When this blog was an infant, I ran some posts summing up advice and
insights I’d returned with after attending a writing conference, residency, or similar
gathering. I thought I’d revive the tradition, because this past weekend, for
the fourth year in a row, I was at Hippocamp: A Conference
for Creative Nonfiction Writers, in Lancaster, PA.
Since its inception, I’ve been an enthusiastic supporter of Hippocamp, which
is put on by Hippocampus Magazine,
a rather nice and well-respected online literary journal. This smallish conference
continues to be a particularly loved favorite of mine
for so many reasons, checking the important boxes I
tick off when deciding on attending a writers’ conference.
As usual, I tried to get to all the breakout sessions, panels, and
special presentations that sounded of particular interest to me. And as usual, I
failed, because with so many promising concurrent offerings, it’s just
impossible. So, I’ll be watching, myself, as post-Hippocamp coverage begins to
emerge, as it usually does on others attendees’ blogs and writerly websites. (Update: like this one I just found by Joanne Lozar Glenn, and this one from Kelly Kandra Hughes, and this from Anne Pinkerton.)
Meanwhile, here’s a peek into some of what made it into my notebook, though
much more is rattling around my head, my heart.
I took a pre-conference workshop with writer and journalism professor Wendy Fontaine on “Using Brain Science to Write Memoir.” I teach
a memoir workshop on integrating memories into memoir, and how to transform elusive,
uncooperative memories into nonfiction prose—but this was a terrific chance for
me to learn how and why our brains actually handle memory. I know this will not
only expand what I can share with students in the future, but that it also opened
doors and windows to my own understanding of why humans do and don’t remember,
and how that impacts writing.
A few tidbits:
. I already knew that smell is the strongest and most powerful memory
trigger (yes, more than music), but now I know why. It’s because the olfactory center
is located in close proximity to the hippocampus, the place in the brain that
files, retrieves and makes connections between memories.
. Some things that occurred are never recorded in memory, so even if we
know we were present when X happened, it’s possible our brain never encoded X.
All the trying-to-remember gymnastics
just won’t work. Some would-be memories really are “lost”.
. What my husband calls “revisionist” history is a thing. A thing called “memory
source confusion” – when we substitute what makes sense for what we can’t
recall.
The opening conference speaker, Beth
Kephart (whose work I’ve admired since reading A Slant of Sun as a newish mother), delivered a beautiful talk on
the job and art of the memoirist—and its limits—and I snatched these juicy
morsels:
. The memoir writer’s job is to tell facts and to confess when we don’t. “As memoirists, we are most trusted when we
acknowledge what we don’t know.”
. When James Baldwin wrote, “I realized I didn’t know my father very
well,” he then re-imagined him, but used language to cue the reader: “…he was, I
think…” “I gather this from…”
. On the art of knowing what to leave out, and how memoir thrives on what’s
not there: “Truth is messy. Carve your truth from the mess, but leave most of
it off the page.”
. Finally, this beauty: “Grace Paley once said, ‘If you find only yourself
interesting, you’re boring.’ Write past yourself and you won’t be bored.”
From Elane Johnson’s session on “Dialogue
that Doesn’t Suck,” –
. Dialogue must be true, meaning it must match the character,
personality, education, of the person speaking.
. Remember to show how a (real) character may talk differently when in
conversation with different people.
. Don’t try to score revenge by placing words in someone’s mouth they
wouldn’t have said. “Even if Mom is dead and no one will protest, it makes her
look bad and it will be WRONG for your story and that will show.”
Kelly
Caldwell presented a useful session
on “The Art of the Catastrophe Narrative” (and the best ever, whopping 40-page
handout packet!):
. Keep in mind, the (real life) protagonist(s) has a goal to reach both
during and after the catastrophe.
. When writing, remember “Four phases of disaster recovery: Hero phases;
Disillusionment phase; Honeymoon phase; Recovery phase.”
During a freelancing panel, Estelle
Erasmus offered this deceptively simple checklist for a pitch: “Why this?
Why now? Why me?” and added that the “Why now” should include some data, stats,
trends or other information that’s brand new.
Steph Auteri, in a flash
talk titled, “How to Pump out an Epic Number of Ideas in One Sitting,” offered
writers looking to publish in mainstream media key article/essay idea prompts:
. What have I experienced that others might want to know about?
. What do I want to know about?
. What’s in the news that I can comment on?
. What national news/trend can I make local? (and vice versa)
. What new stats or studies can I say something about?
. What in popular culture—movies, TV, books, etc.—am I excited about and
can comment on?
. What else are people talking about (what’s in the zeitgeist?)
From “The Art of Interviewing” session with Diane McCormick: Have a conversation,
not an interrogation. Make a statement, putting yourself in your subject’s
shoes, and see what they say in response: “If that had happened to me, I think
I would have…”
From “The Long and Winding Road: Publishing an Essay Collection,” with Randon Billings Noble:
Sometimes, you get the dream…and also lose it. I admired Randon’s candor in
telling how she landed a hot New York agent (who wooed her over a pricy meal in
a famous Manhattan restaurant), only to part ways when she wasn’t willing to mold
her work to the agent’s vision. (I just pre-ordered her debut collection, Be
With Me Always, from University of Nebraska
Press. You might want to also!)
Keynoter Abigail
Thomas shared many truth nuggets which I couldn’t record because I was
either laughing or nodding furiously in agreement, and also I had committed to staying
absorbed in the moment. She’s a literary hero of mine: when I want to try
something on the page that’s a little off, I bolster myself with, “Well if
Abigail Thomas could do X in (insert one of her books here), then I can…”
One thing that really stuck with me (and I’m paraphrasing her first
sentence): We worry when writing memoir that
others will say, who cares?
Thomas continues: “Who cares who
cares? YOU care.”
That’s it in a nutshell, no?
[I was fortunate to be involved in Hippocamp 2018 as a reader and
panelist (Debut Authors Night), and presented a breakout session, “Reconstruction:
Transforming (Related) Essays into a Narrative Memoir.” More on the latter in a
future post.]
Meanwhile, what have you been inspired by, intrigued by, captivated by
recently at a writer gathering?
