September 19, 2017… Day 243
I caught snatches of Trump’s UN speech as I was walking through rooms. The fact that I didn’t go out of my way to dedicate a chunk of time to watching it makes me feel like I’m growing as a person. My favorite politically aware bartender grandpa Facebook friend posted in dismay. I saw the photo of John Kelly’s face-palm on Twitter. And I fully co-sign this from Lauren Duca:
I started a memoir-writing class. I’m re-writing a manuscript from my early 20s. It’s also going to have to be hacked down a lot. The existing manuscript is 90,000 words and it’s a tight 8th draft. It leans more toward a work of reporting than a memoir, but it’s a bit confused about its narrator (moi) and its structure and its themes. I’m re-framing it as a memoir in which young me trotted about as a wannabe reporter. I’ve thought about this… no one wants to read 350 pages about me. Even I don’t want that. Boiling things down is so important. I’m going to have to re-name my class, “Darling Murder 417” (Not 101, because I’m an advanced darling-killer already).
I’m also hoping this year-long class will teach me how to turn around and help other people write their stories. That’s what’s really interesting to me in the long-term.
Cognitive dissonance: the word long-term, spending time writing a book, prioritizing clipping fingernails and flossing, wanting to lose weight, being happy about your relationship and loosely planning a future together where you do things like go to the movies or grow plants for fun and not for survival. Thinking every happy person is like in-love Bronwyn from How Green Was My Valley, ignoring the slag heap. That novel might be more than 50% responsible for how romantic and declensionist my personality turned out to be.