Dear Reader,
Long story short, I'm offering three monthly narrative craft masterclasses this summer. Click here for details or read on.
Summer traditionally had a certain rhythm for me, as a student and then as a teacher.
May was the chaos that comes with the end of the school year. But in June, if I started right away, I might get projects done.
When June came along, I had to catch my breath. Suddenly the 4th of July was upon us. Summer was slipping away and I was falling behind. Firework displays made me feel anxious, not because they're loud and bright, but because they signaled impending school work. Every summer, since childhood.
Every summer, I failed. And I saw it as wasted time.
2007 was the summer I decided to write my memoir over my vacation. We'd moved into this house the previous summer (twenty years ago!) and I had my own little office to write it.
A WHOLE BOOK TO ENCAPSULATE MY LIFE.
Yes, I really I told myself I could and should do that.
My twins were nearly four. I spent summer doom scrolling.
I wasn't equipped to write memoir.
Despite good intentions, my plan had shortcomings:
1) I'd never written a book and couldn't teach myself how.
2) I'd set myself up for failure with that ridiculous timeline, without room to learn what I didn't know about writing creative nonfiction.
3) And especially, I was sitting in a spare bedroom alone. Missing out on playing. With my kids. Who are now grown. That's the true waste of that summer. You'd best believe that nowadays when my kids or friends want to spend time with me, I prioritize living first.
A useful comparison: A year later, I signed us all up for violin lessons because, it turns out, you also can't teach yourself violin. Except I never expected to become a concert violinist in a single summer; I'd taken enough voice lessons to know it doesn't work that way. So why would I think I could write a perfectly good book, ready to publish, over my 2.5 months of summer?
Can I point out the obvious? As a Gen X girl socialized to value myself as an honor student, this all makes perfect sense.
Perfect is the enemy of showing up and having fun.
I have fun when I don't have to figure everything out perfectly... which provides the life lessons I like to write about. Like violin.
Our summers and winters of violin lessons over several years taught me to think of writing like a longitudinal series of études—pieces "built on a technical motive, [potentially] played for... artistic value," per Merriam-Webster's definition.
Not doing everything perfectly. Practicing various things.
Importantly, I'm not writing AUTOBIOGRAPHY, the sum total of my life so far—but memoir, or curated books about something. What's the difference? Nobody wants to read your whole autobiography. That's why we have Wikipedia entries.
I realize now that what I really needed I was needing a focused practice of creative writing so that I could be present with a life that asked a lot of me, and the writing could be for me first.
Little bits of awareness, little moments of presence.
The pieces I write can accumulate, as I say, from inklings to beautiful works. I give myself permission to ponder how I'll develop them further. Or not. There's always that option.
That's how you write memoirs YOU enjoy. So I will no longer rush anyone, myself included, headlong into writing at a pace faster than they can manage. If anything, I am offering everything I've needed to help people write memoir, personal essays, and more.
Here's my invitation for you:
This summer, I invite you to a season of focused wordplay.
To be perfectly clear, it's $111 for THREE evening playdates with my friend Jenn Pike and me, with time in between to ponder.
The rest of the summer, you have life to experience. And what if you don't get everything written before summer ends?
You won't. But you will plant seeds so that you can keep going while living your fall, winter, and spring life, and then NEXT summer, a year from now, you'll be farther along.
Still living into adventures you care to write about.
We can help you make sense of your narrative journey.
The book will have its day... eventually.
But this summer, what if you play?
One evening each month can seed writing for years.
Travel safely.
Love, Amy
PS—Want lower-stakes guidance? Here's a link to my summer experiment: short writing prompts on my YouTube channel.
