Writing has always been a two-step dance for me, an improvisational hallelujah followed by a patterned pas de deux. I’m mostly pas de deux these days, my partners a developmental editor and a couple of beta readers who have generously and kindly offered suggestions to make my memoir better.
It began in the summer of 2016, as I spilled out my story as I remembered it, aided by decades old journals, into ten sloppily filled spiral-bound notebooks in a two-year, morning after morning, dedicated practice. Those ten notebooks of 199,000-plus words became a 120,678-word Scrivener manuscript draft, which became a 103,343-word second draft, which then—change the whole damn structure—morphed into a 101,559-word third draft, and then a 96,981-word fourth draft.
Now into draft five, I’m at 93,538 words and still revising and editing. Still attempting to make it better. I toss out unfixable mistakes and hone others into “make it work” sentences, paragraphs, scenes, and sections, occasionally stepping outside the boundaries of the manuscript page and back to the notebook for a deeper dive to discover what I want to say or what I meant to say. Or what, if anything, I even know about what I am trying to say.
In the doing of all this, I travel back to the time my husband was alive and bringing up avocados from the orchard on the hillside of our Jamul home. I travel back, in memory and photographs and decades old travel books ordered from eBay, to the time after his death, that I wandered around Europe, the Soviet Union, and then India.
On this day, as I continue to revise the manuscript, I mark the date. Thirty years ago today and a few months shy of my planned year-long sojourn, the intensifying first Gulf War sent me back to America.
My journey and my story was and is a search for who I was, who I became, and who I am now. The writing changes the story and the story changes the writer. Can we ever say, “This is who I am” and be certain of what we say? Or do we forever revise our story, to make it—and ourselves—into something better?
This is by far one of the most profound pieces you have written. It’s unbelievable to me that I am with you weekly, sometimes more, and behind the scenes you are crafting this memoir with such care and devotion. I cannot wait for it’s arrival!
Thank you so much, Marilyn. You sure know what it takes to get the story from memories to memoir; I witnessed your thoughful, careful work on your beautiful book.
Judy, Just keep on dancing! When the music stops it’s time to turn it back over to an editor and work on finding a publisher. That’s who you are today! Good luck!
Thank you, Jill. Still dancing today, thanks for creating the music I’m responding to right now.
xo
Judy
I long ago abandoned “better” for “is.”
tic tock… if something better or different comes later, write another book.
Good luck.
Thank You, Mary. This is important to remember! “Is” being present in the present. Thank you for reminding me.
Judy
Thank you Judy for reminding me once again that the story must be told in order to determine who we are and how we came to be this person. I love the ballet analogy. I am still pirouetting around the ghosts and trying to bring them to life. For sure it’s been a surprising ride, so far.
Thanks, Janice, for your note. This is one of the gifts memoir gives us isn’t it–how who we were affects who we are now.
Let’s just keep doing this, shall we?
xo
Judy
Judy,
Thank you for sharing your “process” with us.
I will be the first buyer of your book when it finally goes to print.
Arlene Kosakoff
Thank you, Arlene. It is, in fact, a “process.” And you can be sure you’ll hear about if/when this book makes it to the next,next stage.
Thanks for your latest post Judy….
“ Can we ever say, ‘This is who I am’ and be certain of what we say?”
For me who I am changes on a regular basis as I confront the different challenges that are presented to me in life. As a deep practice I regularly try to ‘abandon’ all my built up, preconceived ideas of who I am, the embedded thoughts that I normally carry around with me, and try to open up to new possibilities, to the greater narrative of my life – the one that is trying to whisper quietly to me of a more inspired path….
“ What would it be like if you lived each day, each breath, as a work of art in progress? Imagining that you are a masterpiece unfolding every second, of every day; a work of art taking form with every breath.”
Thomas Crum
“A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral.”
Antoine de Saint – Exupery
Onward the journey of discovery goes…..
Hello Michael, and thank you for your comments. I used that Thomas Crum quote at one point in my memoir (the first part of the quote), and came across it recently in my editing process. All best to you.
The understanding of what the term “This is who I am” has changed with my inner understanding of what “Who I am” really means, compared to what I had thought it meant in my earlier years. Grateful for this, I am.
Yes, Eileen, I know. I have, for the longest time, said “I’m Judy Reeves and I ….” followed by some label or another. Now, like you, to me, it is the inner understanding of “who I am,” and like the poet, “I contain multitudes.” Thanks for writing.
Hi Judy,
re your last sentence, I continue on my way attentive of further divine guidance. That is all we can do.
Sounds like a lot of work and patience expended. Let me know when it’s published.
Cheers,
Linda G
Canada
Thanks, Linda. And Oh yes! You’lll certainly hear about any publishing deal that is in the offing. That’s a way off though, as I continue this process.