Martha Blowen, my partner in life and in work, died on August 18, 2008, from metastasized breast cancer. The following is from collated excerpts of journals we both kept at the time. (Before she passed away, she gave me permission to share her entries.) The memoir is called My Eye Fell Into the Soup, after […]
These posts are mostly excerpts from A Sugary Frosting / A Memoir of a Girlhood Spent in a Parsonage, the early years of Martha Blowen, my lifemate and business partner who died in 2008.
When you are both a story teller and a story keeper, in thirty-one years of co-habitating with someone who is very verbal, you get to learn many of her stories. A number of them you have heard not only because they are told directly to you as you went about your day—perhaps driving into town—or as you sat in the morning sipping your coffee but also because she told them to others in your presence. Often, details are added in this retelling or an emphasis changes for the benefit of the new auditor—and unexpectedly you understand a new angle to the story.
Martha wrote a number of her stories—always in segments. She intended to write a memoir but her life was cut short by breast cancer before she could realize this goal.
Wanting to finish her memoir, I inserted her compositions, chronologically one after the other, into a manuscript and soon realized that there were explanatory details missing—details that I knew not only to be true but necessary to create a memoir. Soon enough, I found myself contributing her words that lived within me into the narrative. These words soon added up not only to details but to whole stories I recalled. Soon, more of the stories originated with me than from her composition.
Can you tell where one author lets off and the other begins?
This section also contains excerpts from My Eye Fell Into the Soup, a journal compilation of Martha’s experience of having cancer and finally succumbing to it in 2008.
I wrote a lengthy reply to Gayle to her question concerning my recent post, “Another Memoir Finished: What Was the Writing Process?” She asked a legitimate question about whether A Sugary Frosting is really a memoir: “Can you call it a memoir when you embellish the writings of your wife and even added stories that […]
While I believe my father did well as minister in Hadwin Park, he was by nature a small-town minister. Coming from the working class, he was familiar and comfortable with working men and women. Or, I might say, he was comfortable being the educated man among uneducated people. His talent was working in a small, […]
Life in Worcester for my family was a 1950’s middle-class existence. It is what I believe my father was striving for when he worked those years in Enfield, CT, after high school and before Bates, those years at Bates working at the telephone switchboard at Central Maine General Hospital, serving as kitchen and dining room […]
Isolated memories that seem too ordinary for a memoir can be a challenge to incorporate into a memoir as they usually lack inherent drama. How to place early memories into a narrative so that they give a sense of the foundation of a life without turning the reader off. Let me know in the comments […]
My uncles came into the parsonage, made their announcement of the decision to remove my grandparents which was a fait accompli that they were not willing to discuss, packed my grandparents up and drove away with them. My parents were in shock.
This is an excerpt from the as-yet-unnamed memoir of Martha Blowen, my lifemate and business partner who died in 2008 of metastatic intraductal breast cancer. The previous post covered Martha’s premature birth and her family’s recent move to Worcester, Massachusetts, where her father had taken on to serve as minister of Congregational church there.
When you are both a story teller and a story keeper, in thirty-one years of co-habiting with someone who is very verbal, you get to learn many of her stories. A number of them you have heard not only because they are told directly to you as you went about your day—perhaps driving into town […]
Besame, besame mucho / Como si fuera esta noche la última vez… Kiss me, kiss me a lot / As if tonight were the last time… Cesaria Evora’s voice, strong and oh! so beautiful, comes in from the livingroom as I pour myself coffee in the kitchen. It is early morning, and I am thinking […]