Six Great Books

Dear Diary....I don't quite know if I can say this!

 I was not the kid who read under the covers with a flashlight.  The pink plastic journal with My Diary embossed in gold that I got for my 13^th birthday had a total of three entrees.

I suffered through English essays in high school, barely showed up for term papers in college and the first memo I ever wrote was returned to me folded in half and stapled.  When I ripped it open my hands shook.  The note, scribbled by my boss across the top of the paper, said, “Molly this is terrible writing – it’s disorganized and makes no sense – please rewrite.” 

Fast-forward several decades.  I become a voracious reader. I can’t stop because I am so drawn by the power the author has over me.  I envy these writers.  I want what they have.  They don’t even know me, yet they are changing me, challenging me, connecting with me.  

I sign up for a class entitled The Writer’s Toolbox at the Writer’s Center.  I have no idea how terrible I am.  If I had known I would not have read my first few submissions out loud.

The class doesn’t point out that my writing is full of clichés or that I include absolutely no dialog nor do they note that I use 5 words when one or two would do.  They do respond to the heart of my story and especially the scene I’ve written about my father’s teasing me when I gain the freshman 10 pounds in college.  I had some capacity for dialog by then and quoted Dad saying, “Molly, another few pounds and a permanent wave in your hair and you’ll look exactly like your grandmother.” 

After class a woman follows me to the parking lot.  She is in her 80’s, and I know she was a refuge after WWII.   “Molly,” she said, “I have to tell you I really related to what you wrote.   Do you know that I weighed 90 pounds at the end of the war?  My Dad made fun of me too when I put some of the pounds back on -- and it was humiliating.  I just wanted you to know.”

OK, not the Pulitzer or the Booker prize but I had written something that evoked a response in another person.  Wayne Dyer on PBS says you’ll see it when you believe it.  That night in the parking lot on Leland Street I became a believer or at least considered the possibility that I could be an author.  

Originally written for Writer's Center Appreciation Month, January 2010.

Honesty? Does A Memoir Mean We Lose Friends and Alienate People?

For all the "openness" in our society everyone wears masks.  We take them off in the writer's group and I believe the authenticity is why the group is so vital for all of us.  My fellow members revelations draw me to their stories.  Who can't relate to the abandonment, pain, and hurt or the triumph and joy when we transcend it?  So, the challenge we face is whether the commitment to honesty, for me part of the purpose in writing the book, can be reconciled with the cost of telling the truth, especially when it includes the lives and feelings of others.  

 

We don't want to hurt people we care about and we don't want to be rejected either.  Could our books mean we will lose friends and alienate people, maybe even cause us professional losses?  I love and respect my colleagues but some are extremely conservative and I fear they will judge me.  I would have avoided the difficult decisions I had to make if I could have!  Life doesn’t fit into neat packages or always allow us to create socially laudable outcomes.  

 

What we reveal in memoirs, for all of the warts and ugliness, is the beauty and honor that comes when we face our shadow selves and our humanity. Our memoirs are about how we did the best we could at the time and they reveal what was powerful and important in our growth and our lives.

Posted by Molly Mahoney Matthews