Writing is a sign, an expression, a sharing of the soul. Today I read a creative nonfiction project that my son wrote for a writing class in college. Four years ago. It turned up randomly, accidentally, intentionally. Regardless, it was really good.
It makes me happy to see how good a writing class can be, especially when the person has talent.
My worst day was the day I understood with my mind, and felt in my heart, that my marriage had ended. That it was really, actually, fully, over. My wishes and hopes for my future and my children’s future, vanished. Like a well-executed magic trick.
The white dove in the magician’s hand – gone. The colorful scarf pulled from his sleeve – gone. The lady sawed in half, lying in a wooden box – gone. How is it possible? It makes no sense. And yet, it happened. Everyone saw it.
But it wasn’t until I lost my parents, that I understood the concept of worst days. Days so meaty I felt broiled, burned, thick with never-ending grizzle that strangled me. It was heavy and out-of-body. An experience I wouldn’t recommend – except that it’s a wake-up call, the likes of which I haven’t felt, before or since. Reminds you you’re alive. Reminds you to be grateful. Reminds you how often we are consumed with very unimportant matters.
And it reminds me that worst is relative. My imagination cannot successfully conceive of worst. And this, my friends, is a problem for which I am grateful.
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/?dp_writing_challenge=memoir-madness
Since I was a pre-teen, and emotions swept through me like the raging storm they were, I wrote. There is hardly an extended period of time I can remember, except when life was boringly easy, that I wasn’t expressing myself in poem, song, prose, story or journal. It came as naturally as summer breezes and winter frosts.
I am, at times, so abundantly productive that I literally lose myself in writing. Unfortunately, as easily, I lose the writings themselves. This morning I scoured my computer looking for a fictionalized story of my life that I began writing yeas ago. I found it (thank God I printed it out) when I was looking for the email list I lost – which was to be fodder for the sale of my memoir. Another topic entirely – to which I promise to return In time.
As I age, I get more involved with more dealings and I find myself less organized. Or perhaps it’s a memory issue. Anyway, I was looking on my computer for this fictionalized story because I was editing the hard copy and that was becoming cumbersome. I did not (of course) locate this story anywhere – on my hard-drive, in my documents, downloads, Microsoft word files, writing folders – but I did come across something else. Chapters of beautiful writing for my book that I entirely lost sight of, forgot was there, remembered I even wrote.
The heartache, the tears, the self-flagellation that took place – nah, just kidding. It was more shock, surprise and pride. I was amazed at how much and how well I could express myself. Then my pride turned to overwhelm. I sat starring at a computer screen of lovely words, and I wanted to crawl under my desk, like a child, and hide. From myself. Because I questioned my memory, my commitment to myself, my career, my future, what exactly I was doing. I was not proud now, I was frightened – because an old friend, rather an old energy, known by the name perfection – had found her way back into my unsuspecting brain.
Judging. Myself. Not an unfamiliar feeling, and I don’t usually measure up. Especially if perfection is hard hitting, which it is by definition (to say nothing of impossible to achieve). So, the healthy side of me chose to write about it in a post, bringing it into the light of day and out of the recesses of my enabling mind. And I feel better. A little. Because I see it for what it is (although the organization and memory issues are not un-disturbing), a blue dragon with fire breath that will never be satisfied. On the other hand, while imperfection abounds, I can still be pleased with small successes achieved and a talent I relish. Regardless of the outcome.
Scattered and happy, I haven’t been writing much. It has been thirteen days since my last post. Yoga this morning was peaceful, invigorating and educational. This young yogi is not your typical instructor. She doesn’t look or act the part. But she delivers. She chants, has you hold poses longer than you think possible (sometimes longer than is possible) and talks about heavy stuff that she effortlessly infuses in conversation throughout her hour and a half class.
She gets what I wrote my memoir about. Death, and how awareness and compassion can teach us how to live. “Have your goals” she says, “but remember to live your life in accordance with your values as you move toward reaching them. Bring peace into your life outside this studio, every day.”
She’s surprisingly wise for a person so young (20’s) and I find her funny, engaging, approachable. Today after class I walked up to her, threw my arms around her in an embrace, and stood there. I am a hugger. It grounds me, particularly when the embrace is returned, no hurry, no sense of moving past it, just the two of us there, with it, in it, sharing energy and space.
My energy mingles well with hers. You know how you just know, with certain people, that it’s working. Smooth, effortless, amicable, combining. Two different people, sharing a space, comfortable in their own skin.
We inhaled breaths filled with white light from the crown of our heads to the base of our spines – inspiration. We exhaled white light that expanded into every cell within our bodies – transformation.
One leaves peaceful. One leaves clear. One leaves connected.
Namaste.
Make that days of reckoning. It feels as though I haven’t posted in ages. There is a reason for that. I’m working diligently on filling out the submission form to Balboa Press – which sounds simple.
The form wants a lot of information. The manuscript (which is the easy part), a bio, blurbs for the back cover, blurbs for the front flap of the hard cover, keynotes, inside the book sections, size of book (which would have been easier if they made available the sizes I want), pictures for the front cover, pictures for the inside of the book, I can go on. A simple task this is not. But it is progress. Be careful what you wish for, I was told.
I work to balance my excitement with reality. Some moments are more jam-packed than others. I missed yoga today to work, but I will not miss James Taylor tonight at Jones Beach! I speak with a team member tomorrow, and I promise to keep you updated. Please feel free to ask questions regarding this self-publishing process – it is important that we writers be here for one another!
And ‘shower the people we love with love’.
It is my intention to report my experiences regarding this (new to me) journey to publish my book. Last Friday I made the commitment to work with Balboa Press. They took my personal and credit card information and we discussed a payment plan. Today the agreement I am to sign electronically arrives in my inbox. Yay.
Lesson one: Always (no, not sometimes, not often, ALWAYS) read what you sign. I am not a lawyer, I am a creative person – but we must use our brains. On the last page of an eight page agreement, is the incorrect payment plan, which I did not agree to on our taped phone conversation, and which favored – let’s take a guess here – not me.
It’s interesting and I don’t want to make this a self-fulfilling prophesy (on the contrary I want to believe that the parent company – Hay House – will live up to their spiritual beliefs and do the right thing) but my antennae are raised. I don’t want to wishful think my way through this process, it’s too important, I want to be real.
The person I had many conversations with, before signing, sounds sincere. Of course I have the irritating belief that people are genuinely nice, (even when they aren’t). Although she seems to be, and it is possible that the mistake wasn’t intentional (not that sloppy work is any excuse) I am reserving judgment.
This journey will be an interesting one. How quickly will they respond to my queries? Are they mistake-prone? Are they intentional and respectable (as their brand suggests)? I have no issue with Balboa making money, as long as they do what they agree to do, and produce a professional looking book.
I am still a believer in the process. Perhaps doing a few peace-inducing yoga poses wouldn’t hurt. I shall keep you informed regarding responses, behaviors and assuredly this ever-exciting process.
Onward. Deep breath. Down dog.
Wendy Karasin - Musings of a Boomer 
Fascinating stuff — this whole new world of self-publishing. Perhaps you could write a post on how you picked this press over the others? All the best with this venture!
This was her request, I answered her but realized my answer was hastily conceived. It was a fairly long and involved process. At first I went traditional – as in sending queries to traditional publishers, waiting to hear back, or not – as they are inclined to do. Some wrote back stating that this type of ms. was not for them, or they reached their quota. Try again in the spring, fall, summer. Some gave feedback – loved your writing, I cried at your descriptions, haunting, etc – but memoirs written by unknowns are a hard sell.
Eventually I accepted the fact that the likelihood of a traditional, even small, press accepting the economic output for me was slim. I went into crazy editing mode. Again. Then I was given wise counsel to just do it! It’s good enough. Manage my expectations and get the story out there. Let it live, breath, walk on its own. It was doing nobody any good sitting within the confines of my computer.
So I checked into a few self publishers. I won a contest at SOOP – and thought that might work. But I wasn’t happy with the contract or the fact that I had to secure large numbers of pre-orders. Bye. Then I looked into Turning Press, Lulu, and Balboa. I liked the people at Balboa and the fact that they were connected to Hay House – which could (maybe) be useful for a book like mine. This is a gamble, friends – but one worth taking if you want to see your book in print.
I do intend to keep a running commentary of anything that seems useful to report. If anyone has specific questions they’d like answered, like Stephanie, please feel free to ask. These are my opinions of course, but the process of inquiry does shed light on a topic that needs large floods coming in from as many directions as possible.
Namaste.