professional-making

The time has come for you to meet your professional-makers. After countless hours of extracting my reflections from your words and declaring takeaways from your pages, I send you off with final blessings. Your copyeditor will make you shine, better than ever.

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how i finished my memoir

When I was a young girl, a small glass ball threaded by a thin plastic rope through a pinhole hung over the lock of my double hung window in my bedroom. When the brazen sun enveloped the plant vase and took hold of the gnarly roots, I wouldn’t just see budding foliage, but tiny rainbows upon the refraction of light.

599b43bb6bd1302ad7089929dd43c688Sometimes we don’t always see what’s in front of us.

I didn’t see the obvious until after over ten years of writing my memoir and examining my events and experiences ad nauseam. I didn’t see what was in front of me because I was too focused on finding complex meanings.

My memoir began with a chronological structure, a timeline of autobiography of events and experiences. Though I understood it didn’t make a memoir, I didn’t understand how to turn it into one. I read all I could about memoir including books and blogs and I listened to presentations by professionals. I rejected reading other memoirs because their writing was different from mine in theme, story and structure. I didn’t have an illness, a tragedy, a loss. I didn’t necessarily have a “thing” happen to me, about me or with me. I made no references to pain, per se.

I persisted in examining my words and looking beyond their meaning, trying to read between the lines as I compared my writing to others’ strong themes that spoke clearly. I reasoned my memoir couldn’t be like theirs. Because it wasn’t. And because of this, I saw the difference work for me, not against me. I saw a clarity I had yearned for. This simplicity was in front of me.

I began my story when I was a young girl when my mother insisted my photo be taken on my first day of kindergarten in front of the picture window of my house. I obliged her because my favorite tree was near, plotted in the center of circling greens where it stood tall and arabesque in front of me, as if to say “look here and smile.” My scene continued, my birch buddy and its branches not shading my eyes squinty from the sun’s high noon rays, my pixie haircut aglow in sun-bleached hair and my tanned body offsetting my navy dress, patterned in tiny white polka dots, with an appliqué of paint brushes and an artist’s pallet in primary colors at the hem. My dress was too small and my chubby feet were crammed into blood red Mary Janes. But I stood at attention with my feet together and my hands folded in front to pose with my heels brushing against the yellow marigolds in full bloom.

But my story was not just about me, my surroundings and a tree. I tried to look for deep meanings in my early memories and after many rewrites and flushing out themes and through-threads I realized meanings were not deep at all, but at the surface, right in front of me. I realized I had a connection to trees and to a specific birch tree in the corner of my front yard that the association was central to my theme. Connecting with my birch buddy made the irritations of a too-small dress and short-strapped shoes diminish as my buddy’s arms welcomed a toasty blanket of sun overhead. It was my tree that ushered a smile on my face and a squint in my eye allowing my contentment to win over my physical discomfort and adversity.

When I realized what was in front of me, that I was present with my house and my birch buddy, that I was at home; I knew I had my story.

Looking back on my overall memoir writing experience, I wrote every 78,000 plus words of my experiences and adventures, the people I had met and the conversations with them as enriching my life. Whether discovering a new place, engaging in a conversation, listening to music inside and the harmonies played outside, tasting the bitters of food to mouth or touching a numbing cold, discovering the simplicity of living life through my senses was key to finishing my memoir.

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When I explored the very connections learned as a young child beginning with a birch tree, I realized just how my life inspired me to see what was in front of me.

A sighting of my tree buddy spurred memories when I sought to be at home. Trees became a metaphor for living, a guiding symbol for finding home and the beginning for my story. My tree had a purpose.

“Developmental edit is complete,” Annie, my editor said. These words were not expected so quickly after my rewrite from her first edit. I’ve cleared a major book writing hurdle, one I’ve been working to overcome for years. I hope to publish next year, completing my vision for my memoir. I have learned it is about the journey, it’s about enriching our lives by living the moments. It’s about seeing what’s in front of us.

what I Learned from my first-time interview with a newspaper reporter

This post originally appeared on SheWrites.com. I’m sharing with fellow writers should you and your writing be in a similar situation when embarking on promotional opportunities. 

I few weeks ago I contacted an editor at Pioneer Press (local publication and sub of Chicago Tribune) to tell him I was a writer and I had something to share with my community (see #5). He was interested. I followed up and sent him a copy of The Magic of Memoir. A reporter called me a week later with a request for a telephone interview about the book, my writing and my memoir. I learned a few things from this first-time experience. Here are my takeaways for those of you who may find yourself facing a first-time for any promotional opportunity.

  1. Prepare before the interview. I thought preparing for the interview was unnecessary as I would be okay shooting from the hip when answering the reporter’s questions; I knew my topics intimately. But I should have prepared. Preparing would have affirmed that I hit my talking points and that I didn’t leave out anything important I wanted to say. I should have made a cheat-sheet of anticipated questions, (How long have you been writing? What’s your memoir about? Why memoir?  How did you get involved with MofM?) and their answers. I wouldn’t have had to second guess myself after the interview asking, “What’d I just say?” if maybe I had a cheat-sheet in front of me while being interviewed.
  2. Slow down. I knew I was going to be recorded and as soon as I heard the reporter flip the switch something happened to my forthcoming conversation. I started to talk too darn fast, deeming my babble unimpressive, lacking clarity and conciseness. I should have paused after asked a question, thrown in a couple, “umm’s” or “let’s see’s” to give me time to organize my thoughts and ensure I actually answered the question – which leads to #3
  3. Answer the question. Yes, I admit perhaps nerves dictated the direction of my conversation with my subconscious telling me to reel myself back in. My goal was to speak as clearly as I knew I could write. I doubted I had made my goal. I would have kept my thoughts on track with clear speech and concise points if I stuck to the answer to the question. 
  4. Prepare for after the interview. Write questions YOU may have for the reporter. I forgot to ask when the interview was going to be published, if it was going to be in surrounding suburban papers, online too, and the length of the interview in print. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see that just a wee portion of all my talk had made it in print if I had been knowledgeable, post interview.
  5. Use print editors as contacts. Some background. A couple of months ago, the editor I had contacted had printed a request to readers asking what kinds of stories they wanted to see in the paper. I told him I believed residents have much to share as they are an integral part of their community and that I wanted to see more stories about who the residents are, what they do, and how they are involved in the community. I also included that I was a writer and suggested there was a pool of fellow writers among us. Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago when I emailed him, reminding him of what I told him in a few months ago and that I now had something to share. He was interested! I sent him a copy of MofM, a pitch letter, bio info, and press page. A week later, a reporter called. My takeaway here is to make every effort to contact print media editors, as letters to the editor, comments about a reporter’s article, in disagreement to a writer’s column or as feedback requested by an editor to the paper’s readers. Establishing a print editor as a contact along the way could make a difference in getting a print editor’s attention and consideration in the future.

This was a great experience in pitching to print editors and talking about my writing. I have been practicing writing memoir for many years and now I’m working on polishing self-presentation skills by referring back to my 5 lessons learned. 

a developmental journey

I doubted the day would come. I had been working on my memoir for over 10 years, admittedly at a more stop than go pace, chronicling the timeline of my youth, coming of age to adult years. I had recorded memories, nestled them in my mind as if contributing to my DNA, creating a map to become the person I was destined to be. I thought my memories and sensory connections that reminded me of my encounters with people and places, to a birch tree and to home were enough to guide my memoir in establishing an innate connection I would have with my reader. I thought I had what it took not only to call what I was writing, a story, but also a memoir. But my writing fell short of what made a story and a memoir.

writingThe day did arrive when all of it came together. However, I do not take sole responsibility for mastering my arrival. Professional intervention and a rediscover of a time when I was learning more of myself and the places where it happened worked together to overcome the hurdle of development, pulling story and memoir in tandem.

My first engagement with a developmental editor was as I expected. She questioned me in the right places, prompted me for more when needed, and called out my many contradictions. I accepted that I was on a long road to my new developmental rewriting journey. I called on my stamina and dug my heels in deep, to acknowledge difficult work ahead to uncover deeper issues and expose their meanings. It wasn’t until pensive work, detailed analysis of what was behind each scene, its placement, the paragraph and the chapter, answering my own question of why I chose to write about it in the first place, when I had landed on the other side. When this journey had ended, I had lifted from the ground and stood on the other side of the barrier. Developmental edit complete.

I likened this journey to growing up as a little girl in my house on Carlisle where spaces had become a Petri dish for my development. I would often sit on the yellow and white shag carpet in my walk-in closet and engage my mind, filling silence the closet walls enveloped with talk in my creative thoughts. I surveyed the perimeter of the closet floor, spying an Etch-A-Sketch, Light Bright and a plastic briefcase containing art supplies. A large shoebox filled with crayons, a Singer Genie sewing machine with a macramé box slid underneath, knitting and crochet needles sticking out of an old canvas bag lined the opposite floor. My cave-like surroundings gave me security and inner contentment as the closet walls loomed tall and wide yet my small being sat small and narrow in the middle on the floor. My view was not limited to this space. I would turn my head to the outside, to my bedroom where a small glass ball vase with a hole threaded by a thin plastic rope hung over the lock of my double hung window caught my eye. The brazen sun enveloped the ball and took hold of the roots as they struggled to expand in their water-filled round bottom. The light filtered and refracted upon the globe into tiny rainbows. I smiled from seeing rainbows on my window. I was confident and in control of these spaces where I wasn’t alone—I had all that was me huddled around me, reassuring me of who I was.

When I confronted my developmental-lacking manuscript, I needed to tap into all I could that would guide me through newly written pages. I recalled my comfortable familiar as I once did in my bedroom closet and bedroom, evoking emotion of pleasure and happiness, of all that was me. The confidence and security felt while settled in my spaces reemerged in the drafting of new, enriched pages. My memories boasted large to get me through developing my story and calling it a memoir.

Recalling a comfortable familiar time and holding hands with the sensory emotions and feelings reassured me that my memoir would be developed in the best way I understood. I was sure to reach the finish line after mastering the hurdle of developmental editing. That day had indeed arrived.

riding the wave of a writing contest submission

letterwavedetailLast fall I won a writing contest for The Magic of Memoir edited by Linda Joy Myer and Brooke Warner of She Writes Press. This was a first time I entered a writing contest and a
first win for anything that had to do with my writing. A win at anything says it all, a handshake in welcome, validation that you’re writing well, and self-confidence to keep going and tackle another contest perhaps. I decided to ride a wave of a newly diagnosed writing karma and consider submitting to another writing contest.

Starting to write an essay from a blank page, no, really solid, bright white, is paralyzing. What’s more daunting is the word “contest.” It’s like you know you’ve got a test coming up and you better start cramming now so you’ve got plenty of time for your best answers to shine at the time of the test – the submission.

I’ve never been one to enter writing contests just because of the competition. I know the level of my writing, what I’m capable of producing and I admit it’s probably not competitive enough with the writings and writers who have been the contest submission route many times and have published. It’s taken me 15 years and unmeasurable hours of practice to now consider I’m ready to submit another time.

My main consideration to submit is the topic or theme. The writing contest I am considering asks writers to write about any aspect of the writing life. I like the topic; I have a few ideas. But when contest guidelines require an essay about a topic I have neither interest nor knowledge, even the best research I could do would still not yield an effective essay. My lack of contest submission track record could be explained, for example, in a guideline suggesting my interpretation of a given word, such as “adaptation,” as I recently saw in one magazine’s contest announcement or a niche theme such as the supernatural. My lack of connection to my topic or word would be evident in poor writing.

I can write a more effective essay when I have an immediate reaction about a topic or word that catches my eye. I know it happens when, upon the first few seconds I read the contest guidelines, a thousand bolts of ideas strike my mind. I know I’m on to something when I need to scramble to type the ideas on that big white space before they dissipate from my head.

My writing life is the memoir. I can draw from my memoir writing experiences – rewrites, development, editing, self-discovery, connecting – and write that which I know. Writing from the heart, from personal space and from a core knowledge developed from my writing experience is all I need to craft an essay.

Memoir writing gives me the opportunity to tap into the unexplored and find meaning of what is discovered. It also presents a universality when reading a paragraph, a sentence or just one word results in an, “ah, yes!” in birth of a connection from writer to reader.

Perhaps writing about the supernatural or your interpretation of a given word strikes you with the right chords to compose a winning essay. I’m sticking with that which I know and have learned over the years of practice – the writing life – to submit my chances for another win in a writing contest.

how I answered a call for submission

call-for-submissionsI usually don’t answer calls for writing submissions. That’s not to say I don’t read the calls but knowing that my writing is up against the caliber of professional writers is enough for me to retreat and surrender. My inner critic moves me along to the next call for submission when she reminds me my ho-hum writing may not being at a level yet to be recognized. I reasoned unless I could answer a call with a unique idea, perhaps a one-of-a-kind piece of work, I would move on.

When She Writes Press (SWP) put out a call for submissions for their new anthology “The Magic of Memoir,” I threw the comfort of being in my own zone to the wind. I submitted my essay for publication with confidence that I would be a contender. Though I could never be in the minds of the SWP judges or judges of any other writing submissions to understand what exactly they would be looking for, I believe two influences – countering an assumption with a different or unique writing approach and having a passion for what I was writing about – made me a contender.

When SWP put this call out, I understood that writers who would submit might have a few acronyms in educational degrees accompanying their name while wearing many hats such as educator, researcher, journalist, or social worker to name a few, and might also have numerous national publication credits to their name. I am neither a professional writer nor have an advanced degree but maybe if I searched hard enough I could find a nice fitting hat or two of my own to wear.

I had made an assumption that I didn’t stand a chance of being considered because the contributing writers were well accomplished, well-educated and nationally published. Maybe this was my inner critic speaking over me but regardless it was a reality I needed to counter in order to believe that I did have something to write and that it was just as good as the next writer’s work.

I reflected on how I could be different, a stand out, among the other submitters to the SWP call. I imagined what kind of essays would be submitted and how they would be written. Would the writer use excerpts from his or her memoir? Would the use of metaphors and rhythmic prose be woven throughout? Would the essay read like creative nonfiction with fact mingled with creative writing?

SWP’s call listed a dozen prompts to help writers execute their essay. As I read each prompt question, I had an immediate response like a dialogue unfolding in my head. The Q and A was if I was narrating the ancestry of my memoir with each question answered. And there I had it!  In one sitting I had the bones of my essay.

After three edits, I had the final essay. I knew how I would present it – a conversation with my memoir as if it was just the two of us in a room revealing our secrets, our worries, exposing insecurities and challenges. I wrote it simply and understated, “I was once eager to find complicated significance in what I now see as simplicity,” just as how I had written my memoir. I didn’t want to necessarily recount parts of my actual memoir in the essay, but rather offer inspiration, weaving in answers to a few of the prompts as suggested, in a unique, personal way that would resonate with a fellow memoir writer.

I was no longer in my comfort zone when I decided to take a leap of faith knowing I had something to contribute, something that was worth reading. I had not only confidence in what I was writing but also a strong belief in what I was saying. My passion for my words negated any inferiority I previously harbored with my assumption – that professional, many-times-over published writers would automatically rise to the top of the submissions pile.

Writing from the heart with passion and conviction was what I have learned to recognize. And sometimes simple and unadorned writing carries the most uniqueness that will be the difference in being accepted for publication.

Know When To Fold, a reblog

 

I found the lead to this story buried in the last paragraph. But reading through Allison Williams’ thought process to get her to that point was a shared experience by most writers.

BREVITY's Nonfiction Blog

Never count your money when you're sittin' at the tableNever count your money when you’re sittin’ at the table

“Ready to submit” rarely means “doesn’t need any more revisions.” Thankfully, most literary journal editors are able to help refine accepted work until a piece is the best it can be. I’ve gone back and forth for word choices, tonal missteps, and fact-checking/legal ass-covering. Sometimes a magazine accepts a piece with tremendous potential they think is worthy of a deeper edit to become publishable.

It’s often a pleasure to dive back into a “finished” piece with the help of fresh eyes, and fix tiny moments–or even giant structural issues–holding the essay back. It’s also natural to feel defensive, even hurt, when receiving edits. Natural enough that when I send an editorial letter to an author, I always include,

Remember, you don’t have to agree with my diagnosis of a particular problem, but it’s worth examining the section to see if…

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