The True North of Memoir

I didn’t realise revising my memoir would be this hard or take this long, but now I see what I’m here to learn. 

As I reread one of the though chapters I wondered, was it the abuse, or that fear we all feel when something unacceptable and wrong happens to us at an age before we have the words to describe and share our experience with anyone, that is the center of my story? I’m not taking away from the pain I felt at the time, I see that its real, nor do I dispute the fact that what happened to me was wrong on so many levels, it’s the core of what we have come to know as #metoo.

As children, we love our parents even when they fail us. As we grow into adulthood and recognise their shortcomings, even neglect, love can give way to anger, frustration and hurt over how they failed to protect and comfort us. How they scoffed at our pleads and told us to get on with it – when a comforting hug was all we needed – or when they laughed when we shared our tender teenage feelings. They did not see me for who I was and so started my journey of becoming someone I hoped they could accept. On that journey, I sailed further and further away from my true self. It’s choppy water full of pain as I failed, again and again, at getting the acceptance I craved. 

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A Good Enough New Year Resolution

Whenever I struggle to keep up with my plans I ask myself; – have I broken down the steps into small enough chunks?’

I’ve been writing this book for more than a year and only now do I start to see all the pieces come together, – well, – sort off. Learning to dissect a big goal – like writing to publish a book, have thought me to break my plans into minute – sometimes 10 minute – sessions. It’s a journey that has taken much longer than I thought it would, and it’s been a lot tougher than I ever believed it could be.

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Even Writers . . .

You know, when you go to write the ‘homepage’ of your website, the homage of yourself and the light you want to shine in the world, – you can’t just pluck it out of thin air, – right? Or can you?

As a memoirist, I would love to write fiction, to spin my stories into ancient times of myths and fairytales, of deities and gods more powerful than any world-leaders I’ve seen. Sometimes softly spoken though mostly raging against some foreign enemy, like the rising tide of the Nile. – Ohhhh, I feel the creative juices bubbling over the top of my imagination cauldron by the pure imagery of it all.

I think I made a mistake when I promised myself I would finish my memoir before I started a new story.

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