Memoir-writing

I went to the first day of a two-day writers' conference yesterday, here in Boston. The conference, "Muse and the Marketplace," featured a mass of professional writers of various levels and pedigrees. The invited guests--those speaking on panels and in the breakout sessions, had impressive credentials. Meanwhile, I'm still plugging along, trying to shape/shoehorn my essay collection into book form, and trying to figure out how to structure a memoir.

That process, of telling an interesting story in book form, which is not too monotonous, depressing or repetitious, has been elusive, slippery, like trying to pick up a fish with my bare hands. In a sense, I am using my hands to write, to remember, and to frame a story in a (hopefully) engaging way. But the pieces haven't come together yet. I've got vignettes that work, but divining how they fit together is another story.

I'd love to hear from writers who have shaped their own experiences into a book, and how they decided on a narrative frame and time sequence in their books. In the mean time, I'm slogging on, and looking forward to Lesley University's writers' conference in July, when I can get more help and advice.

Gratitude

I managed to get through the stress test. It was aptly named; I was at the heart center for four hours, and the various phases of the test involved a lot of waiting. But I got through it, and the next day, I met with the cardiologist, who informed me that my heart function was "excellent," and that I have no evidence of heart disease. I felt, after seeing my father go through his heart dramas, that I was literally given a second chance to create my life in a way that's meaningful.

Time is precious, and who knows, ultimately, how long I have. As Pema Chodron, a wise Buddhist teacher and author has said, "Life is like getting into a boat that you know is going to sink." While my boat is floating, I want to make the most of my time here on the planet. That means more teaching, performing, writing--doing the things that add richness to my one precious life.

The Heart of the Matter

Tomorrow I'm headed over to a heart center in Brookline for something called a "nuclear stress test." (Sounds sort of ominous, hmm)? The test involves receiving a radioactive dye, and then waiting about an hour before the actual test. It's something that was recommended to me, given my father's early heart attack--at 44, and his blocked arteries--he had a quadruple bypass at 60, and died a year later of a second heart attack. My older brother was diagnosed last fall with a blocked artery. So, I'm showing up to hopefully find my arteries are clear, but if not, to be proactive and not wait until something happens.

Ah, genetics!