GOSH, IT HAS BEEN A WHILE
Sitting at my desk, on a rainy Saturday afternoon, I can only shake my head at the lack of writing accomplished over the past months. Two years ago the first draft of my memoir was completed and with great gusto and determination I attended the Whistler Writers Festival. The goal was to find a publisher. Little did I realize at that time all the writing and revision still required in order to turn the rough first draft into a stellar story of woman claiming her own ground.
One year ago, again at the Whistler Writers Festival, and to my utter amazement, I received a nod from a publisher. Someone was actually interested in my story! What joy, what bliss. My dream of becoming a published author may not be just a dream, after all.
Back to square one became my motto. Time was taken not to write, but learn the craft of writing. Connections were made with other memoir authors; books to read about writing were recommended and either checked out of the library or ordered on Amazon (sorry, independent book sellers). Before I could write a riveting memoir, I first had to learn how to write a riveting memoir. Terms such as 'voice' and 'narrative arc' set my mind awhirl, confusing and confounding me. These were not terms I remembered from high school. After weeks of torment, and asking lots of questions to anyone connected in the slightest degree to the world of writing, I finally understood. I found my voice (or, voices, as the case may be) and de-mystified the meaning of narrative arc.
When not reading about writing, I was reading other peoples' memoirs, learning how each one wrote his or her personal story. How details were divulged and described, and how much detail at that. Many books are marked in the margins or tagged with post-it notes at the top. What's the saying? To be a good writer one must be a good reader.
Then it was time to tear the original draft apart, in good old cut and paste fashion. The story had to be told in chronological order, rather than jumping back and forth between events and insights. There is an interesting sense of orderliness and satisfaction when taking scissors to the pages of your draft, and re-arranging paragraphs into time-relevant piles on the living room rug (with a glass of red wine nearby).
Even then, the flow of words escaped me. I learned from another publisher at the festival, that memoirs require a 'thread', a common element that flows throughout the story and pulls all these life-shaping events together.
As in "H Is For Hawk", it took many, many months for me to find my 'hawk'. It took all of last winter, and the spring and summer of 2019, until I finally came upon this highly needed and highly elusive element. While driving home with a girlfriend from a day-long hike near Pemberton a few weeks ago, I mentioned my current conundrum. It should not have surprised me that she was able to quickly, and correctly, hit the nail on the head. By the time she dropped me off at my front door, I had my 'hawk'! (And, no, I will not say what it is ... you'll just have to wait until my memoir is published). It made such complete sense and put my mind at ease instantly. I understood how the story is now to unfold, and what the common element will be throughout the various chapters. Yee Haw!
A good portion of the writing process is not writing at all. Thinking about what is to be written takes much more time. Ideas percolate and swirl for days, weeks, months before 'eureka' is exclaimed and another hurdle is safely cleared.
I think I can safely say that many technical hurdles have been cleared. Emotional hurdles still appear on the horizon. Frustrating me greatly was the fact that what I thought would be easy to write about, turned out to be excruciating; and what I feared would be hard to write flowed without hiccup. That took me by complete surprise. I could not find the words to describe the good times; while the bad times were a piece of cake.
Last month I attended, for the third year in a row, the Whistler Writers Festival. Lots of familiar faces were seen, hugs and laughter shared. Inspiration took hold once again after being amongst writers and people who have been a part of my writing world. I came home at the end of the four days, knowing it is time to get on with this project and get 'er done!
The other night, the writing group I belong to met at my place to catch up, celebrate and talk about our personal projects. It was good to be back in their company, and to hear their comments and encouragement. Their questions even made me realize something incredibly fundamental to a certain point of time. Who knew how therapeutic a ladies' writing group can be?!
Beside me, in a large blue rubber storage bin, sits all my notes, index cards, journals, drafts and writing memorabilia. It has been in this tub since the beginning of May! I think I'm ready to unpack the bin, and unpack my memories and reflections. There's nothing to be afraid of. It's only writing. As the photograph above indicates, I am a writer.
