
There is only one rule for writing memoir: You have to be honest. There are no templates, no blueprints, no other instructions. Unfortunately, this doesn't make it any easier. Here we will discuss with each other the difficult but exhilarating process of writing memoir—the worries we have, the obstacles we face, both real and imagined, and the pleasures of digging deep to find the story. There will be new assignments every month to jog memories loose, and to help banish self-consciousness, the scourge of all writers. I hope we will discover that the process of writing memoir is as valuable and important as the finished thing because of what we learn along the way. I hope we will share our concerns and our work with each other.
I will jump in and out of the discussions at least once a month. Given my limited availability online, I'm not always able to respond to personal messages. But I look forward to interacting with you all in this creative workshop of ours. Start writing.
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justbetsy said:
on October 15, 2009 04:10 PM ET
Momma and the Butcher Knife |
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Very nice, clever and I just love the title. Take care. Thanks for posting.
Oh yes, and I forgot to say, what a great title: Momma and the Butcher Knife
Nicely told, efficient, funny, and surprising. Well done, and thanks.
AlrightyThen! That's a big one! God Bless you and any brothers or sisters you may have had. When my mother took out the butcher knife, I didn't have to ask what happened. I saw my father run for the door and I never saw him again! HA! No question about that incident.
Nope, and I wish I had asked Dad about it when I was older. But there were several other similar situations--where I got differing "explanations" from the parents about what really happened. For the most part Dad was clueless about what was going on when he was not there. And we were too scared of Mom's retaliation to tell him. Even his death is a bit of a mystery. It was ruled a suicide, but he was shot in the back of the head with a hunting rifle. The sheriff ruled that he must have knelt down and held the gun behind him with his feet, then reached back for the trigger with his thumb--yeah, right.
Well you were a sassy little 5 year old. Good for You!
When you got older, did you ever address this with your parents again?
Wow Betsy! Your writing is so good and so fast! It is amazing that although you said that you don't remember too much about this sad childhood experience is still in your mind.
Sara
Even though this story has its roots in a tragic family situation, I couldn't help chuckling at how wise small children are, and how the adults who try to "fix things" really haven't got a clue!
On a more serious note, it reminds me of the helplessness of a child in a wolrd of adults when some of those adults have things to hide. Thanks for sharing.