My memoir update yesterday unintentionally sucked me over to the widow board. It seems I spoke too soon about being forgotten and unread by patrons there. Read Full Article
Page 298 of 524
I hit 40,301 words into NaNoWriMo and my memoir Sunday evening. The plan is to hit 50,000 by Friday or Saturday and the full 79,000 – my own goal – by December 11th, my birthday. I write between 1400 and 2000 words a day, so I am confident.
I also made the decision to supplement the story-telling aspect with actual emails between Rob and I and IM sessions too. I mined old posts from the babycenter group and the soap opera message board I was a part of through the bulk of Will’s illness up through widowhood as a means of dating and clarifying events. I have been re-reading a lot of my own history in my own words and it has been, uh, interesting, looking back at who I was and how I got here.
There is going to be some rewriting. Early in the memoir I tried to be vague about people and events, especially with in-laws and the widow board, but as I wrote I realized that I can’t make sense of the storyline if I leave things out to spare myself and others embarrassment. I am reminded again of the advice I received on writing this memoir in the first place,
“Tell the story, big and messy.”
So, the incident with Rob’s widow board stalker is in. Fortunately she is no longer a reader of my blog. I think once I left the widow board most of the people there stopped reading and forgot all about me. And I wrote, though not in graphic detail, about my horrific attempts with dating prior to Rob. No real names naturally; it is good thing that I was already in the habit of nicknaming men. I haven’t known a single man who was nameable and the great thing about the Internet is that people conveniently re-christen themselves or are so predictable that their new names jump right off the screen at you.
For example, Rob’s stalker had the cutesy-poo habit of “decorating” her posts with flash graphics of the hearts, flowers and fluffy animals genre. We called her The Hallmark Lady for a long time, although she’s recently been downgraded to Mullet Woman. My fault totally and I should be ashamed.
Most nicknames are pedestrian, however, and denote occupation or a physical characteristic of equally mundane origin. I don’t spend too much time bestowing monikers, but for purposes of telling a tiny portion of my life’s journey, I guess it’s a good thing I have bothered even a little.
I am also pretty honest about the mother-in-law but without being mean – at least I hope I am not coming off as vindictive. I feel more sorry for Will’s mother than anything else. But it’s hard for me to illustrate just what why I reacted to some things the way that I did without using examples and, even in a memoir, ya gotta show at least as much as you tell. MIL is not someone I would ever have chosen to share a stage with but she is a cast member who has to be acknowledged.
Rob raised an eyebrow – both actually – when I told him I was using our correspondence.
“All of it?”
“Well, no. Some stuff is private.”
The look I got was indicting, and rightfully so, because I have a long track record of indiscretion where writing about my life is concerned. Needless to say, Rob gets to read the manuscript before anyone else, and I doubt I will be looking for other beta reads before February anyway. But I really want a good, shoppable draft done by April 1st, so I will need to find additional readers other than my husband.
November to April is a good six months from start to finish. I would give myself longer with a fiction novel but my life is really already written up to the current day, so I can’t say that more time would make it more interesting. It is what it is.
Except I was never cool. I was so uncool that as a teacher I took to telling my students that I was above cool. That’s how distant a relationship I have had with being cool.
I found this list over at Mad Hatter ages ago and thought it might be worth a meme.
In the 1970’s
I listened to Casey Kasem’s Top Forty Countdown every Sunday afternoon without fail.
I wore “husky” sized pants from J.C. Penney’s.
I played with Barbies and married them off to my brother’s G.I. Joe’s.
I rode the Schwinn banana seat bike I got for my 7th birthday until I was in junior high and my knees hit the handle bars. I loved that bike to the point I had to be pried from it.
I stuffed envelopes for Jimmy Carter during the 1976 election campaign.
I walked everywhere I didn’t ride my bike, so the oil embargo thing didn’t affect me much that I can remember.
I was too fat to wear a halter top.
I was too young to go to disco’s.
I read Rich Man, Poor Man because I wasn’t allowed to watch the mini-series, which was probably a lot less racy.
When I could finally drive, my car was a 1972 Dodge Dart.
In the 1980’s
I graduated from high school and then university.
I never voted for Ronald Regan.
I thought Madonna was a slut.
I cut the neckline out of my sweat shirts and chopped off the sleeves even though I never saw FlashDance or even liked the soundtrack.
I loathed aerobics.
I watched Dallas but not Dynasty.
I was a Santa Barbara fan after I gave up on General Hospital.
I watched Luke and Laura get married but not Charles and Diana.
I drove a 1976 Plymouth and then a 1986 Ford Tempo.
I moved away from home and never really looked back.
In the 1990’s
I survived the Midwest Flood of ’93. Two weeks without running water.
I traveled for the first time in my life to NYC and Washington D.C.
I bought my first house.
I wrote my first novel.
I met and married my first husband.
I ran, lifted weights, kick-boxed, earned a black-belt in Tae Kwon Do and coached girls’ basketball.
In the 2000’s
I became a mother and then a step-mother.
I lost my husband to a progressive illness.
I met and married my second husband.
I emigrated to Canada.
I retired from teaching.
I became a writer.
I got published for the first time.
I wrote another novel.
I took up Yoga.
I quit watching television.
I took up blogging and befriended a world of virtual people.
I drove a Chevy Malibu and then an Avalanche and Equinox.
I am still not cool.
What about you?
