Taking a break from writing memoir so that I can write about writing memoir

Oops. I’m late, awesome readers!

But I have a good reason.

Lately my attention has been submerged in writing big projects (pronounced: books). Not an excuse, but it explains why this week’s post is a tad late. Another way of looking at this is that I’m super early for next week’s post. It’s all about perspective.

As you may have heard, one of the books I’m working on right now is a memoir called SUPERWOMAN. It’s a messy, funny, reflective look at single motherhood.

Shall I share what it’s like to visit the dustiest corners of your mind and hang out with the many versions of younger you?

Let’s see … Writing memoir is a lot like going through the junk drawer in your kitchen. You don’t realize how quickly time passes until you start pulling out stuff you forgot you had in there.

The remote for a TV you gave away years ago. (Oh, that’s where that is.)

The charger for your very first cell phone.

Birthday cards from people you no longer know.

The work involved in writing memoir is like remembering the evenings spent in front of that old TV set and how you and your kids could all fit under one blanket as you watched Toy Story on the VCR.

Or looking at that old phone charger and realizing how obsolete it is now.

Or reading through the birthday cards where memories are now met with fondness at the soft corners of your upturned lips.

The task of regurgitating different aspects of life is not an easy one and as I write this particular book, I’m realizing two things:

One, the ability to go back and really feel the warmth of sunshine on your face for the second time is a muscle. The more you do it, the better you get at recalling the way you scrunched your eyes because of how the rays felt like vinegar in your pupils.

The second thing I’ve come to realize is that mulling over past experiences is a lot like playing with a Rubik’s Cube. Looking at specific memories, including your reactions, feelings, and understanding of it all at that time, gives you a multi-sided perspective of the ultimate puzzle: OUR LIVES.

And thirdly (Did I say two things? I meant three.), writing memoir is HARD. Sometimes the memories of younger you will have you downright laughing out loud. Other times she makes you cringe and want to hide in the jungle. (But a jungle without exotic flesh-eating bugs and stuff.)

I have to go. Deadlines are yelling at me.

Meanwhile, here’s an excerpt from the book. It’s from my column at Westmount Magazine, and it’s about raising teenagers. Don’t roll your eyes. As hard as it is to live WITH teenagers, it’s much harder to BE one. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Insights from the hood (PARENThood, that is): The first ten years are the easiest.

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