance.

Then, I began addressing each of the revision recommendations I had agreed to. (A few, I had successfully argued against.) Some of this involved excavating original draft pages from the files, locating notes I knew I once made but didn't use the first time around, to get at the needed information (hence, the many piles and sticky notes all over my desk, above).

First, I "fixed" easy things—deleting bits of repetitious material; fleshing out a secondary character; clearing up one chapter's confusing timeline; smoothing a few tense shifts; moving a couple of passages into places that made more intuitive sense.

Next, I concentrated on writing new material. A vintage postcard triggered a flashback about the Las Vegas hotels we stayed at long before my parents built their dream home and retired there. Paring a section about my father's smoking led to a new passage about how I once smoked to mask feeling like an outsider in the rarified air of horse shows populated by heiresses.

When I set out one morning to write a scene from our family's grand European tour when I was a nine-year-old, what emerged were a few sweet and loving exchanges between me and my father I hadn't thought of including—and which became the new prologue.

As I wrote more about my BFF, I asked her over for coffee, so she could read some new material—and as we talked, I learned something I wasn't expecting, and that information helped me round out an altogether different paragraph that had been bugging me. I asked my sister to read some pages and fill in small details of family history that perked up a few sentences. I worked through with my husband a chapter that peeks behind the curtain of some private marriage and in-law moments.

Doing all that and seeing how much it improved the manuscript gave me the emotional fortitude to take a long, second look at how I'd written of my relationship with an often prickly family member with whom I was often at odds. In a sense, I took myself back to Memoir Writing 101: Don't Be a Victim on The Page. I had to ask myself how much of this other person's behavior and its effect on me was, in some respects, about me, not them.

Along the way, I noticed how several things could be improved with a simple red line—a big X through sentences, paragraphs. Some became irrelevant in light of new, better material. Some became redundant as other areas grew in depth from revision. Though I preach it often, I was reminded yet again that DELETE is not only an option, it's often a friend.

Once I felt the revised manuscript was in top form, I asked my husband and elder son to read it in full, for the first time. They each had a few good suggestions that made their way into (or out of) the book.

Finally, I proofread. And proofread again. Prepared the manuscript in the exact format the publisher requested. Held my breath, and hit SEND.

Days later, I found a typo. I marked it on my hard copy, which I'd printed on pale purple paper. Just because. I didn't panic because I'd learned well already: writing is solitary, but publishing a book is purely collaborative. I'm looking forward to working with my copy editor.

Onward.

Image of X - Flickr/CreativeCommons-KarynChristner

   

Wake Up and Smell the Essay (Or, let the darned thing rest and see what happens...)

I have no scientific proof, but I'm fairly confident that every childhood home had a particular smell, a combination of odors both pleasant and not so nice. Vanilla Yankee Candle maybe. Fireplace. Cigars. Perhaps garlic simmering in olive oil. Clay. Or lemon furniture polish. A ripe litter box. That smell we don't know is there until we live elsewhere and home becomes a place we visit—and notice.

I do know that science does confirm smell is the sense most likely to elicit memories.

But I can't say I ever wanted about the olfactory signature of my childhood home. Yet, that's what I did in "Smoke and Silk, Top Note and Finish," which found a nice home in the Fall 2016 issue of The Tishman Review.

The essay examines the role and meaning of the smell that clung to my late mother's material possessions, especially the fine fabrics my mother hoarded, and what that smell suggested to me about my mother and her marriage. All that is wrapped inside a narrative about some time my sister and I spent in her Las Vegas house a month after she died.

That week with my sister was all I thought I was going to write about when I first started the essay. But I've learned our writing has a mind of its own. Work on something long enough—or, better yet, DON’T work on it for a while—and sooner or later, the real story emerges.

Fortunately, I let each of the half-dozen messy successive early drafts of "Smoke and Silk" sit untouched for many months at a time over four years. Each time I returned to it, I saw something "new" that I had overlooked before. Each time, I got closer to what I think it was trying to be about. I listened to the drafts. Perhaps, had I worked on it more, or let it rest some more, or both, I'd have discovered even more. But at some point it felt finished. (As finished as any piece of writing ever is; which is to say, it felt ready to submit, if not precisely, ever done.) 

The longer I write, the more I understand the power of doing nothing (on the page) in between drafts; the more I trust that, while seeming to do nothing, I am doing something.

You can order a print copy of The Tishman Review (Fall 2016) here; get a Kindle version here; download the pdf version here. (My piece begins on page 85.)

Friday Fridge Clean-Out: Links for Writers -- November 4, 2016 Edition

> I'm not much of a baseball fan, but I am a fan of beautifully written, sport-related essays and feature writing, especially a piece that bring together big team events with the humans who love them. Like this one, which ran on ESPN the morning after the Cubs' World Series win.

> Beautiful review by Alexis Paige at Brevity, of the new essay collection by my brilliant MFA thesis advisor Barbara Hurd, whose lyrical prose always astonishes.

> In New York City, legislators have introduced a bill to protect freelancers from editorial clients who don't want to pay.

> This is not new, but I read it again yesterday while passing along reading suggestions to some writers who are struggling with the concept of massive revision. Imagine tossing out an entire novel? Laura Dave explains.

> If you teach writing, or act as a writing coach, or simply help another writer with a project from time to time, I think you will appreciate Jane Bernstein's honest assessment of her behavior working with a former workshop participant.

> How about some levity? What if "Election: 2016" were a novel? Can you imagine the rejections from literary agents? Devorah Blachlor did.

Have a great weekend!

Image: Flickr/CreativeCommons - WackyStuff

When a Targeted Submission Fails: Rinse, Revise, Repeat

Not everything we write lands where we hope. I occasionally write essays for themed calls for submissions, especially for anthologies, and have had some success (10 thus far). But when the resulting essay is declined, there are decisions to make. Like every writer, sometimes I am tempted to forget about it. But not often. Because when I work hard on something, I like to salvage those efforts.

I try to remember what I advise my students: that the gift inside rejection (for something I wrote and submitted exclusively), is that I now have new material. Even if it requires a little (or maybe more than a little) revision, I have something to submit elsewhere.

Last July, I submitted an essay to a planned anthology to mark the 10^th anniversary of the mega-memoir, Eat, Pray Love in 2016. I learned in November that mine—along with some 1950 other submissions—was not accepted for what eventually became the book Eat, Pray, Love Made Me Do It.

I let many months go by, mostly because I was busy with teaching and other projects, but eventually realized that if I were going to place that essay, it had to be in 2016.

Fortunately, the original call had a word limit that coincided with what many mainstream online destinations look for in personal essay length. So I examined the content, and zeroed in on an angle that I hoped would help it sell: although Elizabeth Gilbert, author of EPL, was in her thirties when she rebooted her life, my own story of connection with the book was rooted in midlife, so I enhanced that aspect of the essay. When I sent it on its way, I aimed at venues with readerships in that age range and that seemed likely to include EPL fans. I emphasized in my pitch that the globally successful book was celebrating its 10^th anniversary.

That piece, eventually titled, "Happy 10^th Birthday Eat, Pray, Love: A Big Shout-Out to the Book that Inspired My Three Big Midlife Changes," was published in late August on Purple Clover, a popular site geared to midlife women. The site's tagline is: still crazy after all these years. It seems like a good fit for the piece, the paycheck is welcome, and I love knowing that my original efforts paid off, though in a different manner.

Later this fall, a similar story will play out when a much longer, more literary nonfiction narrative I originally wrote for Creative Nonfiction Magazine's 2015 call for works about the weather will be published by Harpur Palate, another journal where I'm happy to see my work appear. Lately, I've been seeing a number of well-written nonfiction pieces about weather popping up in many quality venues, and I've been secretly wondering if those traveled the same road, too.

Do you have pieces that you intended for one place that wound up in another? I'd love to hear your experiences.

Image - Fingers: Flickr/CreativeCommons-Katerha

Author Interview: Linda Sienkiewicz on her Debut Novel and the Twisty Road That Got Her There

At one of the on-site residencies during my MFA program, a visiting writer told us students that the people in that room were going to be the foundation of our future writing community, regardless of geographic location, writing style or genre, age, or any other factor that might, on the surface, seem to separate us. Lucky for me, she was right.

Linda Sienkiewicz was one of the people in the room at that time, and eight years later, she's a valued part of my personal writing community. Linda has contributed posts here in the past (not once, but twice), and I've been a guest at her blog too. I'm extremely pleased now to offer this interview with her, as she steps out with her debut novel, In the Context of Love (Buddhapuss Ink), released just last week.

Please welcome Linda Sienkiewicz.

Q: Linda, I understand it was a twisty road from initial draft to publication by Buddhapuss Ink LLC this month. How long did it take from that first manuscript to that publishing contract? Did it surprise you that it didn't happen sooner?

A. I finished the manuscript shortly after graduation from the MFA program in 2009. It was incredibly frustrating to have long spells where seemingly nothing happened. In retrospect, if not for that time, the manuscript would never have reached its potential. That surprised me. I had an agent in 2010, but I’m glad she didn’t sell it. In the Context of Love is a much different novel than it was back then.

Q. Can you tell us about some stops and starts along the way? I believe you rewrote the entire novel in a different POV? What other major changes did you tackle in revision and why?

A. The manuscript was originally in first person—second person address, where the narrator is telling her story to a lost love, addressing him as “you.” Early in my agent search, I worried that might be a problem (I was so unsure of myself) so I rewrote it as a traditional first-person “I” narrative. I queried 83 agents before I got two offers of representation.

Then, when my agent sent the novel out to publishers, initial feedback showed editors thought it was YA because it began with the narrator as a teen. My agent had me rewrite the story so it starts when she’s an adult and then looks back to when she first falls in love and learns the family secret that alters her life.

The manuscript didn’t sell. Editors praised it, but apparently it wasn’t what they wanted. Incredibly frustrating, but my agent was encouraging. She suggested I work on something new, but writing became a struggle. I have to admit I was crushed.

Q. In addition to writing/revision challenges and publishing industry vagaries, you had a daunting trauma in your personal life. Would you mind discussing how the family tragedy affected you as a writer?

A. Shortly after that blow of rejection, my eldest child at age 32 took his own life. Let me tell you, there’s nothing that prepares you for such a tragedy. My goals and dreams of publication fell to the wayside. Nothing mattered. I couldn’t write. I didn’t feel like a writer anymore; I felt like an utter failure. It took two years before I gave myself permission to have goals again. Two years before I even turned on my computer. It was daunting, but I had to know if I would ever write again. I wasn’t ready for a new project yet; I couldn’t give up on In the Context of Love.

Q. At one point I think you hired an editor. What role do you think that played in moving the manuscript toward publication?

A. First I decided to change the story back to the way I had originally conceived it, using the second person address. Then I sought the advice of an author/editor. She absolutely loved the story, but she saw a few issues, too. She suggested I start the book at a low point in the narrator’s life — when she takes her two young children to visit their father in jail for the first time. That made a huge difference. She also advised me to speed up the narrative in some scenes, and pump up others. Her ideas, with the point of view change, were instrumental. The manuscript was a whole new animal! I was so excited!

I contacted my agent only to learn she had left the business. Not a happy moment. But in reality, she’d shopped it all around the larger publishers, so there wasn’t much more she could have done. I researched small presses and queried them myself.

Q. When you began submitting to small presses, what did you have in mind as the ideal offer and publisher?

A. I knew small presses don't have money to pay advances, but they see potential in stories that big houses ignore. I didn’t want to pay for publishing, I wanted standard royalties from book sales, and maybe some extra attention that a large publishing house doesn’t have time for.

 

Q. How close did you get to that?

A.    I got what I was looking for and more in the sense that my publisher is truly invested in my novel.

Q. If you don't mind saying, how many submissions did you make, and what kinds of responses did you get?

A. I queried six small presses. I got the standard “not right for us,” and “I'm sure you understand that small presses are creatures of their editors' individual tastes, an idiosyncratic but unavoidable standard.” Ha. The response that really had me scratching my head was “It has potential, with interesting situations and characters, but the prose style is slack and the narrative structure awkward.” I thought that was funny. By then, I had already signed a contract with Buddhapuss.

Q. Were there any surprises – pleasant or otherwise—in working with a boutique independent (though traditional) publisher? We know you're not jetting off on a nationwide book tour on their dime, but that's also true of most authors published these days by the biggest houses.

A. I had to laugh when someone asked me if I was going on tour. Does anyone do that anymore? But, it’s been great. I certainly didn’t expect to consider my publisher a friend. It’s a business relationship, true, but it’s really nice. I also appreciated having input on the cover and the inside layout. That was important to me, having an art background. I had input on just about everything every step of the way.

Q. We hear about how much work even a traditionally-published author has to do to help with (in some cases, to spur any) marketing and publicity efforts. I know you produced your own lovely book trailer over the summer. What else are you doing, what is your publisher doing, and are you exhausted?

A. Buddhapuss put together an amazing media kit for new releases and bloggers. They sent advance copies to long lead reviewers and entered the book in contests. They did a pre-release giveaway on Goodreads. They've sent me business cards, postcards, book markers, author cards and posters. They are a cheering squad.

Six months before the book launch, I revamped my website I’ve worked on creating a buzz using graphics and excerpts for Twitter, Pinterest and Facebook. Twitter is great for networking, Facebook is pretty good, Pinterest not so much. I’m entering the book in other contests and trying to schedule appearances now, but I feel tapped out. I’m glad I hired an outside publicist to handle blogs, press releases and news articles (I hear even authors from large houses have resorted to hiring publicists).

Q. Before you wrote the novel, you published a good deal of poetry, earning a Chapbook Award and Pushcart Prize nomination. Had you always been writing fiction?

A. A few years before Stonecoast, I had success with publishing short stories, and even had an early novel and agent, which was kind of a fluke, really. Let’s not go there. But I wanted to write a good, solid novel. I entered the MFA program in fiction with a rough draft of In the Context of Love, eager to learn all I could. I was a sponge.

Q. Besides all the time and energy going into the book launch, are you finding any time to work on new writing?

A. Um… I have an outline and a few chapters. I’m anxious to get back to serious writing.

Q. What's your favorite piece of advice for writers who are now seeking publication for a book-length work?

A. Think of your chapters as publishable excerpts and submit them to literary journals and contests. It’s a good way to gauge how marketable your work is, and it helps establish credibility. Write a synopsis. No one likes writing them, but you’ll be surprised at how it helps you see the big picture. You’ll need one to query agents or publishers, anyway. And don’t ever give up. It’s hard work, and it gets discouraging, but don’t quit.

Note from Lisa: Linda would like to send one of this blog's readers a signed copy of her novel. Simply leave a comment here by the end of the day, Sunday, September 27, or tweet a link to this post, making sure to tag @LisaRomeo, to be entered. Must have a US postal address.

The Essays We Must Write, Must Let Languish, Must Rewrite

By now, I haven't ridden horses on a regular basis for more than 20 years. But the 20 years before were spent riding every day, competing, and writing about horses. The people in that equestrian life were so important to me, then. Which is why, when one of my "horse friends" disappeared, the departure was deeply unsettling, haunting me for many years, for decades.

I first tried writing about that fracture nearly 10 years ago, then put away the crappy draft for a long time. At various times, I'd rework that draft, bury it, forget about it, start fresh, decide to skip it, pull it out, start all over, drop it again. All that time, there was a certain urgency missing. 

But something about the story clicked for me last fall so I revised and sent it out. One editor's personal rejection note helped me understand a flaw in the piece, so I took another whack at it. Then I asked a trusted writer friend to read it. Her single piece of very intelligent advice (about structure) nudged me toward the final revision.

This week, the lovely site, Full Grown People, published my essay. Here's a little excerpt from "Must Love Horses, Must Love Dogs":

"When I moved back and settled in an apartment near her house, I returned to our old stable and trainer, but Nancy never visited me there, though I spent chunks of days at the barn where she’d moved her horses.

One chilled spring night she and I met a plane at the nearest major airport, where a flight attendant passed us a sealed medical bucket, a tube of high-priced semen from a champion dressage horse inside. We drove an hour back to Nancy’s stable, freezing because we blasted the air conditioning to keep the sperm active, and when we arrived, I held her mare’s tail aside as Nancy inserted the baster-like syringe. Eleven months later, we slept on horse blankets tossed over hay bales, taking turns to check on that mare every twenty minutes, and I was the one who first spotted the steaming foal in the straw.

Perhaps experiences like this seduced me into thinking we might stay bound, for a long time, forever..."

You can read the full story here.  (And if you're so inclined, it would be wonderful if you could leave a comment and/or click on like over at the FGP page! Thanks.)

Image: Flickr/Creative Commons, AnemoneProjectors

Where Essays Begin: Sudden news, old friend, odd lyrics, far away

Sometimes an essay or piece of memoir begins in my head as a scrap of something that will not quiet--a phrase, a bit of remembered conversation, a line of lyrics. Like this one, a 1960s tidbit.

My boyfriend's back and you're gonna be in trouble.

That line circled my brain a few years ago, insisting that I write…something—in response to news I heard about my first real boyfriend. How the lyric connected to our story, or to my reaction to his news, was a mystery.

Still.

There it was, an earworm, a prod, that wonderful awful feeling as I'm drifting off to sleep or when just waking up, that says, Hey, you! Get out of bed, start writing.

Only, as I began to write, I heard the lyric differently, altered.

Your boyfriend's back and you're gonna be sorry.

Over the next few months, the piece took shape, fell apart. I put it away, pulled it out again. Pushed it aside again. Let it marinate. Let myself figure out what I had to say. Fiddled with it again. Forgot it for months. Tried again. 

Draft number four.

Then a few things happened.

First, I asked a half dozen readers for input; not my usual writer friends, but students in the MFA course I was teaching last fall. As a way of sharing in the psychic pain of their first graduate workshop experience, I invited them to comment on my draft.

Draft number five.

Next, I realized it wasn't only about an old boyfriend, but about how he helped me understand things—some then, more later—about romance, love, sex, kindness, passionate hobbies, and eventually, even a little about mothering teenage sons.

Draft number six.

Then, when the piece, eventually titled, "Your Boyfriend's Back," was accepted for the Spring 2015 issue of Front Porch Journal, smart editors had some thoughtful questions and intelligent revision suggestions.

Final piece (draft number seven).

Here's a very short excerpt of the longish piece:

...I tried to think about what Joe would look like now, and compared that to the tiny, poorly focused photograph in the magazine of him on a bike, wearing a helmet. Perhaps it wasn’t my Joe. But I didn't think M____ was such a common surname. And the age was right. The Joe I remembered had not been athletic. Yes, his arms always felt strong around me, and even then, he’d ridden his bicycle for miles, but a triathlete? But then, I hadn't seen Joe in decades. So much can change...

I'd love it if you would visit the journal and read the full piece.

Now, like all writers I suppose, in my head, I am circling another scrap of …something.

Image, top: Flickr/Creative Commons - Lee Haywood

Friday Fridge Clean-Out: Links for Writers -- May 1, 2015 Edition

> Does your throat go dry (or your email go blank) when you need to ask someone to do something that will help your writing career? Check out Kamy Wicoff's excellent tips and get that Yes!

> In the final session of nearly every class I teach, I spend time answering any student questions about getting their essays and short memoir pieces published, so Richard Gilbert's "A Teacher's Advice to Students on Revision and Submission" was of special interest -- and not just to student writers!

> Any writer over 50 (me!) will probably find themselves nodding at Nikki Stern's post at Brevity on being a writer of a certain age.

> At Apostrophe Books' an Advice for Writers page offers video clips from folks like Margaret Atwood dispensing, well, writing advice.

> Though not everyone ranks him among favorite writers, nearly every writer I know swears by Stephen King's words of writerly wisdom, and 10 terrific quotes are graphically captured here.

> One last bit of AWP coverage: Michele Filgate's attendance adventure essay at LitHub.

> What's more fun than seeing my #cnftweet on the back page of Creative Nonfiction magazine (issue # 55)? Seeing that one of my undergraduate students from fall semester has one there too (posting a #cnftweet--or 10--was part of an extra credit assignment).

> While I can't vouch for the accuracy (though it mirrors other illogical and accurate explanations I've read), and I can detect just a slight whiff of snark (which I rather liked), there's a lot to think about in "How the New York Times Bestseller List Works".

> Finally, is Times New Roman really the death knell on a resume? Do we care?

Have a great weekend!

Image: Flickr/Creative Commons - Boston Public Library

Guest Blogger Kate Walter on Finding the Narrative Arc for Your Memoir

One of the perks of signing on to help present a panel at a writing conference is that, even before the conference happens, you sometimes make internet friends with other writers who know your fellow panelists and/or who are also on the schedule with their own panel. That explains how Kate Walter and I crossed paths: we have mutual friends, and upcoming panels at ASJA. 

Kate is the author of Looking for a Kiss: A Chronicle of Downtown Heartbreak and Healing, due from Heliotrope Books in June. Her essays and opinion pieces have appeared in The New York Times, Newsday, and the New York Daily News, and she teaches writing at City University of New York and New York University. 

Please welcome Kate Walter.

       I knew something was off with the structure of the first finished draft of my memoir manuscript when an agent said my writing was strong but, "The reader knows how this will end before the narrator does.”

       Ouch! That comment sent me back to the memoir drawing board. I had to rethink my book.

      Since a memoir is not autobiography, you must find the right framework for your

story. A memoir needs an arc, a trajectory, a focus. The narrator must start some place and end up some place else. Not necessarily a physical place but an emotional place. There has to be a struggle (conflict) and wisdom gained. You are not just telling your story but reflecting upon what happened and how these events affected you and changed your life in some way.

     It took me three drafts to figure out the container for my debut memoir, Looking for a Kiss:  A Chronicle of Downtown Heartbreak and Healing. In the first draft I was just writing out my story and creating major scenes but it lacked a narrative thread.

     My second draft had more structure but it ended with me getting my heart broken when my 26 year lesbian relationship ended. When I shopped around this version, the feedback from agents made me realize that structure was not working either. So the rejection was actually helpful.

       The third draft, (which I sold), instead began with the break up and showed how I healed my life. I had found a universal theme. The reader is rooting for the narrator to get her life back together and laughing along with her as she tries internet dating at age 60.

        For me, I had to write all three drafts over 10 years until I  figured out the narrative arc. Meanwhile, I was also writing and publishing personal essays. Two local papers were regularly using my work, which gave me steady emotional support, and was a boost, reminding me of the value of the material.

        Writing essays, which can be woven into your memoir manuscript, and writing shorter pieces, can help you find the larger focus or container for your long memoir project. I recently reread an essay I wrote five years ago for NY Press. Looking back, I can see how the first 50 pages of my book are an expansion of this tight

personal essay.  

       Beside a little income, and the professional support of those newspaper editors, I got emotional support and feedback from my weekly writers group in Greenwich Village, run by the author Susan Shapiro. I could not have completed this memoir without the ongoing critiques from my trusted colleagues, who pulled no punches. I workshopped every chapter and then rewrote each one.

       When I finished my third draft (about 225 pages), I hired an experienced book doctor to read the entire manuscript (cost $2,000); then I rewrote some more.  After my book saw the doctor, a chapter originally in the back of my book landed up closer to the beginning in the final draft.

     The weekly group did more than critique my pages; they believed in my project and

helped sustain my morale when I kept getting rejections from agents, which was frustrating because by then, I knew I had finally nailed the structure and had a powerful book.

      That’s when a member of my group (Royal Young) hyped my book to his publisher

(Naomi Rosenblatt, at Heliotrope Books). I met her at his book party and she encouraged me to send her my manuscript. The rest, as they say, is history.

            I owe a lot to my workshop members, and I’m grateful Naomi realized the potential of my story about break up and renewal. It’s been a pleasure to work with a small independent press and have hands on involvement as my manuscript became a book. I even took the cover photo.

      From inception to publication was a long journey of 10 years, but it has been

very rewarding, and for me, cathartic. Writing my memoir was literally part of my

healing process. And as a teacher of creative nonfiction, this book will open up new

doors for me.

         I’m glad I never gave up. Maybe it’s because I’m a  Capricorn. If you

believe in your story and your voice, keep going, keep writing.

Note from Lisa:  Kate would like to give one reader a complimentary signed copy of her book when it's released in June. To enter, leave a comment here by midnight on 

Tuesday, May 12. (Must have a US postal address.)

You can connect with Kate at her website, and on Twitter, and read an interview with her at WestBeth. 

Images courtesy Kate Walter.

      

                          

My Husband and I Didn't Have a "Meet-Cute" Moment. So of course, I wrote about it.

Personal nonfiction writers often ponder the delicate issue of writing about loved ones, in particular spouses, a subject I once spent months researching. What I found, and have observed, is that most contemporary memoir and personal essay writers fall into (or straddle) three categories:

- show work to a spouse while it's still in very early draft form, giving him/her full veto power to delete anything

- share it only in late stages of editing, with either (a) a willingness to discuss cuts, but no guarantees; or (b) just as a heads-up

- stay mum until publication

I'm mostly in the second category - b - *Honey, FYI, this piece is coming out next week, and you're in it.* But sometimes I slip into the third. Why? Because I can. Because my husband, bless him, has a sense of humor about himself and us; because after 27 years of marriage he knows to pick his battles; and (maybe best of all) because he is almost completely isolated from social media (his choice).

Seven years ago, I began a narrative essay about how we met, fell apart and come back together multiple times over 12 years. In its various incarnations, the piece grew, deepened, languished, shrank, came back to life in varying forms. 

Once, I showed a draft to a writing friend for input and -- because we had dinner planned with this friend and her fiance -- I let Frank read it, mostly so that if the topic of what my friend and I were each writing came up, he wouldn't be in the dark. He shrugged. That was four years ago. I brought the drafts out to play with a few times since, then buried it again.

Finally, last fall, something shifted. I started with a blank screen, and after only a few hours (and 7 years) of rewriting, out it went on the submission trail.

Happily, Blue Lyra Review liked it and "Not Quite Meet-Cute" is part of their newest issue, now live. Which is why, last week, I told Frank, in a by-the-way moment, "A piece I wrote about how we met and dated is going to be published." He shrugged. 

I titled this one after a line in the film The Holiday, when the lovely actor Eli Wallach (who plays a now-elderly but once famously productive screenwriter from the golden age of Hollywood), explains that the magical, sweet, sometimes comical moment when fated lovers in a film first encounter one another, is called the "meet-cute."

My husband and I didn't have one of those. 

Here's how my story begins: 

People often ask how my husband and I met, confusing meeting with meaning.I tell them the meet-cute version: it happened at a New York Giants football game, two teenagers who forgot umbrellas and shared an improvised over-sized black trash-bag poncho. It is true, this story, and you can get by with this story, entertain and please people who want to know it is still possible to be sleeping beside the love of your life some thirty-eight years after he first made you swoon. 

But it’s not that simple. 

I first saw and heard my future husband when I was twelve and he sixteen, filling multiple roles in a high school production of My Fair Lady: dreamy looks, a swath of dark curly hair, and that last name – Frank Romeo. When we finally met at that football game three years later, I was with my best friend Anne, and he with his best friend Jeff. About five weeks of double dates followed, but I failed to notice Frank’s distracted twitch. I had forgotten that I first encountered him as an actor...

I hope you will read the rest here. And, if you're inclined, give it a boost with the Facebook Like button at the bottom of the essay on the BLR site