I've lived at the center of several major historical events and once thought I had a memoir in me. What I came to realize is that personally and as a family we had so much unprocessed trauma that writing things down would break me and I was afraid I'd never put myself back together. The most shocking part is that I always told myself we were lucky and untouched because Canada had given us refuge. I respect anyone who can bravely open rooms they've not visited for a long time.
Oh Carolina, I have so much to say to this. For one, writing my memoir was hard, but it was the publication and its aftermath that, yes, nearly broke me apart. (Admittedly it coincided with some other unrelated life events, still...) I will say that NEARLY is so very different than fully when it comes to breaking, or dying or pregnancy or anything like that. Nearly, you can gain from and learn from, and I have learned. Nearly takes you to a whole different place and that place is not necessarily bad.
Your comment made me find and read the opinion pieces published at the time of your memoir and my goodness something that we don’t speak about is the vein of jealousy that runs through so many mother-daughter relationships. The resentment towards the younger often improved version who is navigating a similar intellectual space. That’s what stood out for me at least though perhaps you don’t agree. It certainly has been my experience growing up an accomplished daughter of an accomplished mother. An unspoken and unresolvable issue.
This has all reminded me of a documentary on the photographer Francesca Woodman who died by suicide at an early age and has become widely regarded posthumously. At one point her father also an artist of lesser renown lets the mask slips and complains how his daughter has consumed all the attention because of her spectacular young death. As if it had been a career move. The jealousy of her great fame clear.
Thanks for this — with your permission I'm going to quote from it liberally in the Substack I'm writing this afternoon. One of the first lessons I learned as an apprentice boy newspaper reporter almost 75 years ago is that everybody DOES have a story, and I wrote them down for others to read. Before COVID I started to write a memoir (It was to be called "The Night Miles Davis Tried to Buy My Car...and 100 Other Stories from the Edge of Music"). After COVID I've been turning much of it into a Substack blog (or newsletter or simply "a Substack"). Thanks to your post I'm thinking that when/if I get up to installment #100, I may try turning it back into a memoir...
Write with the intention to be rigorously honest, bearing in mind, that much of your memory will concern relationships with others. Speaking of swimming pools, as you well know, Leah, one person's recollection of an event can be very different from another's. You may be called out by that other, and sometimes they are litigious, but if not litigious, able to mouth off in other "courts" to your alarm, astonishment or embarrassment.
Oh Marguerite! That's such a lovely way to look at it, and you've put it beautifully. It's about the meaning seeping through slowly then dawning -- the wonder! -- rather than something being served up in tact. x
I've lived at the center of several major historical events and once thought I had a memoir in me. What I came to realize is that personally and as a family we had so much unprocessed trauma that writing things down would break me and I was afraid I'd never put myself back together. The most shocking part is that I always told myself we were lucky and untouched because Canada had given us refuge. I respect anyone who can bravely open rooms they've not visited for a long time.
Oh Carolina, I have so much to say to this. For one, writing my memoir was hard, but it was the publication and its aftermath that, yes, nearly broke me apart. (Admittedly it coincided with some other unrelated life events, still...) I will say that NEARLY is so very different than fully when it comes to breaking, or dying or pregnancy or anything like that. Nearly, you can gain from and learn from, and I have learned. Nearly takes you to a whole different place and that place is not necessarily bad.
Your comment made me find and read the opinion pieces published at the time of your memoir and my goodness something that we don’t speak about is the vein of jealousy that runs through so many mother-daughter relationships. The resentment towards the younger often improved version who is navigating a similar intellectual space. That’s what stood out for me at least though perhaps you don’t agree. It certainly has been my experience growing up an accomplished daughter of an accomplished mother. An unspoken and unresolvable issue.
This has all reminded me of a documentary on the photographer Francesca Woodman who died by suicide at an early age and has become widely regarded posthumously. At one point her father also an artist of lesser renown lets the mask slips and complains how his daughter has consumed all the attention because of her spectacular young death. As if it had been a career move. The jealousy of her great fame clear.
Thanks for this — with your permission I'm going to quote from it liberally in the Substack I'm writing this afternoon. One of the first lessons I learned as an apprentice boy newspaper reporter almost 75 years ago is that everybody DOES have a story, and I wrote them down for others to read. Before COVID I started to write a memoir (It was to be called "The Night Miles Davis Tried to Buy My Car...and 100 Other Stories from the Edge of Music"). After COVID I've been turning much of it into a Substack blog (or newsletter or simply "a Substack"). Thanks to your post I'm thinking that when/if I get up to installment #100, I may try turning it back into a memoir...
yes of course!
Write with the intention to be rigorously honest, bearing in mind, that much of your memory will concern relationships with others. Speaking of swimming pools, as you well know, Leah, one person's recollection of an event can be very different from another's. You may be called out by that other, and sometimes they are litigious, but if not litigious, able to mouth off in other "courts" to your alarm, astonishment or embarrassment.
thank you for this, and yes I DO know. x
Oh Marguerite! That's such a lovely way to look at it, and you've put it beautifully. It's about the meaning seeping through slowly then dawning -- the wonder! -- rather than something being served up in tact. x