The following is excerpted from the memoir My Eye Fell Into the Soup. Additional excerpts will follow on Saturdays. We hope to publish the e-version of the book on May 30, 2017, and the hard copy sometime in June. Martha began writing a journal before I knew her, and she wrote consistently for the 31 […]
Over the years, The Memoir Network has worked with hundreds of students directly in tele-classes and workshops, in coaching sessions, and via editing and thousands indirectly (perhaps that’s a wrong word) via all our resources—many of which we make available for free at My Memoir Education and for a nominal fee at Memoir Authority.These writers have produced terrific stories about love and abandonment, about careers and deadend lives, about racial and ethnic diversity and conflict.It is our honor to present some of these stories here for you to enjoy.
I have also chosen to include my own stories in this section as well as in their own categories under Here to Stay, We Were Not Spoiled, In Another Century, Marie Bilodeau, and My Eye Fell Into the Soup.
I have been slowly revising my latest book My Eye Fell Into the Soup. This book is the first of a two-book set depicting the two years that Martha and I lived with her cancer illness. I have described some of the writing process elsewhere. There was a time when writing / organizing / revising […]
Mary Ellen Ellwell was a writing client with whom I especially enjoyed working. She brought to the relationship a sense of the value of collaboration. This made the time together a creative one for both of us. Below is her account of writing her book. Mary Ellen departed from the Q/A format but very smoothly […]
I’m finished writing the text for my next book, A Sugary Frosting/A Memoir of A Girlhood Spent in a Parsonage. What follows is a synopsis of what I am doing to promote the book so that its natural audience is aware of it.
One morning, when the sun promised to be bright and the sky clear, as we sat down to breakfast at refectory tables, on a day that seemed to be a day just like every other day in January, Father Guy would announce, “Aujourd’hui, c’est un congé de glace [Today, we are having an ice holiday].”
I was challenged by the point of view in a memoir. I had put off completing the book because I could not resolve its thematic problems.
Collect memories at my fiftieth class reunion
Last weekend—and a warm sunny three days it turned out to be—I spent, as I had written that I would in the last newsletter, with those of my high school classmates who could attend our fiftieth high-school reunion. Some of us had not seen each other in 30 years—not since our 20th class reunion—while one had not been with us in 50 years. Needless to say…
We had changed. The skinny boys we had been had become older white-haired men—except for on man who was mysteriously still dark-haired. Through the wrinkles and the few extra pounds (we were actually quite a fit group), it was uncanny how it seemed to me we had kept some essence of identity intact. The boys I had spent so many years with were there once again with me. I recognize the boys I had known transformed into thoughtful and kind men that I felt so much affection for. We spoke about our years in the seminary high school, our now-grown-up children, our life’s work which had occupied the middle decades of our lives, our goals and aspirations for the years that remained. [Free Membership required to read more. See below. ]
This weekend of September 26-28, 2014, I am reuniting with my high school classmates. We have not seen each other in 30 years—not since our 20th class reunion. Back then, we developed an intimacy and an affection for each other that someone attending a regular high school cannot have experienced with classmates they saw for […]
The is an excerpt from a yet-unnamed memoir of my high school years spent in a seminary continues to chronicle my first days there. The school is in Bucksport Maine, and the year is 1960. In this vignette, I write about my first morning. The memoir is in progress.
At 5:45, it was still dark outside, night really. Except for an occasional mumble, the regular breathing of boys in deep sleep was the only noise punctuating the quiet of the dormitory. Perhaps we were all back home in our dreams, with our families once again.
The “bell”— an electric ringer really, resounded loud and insistent in the silence.
“Laus tibi, Christe,” shouted the head Fourth-Form admonitor from his bed in the center of the dorm.
Only from the deep-voices of the other two admonitors at the opposite ends of the room was there an answering “Deo gratias!”<!–more–> [Free Membership required to read more. See below. ]
This is an excerpt from a memoir I am thinking of calling either In Another Century or A Very Catholic Boy. I am 13, and in the previous excerpt, I have just arrived at the seminary high school where I will be living. The excerpt starts as I have brought my trunk up to the […]