Saturday, August 23, 2014


I’ve been playing with the idea of writing a memoir for at least a year. I so much want to explore what I perceived as my grandmother’s dislike of her second child (my father), and subsequently of my mother and us kids. But I can’t seem to get past that infernal internal editor who keeps staring over my shoulder, whispering deterrents about disapprovals of — or even hurt from — descendants of the people I would write about. In fact, it’s a challenge for me to write that prior sentence about my grandmother. My push me/pull you dilemma has much to do with being raised never to air one’s dirty laundry etc.

So I’m doing what I usually do when that internal critic immobilizes me; for years it was books on how to paint. This time, I’m heading for the bookstore and stocking up on books on how to write memoirs. Whether I’ll actually put pen to paper (or in my case, fingertips to keyboard) remains to be seen. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

(A stage whispered aside to Mary McD.: Thank you for your encouragement; I needed it!)

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