Memoirous

Check out my story “Catching Up” at Sunlight Press . A tiny slice of life about how we slowly fall out of shape and that it’s never to late to catch up.

5 out of 5 stars  Great for writers and teachers of writing. ByMichelle Schaubon November 15, 2017 In this clever craft book, Hertenstein outlines a plan for busy writers to build a memoir in little flashes- those seemingly inconsequential moments that, when strung together, create a powerful memoir. Hertenstein provides a series of accessible yet thought-provoking prompts that can be completed in "the time it takes you to brush your teeth." Great for writers and teachers of writing as well. 5 out of 5 starsExcellent# ByMel G.on June 18, 2016 I have read this book twice, and highlighted extensively. As a new memoir writer who works in slice of life and brief moments, I find her approach helpful. Highly recommend to all writers of memoir. Enjoyable read! Available from wherever you download books. Also you can click on the icons and go straight to Amazon 5 out of 5 stars  Excellent# ByMel G.on

We’ve imbued our political parties with morals. For example, Republicans care about life. Thus, they will appoint pro life judges. Democrats care about human rights. Thus, they’ll be better at foreign policy—saying NO to Russia. Bviously this is simplified. Also obviously I have no right to write about Hannah Arendt . A brilliant thinker. This weekend I watched the movie Hannah Arendt . I knew about her peripherally like in the sense she was one of the people (émergie who fled Nazi Germany) who helped ferment The New School where my daughter went. Once I saw the movie I was able to sort her into—Oh you thought that up, that line of thinking, about the question of evil. The movie released in 2012, Hannah Arendt died in 1975. Some of her books are: The Origins of Totalitarianism (1951). Revised ed.; New York: Schocken, 2004. The Human Condition (1958) Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil (1963). (Rev. ed. New Y

Last Tab Lastly, in closing up the tabs: an article at the BBC website: (Credit: Edouard Taufenbech) The woman who can’t forget Some people can remember every single event in their life – what’s it like? And The Blessing and the Curse of Never Being able to Forget Both articles are basically profiles of people who file away data/memories. Who can never forget. Some of us have excellent memories, some of us—mostly husbands—cannot remember what they went to the grocery for. Researchers are not yet certain what forms the basis of memories. The assumption is that most memories are language based—thus, it is unlikely to have memories pre-verbal. Yet, I know I can recall certain images—an overhead light over my crib because I associated the seemingly glazed spiral with a honey bun, even though I still didn’t have a word for honey bun. I guess looking at it made me hungry. I wanted to eat that thing over my crib. I remember climbing out of my crib. I wasn’t tall e

This week I’m closing tabs. Those needling articles I’ve clipped or stuck a pin into and left open on my desktop hoping to get to later. One had to do with Taylor Swift. I know only what the Internet tells me about Taylor Swift as I have not followed her career or spent time listening to her music. Except to say some of the earlier Youtubes of her music seem really simple. She’s a sensation. According to the radio her latest album, Reputation , has blown up the universe. On track to have the biggest sales ever. “Swift on track to sell more than 1 million records in the record’s first week.” If only this kind of success could transfer to books. Not since Harry Potter has a new release made such a splash. From the beginning she has been writing autobiographical songs, inserting herself as a character into the ballad/narrative/soundscape. From the BBC article: Take, for example, her first US number one, Our Song. Written for a high school talent show, it's a fairly

I’ve been catching up on news, on the tabs open on my computer, the articles I’ve been saving to read. Actually I was embarrassed into doing this by my daughter who immediately seized upon my psychotic condition: the inability to let go. I always think I’ll come back to finishing that story, article etc later. Then later turns into 37 tabs on my laptop. Mom! What’s going on!? So today I dedicated my morning to determining if the open tabs are something I really want to read, have expired, or no longer relevant. With the dozen or so tabs left I began plowing through them, skimming or actually reading. In the middle of this process I ended up opening a few more doors. I stumbled across an article in Vanity Fair online about the new movie Lady Bird. One of the pieces had to do with the art director and how he was able to make the movie look like a memory. He simply took it down a generation like a Xerox making a copy of a copy. Which is a good way of describing a memory.

Textbook (not exactly amemoir) By Amy Krouse Rosenthal Dutton, 2016 Not exactly a memoir, told in the form of a textbook. A cute gimmick. But it works. Really, really works. We get patches, glimpses where we nod our head in recognition, then slowly, think: I could be writing about that except— I never once—and here it is strange because all I do at this blog is tell people to record the ordinary—except I didn’t think it was important. The very meaning of ordinary. We don’t recognize it until it is gone. Just like, you always thought there would be, would never go away, could never imagine the world without, until a sighting becomes a cause for celebration. Things that used to be always: Monarch butterflies Worms on the sidewalk after a rain Bookstores So next time you get that niggling thought—jot it down. You might not end up with a New York bestselling Textbook, but you will have a record of having lived a life.

They could just be meaningless coincidences, but if so then why do I remember them over and over and shake my head. Flashes of recognition where my path crossed someone else’s. What re the chances! Girl at Sherwyn’s Health Food Shop It’s now closed. They sold vitamins and health food before gluten-free and other foods were more readily available. Before the Whole Foods swallowed up the block. Anyway I went there with some friends. It was an excuse to hang out. I was standing in line with Terry and I heard, almost a murmur, “Jane Feeback.” I looked around. Was it the Muzak? I thought I heard someone saying my maiden name. It was the cashier. She said I wasn’t sure it was you. She then proceeded to tell me her name. I tried to fake it, but I didn’t remember her. She said, I came to your house collecting for --- cause and you went upstairs and brought down a pickle jarful of coins and cash. I seriously did not remember. The idea I was so extravagant—it was embarrassing. Appar

Monday, April 18, 2016 Meta Me OUR SOULS at Night=now a movie Meta is an odd word; it is all about me. Self-referential. And, we do it in the subtlest of ways. Right when I’m enjoying a work of fiction I get a glimmer, a suggestion, that this book is all about the author. It is likely their story. At this blog I’ve reviewed Aleksandar Hemon’s short stories, Love and Obstacles and Lily Tuck’s Liliane—all supposedly fiction, but both hovering on the edge of autobiography. With Our Souls at Night by Kent Haruf and The History of Great Things by Elizabeth (Betsy!) Crane we are easily clued in. The author actually references themselves. In Our Souls at Night the main characters talk over the morning newspaper while at breakfast and mention that that one writer, his latest novel is being made into a play. She’d enjoyed the last production the playhouse did of his work and now it looks like they are launching another. “He could write a book about us. How would you l

November 5 th is my birthday and just thinking about life a year ago is a bit depressing. It seems the world has cracked and broken into two. November 5 seems so naïve, so innocent. Democracy before reality TV invaded politics. Anyway thinking about this I have compiled a list of how I’ve managed to get through this past year: *Friends *Cds: Josh Garrels The Light Came Down , Carrie Newcomer The Beautiful Not Yet *“fake” news: BBC, The Guardian, The Washington Post, NPR *Podcasts: Radiolab, The New Yorker Radio Hour, Snap Judgment (this is my new favorite, I spend a lot of time listening to these) *counseling (lots) *writing/not writing *bike rides: just this year alone=Nova Scotia, coast of Maine, carriage trails in Acadia National Park, Old Plank Trail, I & M, Centennial Trail, North Shore Channel Trail, Green Bay trail, Des Plaines River Trail, Kal-Haven Trail, Prairie Duneland Trail, Oak Savannah Trail, Lakefront, etc *walks along the lake ( see al

Encyclopedia of an OrdinaryLife Amy Krouse Rosenthal Three Rivers Press Reading this book posthumously—hers not mine—means every word, every thought experiment takes on a life of its own, an importance not originally intended. Even the subtext on the cover: I have not survived against all odds. I have not lived to tell. I have not witnessed the extraordinary. This is my story. Rosenthal is contagious. Her joy, her exuberance. She is not annoying. What she’s been able to do is make me think, just possibly, we might someday to walk this road together, the ones of us still here. Things Amy and I have in common: Kenneth Koch A few mutual acquaintances An appreciation for the ordinary That’s why her book has resonated with me. Even the prescient entries that when I read them I cringe: RETURNING TO LIFE AFTER BEING DEAD YOU DISTRACTION Thanks for your 51 years and insights into life. You crammed a lot of observation into a short span. How many ti

First—just like Amy—I used to think the word was a typo; it should be post-humorously, meaning death is beyond humor. There is no more laughter. You see Amy died earlier this year. March to be exact. A crappy month is the crappiest of years. Years we will come to think of as post-humorously. Which makes reading her wit and zest for life and love all the more bittersweet. Every word, every reflection is now colored with this knowledge: she writes no more. I dwell in this tension—I wish I’d known her when alive. Glad I hadn’t known her, as the idea of losing her would be overwhelming, especially in last days of winter in a hard, hard year. Then came the viral of viralist: her piece in The New Yorker announcing 1) she was dying, 2) she hadn’t passed yet, 3) why I might like to date her husband. If you haven’t read this essay then what rock have you been hiding under. You must be the last person on earth not to have read it. The world cried reading it and cried again