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	<title>Anthology &#8211; Editors &amp; Memoir Professionals &#8211; The Memoir Network | RSS</title>
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	<description>Helping You Launch be well crafted, meaningful memoir</description>
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		<title>Retiring to Memoir Writing: Justine Powell Kuntz</title>
		<link>https://thememoirnetwork.com/retiring-to-memoir-writing/</link>
		<comments>https://thememoirnetwork.com/retiring-to-memoir-writing/#respond</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 31 Jan 2018 10:55:29 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Justine Kuntz]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Anthology - Editors & Memoir Professionals]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Anthology of Memoir Writing]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Guest Bloggers]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Memoir Professionals' Stories & Articles]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Memoir Writer's Blog]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[family stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[help writing memoirs]]></category>
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		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://memoirwritersblog.turningmemories.com/?p=554</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[<p style="float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 15px; width:240px; height: auto;">
		<img src="https://i0.wp.com/thememoirnetwork.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/JustineKuntz200.jpg?fit=200%2C238&#038;ssl=1" width="240" style="max-width: 100%; height: auto;" />
		</p>Eight years ago as a retirement project for church, I introduced memoir writing&#8230; (more&#8230;)]]></description>
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	<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">554</post-id>	</item>
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		<title>The Spirit of Villarosa: A Father’s Extraordinary Adventures / A Son’s Challenge</title>
		<link>https://thememoirnetwork.com/memoir-of-a-kidnapping/</link>
		<comments>https://thememoirnetwork.com/memoir-of-a-kidnapping/#respond</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 28 Oct 2016 16:01:27 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Libby Atwater]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Anthology - Editors & Memoir Professionals]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Guest Bloggers]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Memoir Professionals' Stories & Articles]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Memoir Writer's Blog]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[ghostwriting]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://thememoirnetwork.com/?p=16281</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[<p style="float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 15px; width:240px; height: auto;">
		<img src="https://i0.wp.com/thememoirnetwork.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/Villarosa2.jpg?fit=1024%2C1024&#038;ssl=1" width="240" style="max-width: 100%; height: auto;" />
		</p>Libby Atwater is a memoir writer and long supporter of The Memoir Network. It is our pleasure to share her excellent work with you. By Horace Dade Ashton and Marc Ashton with Libby J. Atwater When Marc Ashton was kidnapped at gunpoint in Haiti, he fought to survive. Accosted by four armed thugs, Marc realized [&#8230;]]]></description>
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	<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">16281</post-id>	</item>
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		<title>She Loves Her, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah</title>
		<link>https://thememoirnetwork.com/loves-yeah-yeah-yeah/</link>
		<comments>https://thememoirnetwork.com/loves-yeah-yeah-yeah/#respond</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 30 May 2014 17:45:09 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Christine Terp Madsen]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Anthology - Editors & Memoir Professionals]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Anthology of Memoir Writing]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Guest Bloggers]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Memoir Professionals' Stories & Articles]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://thememoirnetwork.com/?p=10628</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[<p style="float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 15px; width:240px; height: auto;">
		<img src="https://i0.wp.com/thememoirnetwork.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/05/beatles.jpg?fit=300%2C301&#038;ssl=1" width="240" style="max-width: 100%; height: auto;" />
		</p>Who were these Beatles, anyway? Everyone was screaming. Everyone, even Betsy, sitting next to me. Betsy was screaming her brains out. I stared at her in disbelief. But as I looked around Park Theater, the only movie theater in the Caldwells, the very green end-of-the-line little towns on the long boulevard that stretches from the [&#8230;]]]></description>
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	<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">10628</post-id>	</item>
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		<title>There Goes The Neighborhood, Part 2</title>
		<link>https://thememoirnetwork.com/there-goes-the-neighborhood-2-christine-madsen/</link>
		<comments>https://thememoirnetwork.com/there-goes-the-neighborhood-2-christine-madsen/#respond</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 16 Aug 2013 12:00:11 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Christine Terp Madsen]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Anthology - Editors & Memoir Professionals]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Anthology of Memoir Writing]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Business Side of Profitable Memoir Work]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Guest Bloggers]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Memoir Writer's Blog]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lifestories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[memoir writing]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[turning memories into memoirs]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[writing memoir]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://thememoirnetwork.com/?p=4702</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[<p style="float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 15px; width:240px; height: auto;">
		<img src="https://i0.wp.com/thememoirnetwork.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/farmhouse.jpg?fit=400%2C300&#038;ssl=1" width="240" style="max-width: 100%; height: auto;" />
		</p>We had already witnessed the demolition derby over the snowy weekend between Christmas and New Year&#8217;s. We figured the upcoming motorcycle party couldn’t top that. The demolition derby started with the arrival of large trucks bearing strange cargo. (more&#8230;)]]></description>
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	<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">4702</post-id>	</item>
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		<title>There Goes the Neighborhood, Part 1</title>
		<link>https://thememoirnetwork.com/there-goes-the-neighborhood-christine-madsen/</link>
		<comments>https://thememoirnetwork.com/there-goes-the-neighborhood-christine-madsen/#respond</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 09 Aug 2013 12:00:54 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Christine Terp Madsen]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Anthology - Editors & Memoir Professionals]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Anthology of Memoir Writing]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Guest Bloggers]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Memoir Professionals' Stories & Articles]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[memoir]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[memoir writing]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[memoir writing help]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[turning memories into memoirs]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://thememoirnetwork.com/?p=4699</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[<p style="float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 15px; width:240px; height: auto;">
		<img src="https://i0.wp.com/thememoirnetwork.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/tractormowing.jpg?fit=526%2C350&#038;ssl=1" width="240" style="max-width: 100%; height: auto;" />
		</p>Gunnar was mowing his field. This was odd. He never mowed his field. He was making ever-tightening circles around the knobby acre, the sweet grass and raggedy weeds falling in neat windrows behind him. (more&#8230;)]]></description>
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	<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">4699</post-id>	</item>
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		<title>Pudgy: A Childhood Memoir</title>
		<link>https://thememoirnetwork.com/pudgy/</link>
		<comments>https://thememoirnetwork.com/pudgy/#respond</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 02 Aug 2013 13:05:42 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Christine Terp Madsen]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Anthology - Editors & Memoir Professionals]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Anthology of Memoir Writing]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Guest Bloggers]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Memoir Professionals' Stories & Articles]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[lifestory]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[memoir]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[memoir writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://thememoirnetwork.com/?p=3992</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[<p style="float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 15px; width:240px; height: auto;">
		<img src="https://i0.wp.com/thememoirnetwork.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/pudgy-the-doll-150x150.jpg?fit=150%2C150&#038;ssl=1" width="240" style="max-width: 100%; height: auto;" />
		</p>When I was ten, I ran away. I packed everything that was important into my sturdy cardboard suitcase. I left a note on the kitchen table warning my parents not to look for me at the high-tension wires, those metal electrical towers that marked the back border of our property and which were in fact [&#8230;]]]></description>
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	<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">3992</post-id>	</item>
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		<title>Something About the Water</title>
		<link>https://thememoirnetwork.com/chris-madsen-something-about-water/</link>
		<comments>https://thememoirnetwork.com/chris-madsen-something-about-water/#respond</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 19 Jul 2013 13:20:20 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Christine Terp Madsen]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Anthology - Editors & Memoir Professionals]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Anthology of Memoir Writing]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Guest Bloggers]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Chris Madsen]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[family stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[memoir]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[memoir writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://thememoirnetwork.com/?p=3838</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[<p style="float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 15px; width:240px; height: auto;">
		<img src="https://i0.wp.com/thememoirnetwork.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/swimming-300x2101.jpg?fit=300%2C210&#038;ssl=1" width="240" style="max-width: 100%; height: auto;" />
		</p>The following memoir excerpt was written by Chris Madsen of Olympia, Washington. I never got used to that first splash of chilly water. It came from a natural spring concealed behind a stockade fence, so clean and pure that we all thought Mr. Trecartin&#160;should bottle it. Instead, he let the spring fill the swimming pool [&#8230;]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
	<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">3838</post-id>	</item>
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		<title>Lightning or When Young Love Strikes</title>
		<link>https://thememoirnetwork.com/young-love/</link>
		<comments>https://thememoirnetwork.com/young-love/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 29 Oct 2012 13:05:51 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Christine Terp Madsen]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Anthology - Editors & Memoir Professionals]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Anthology of Memoir Writing]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Emotions in Memoir Writing]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Memoir Writer's Blog]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[family stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Newark NJ memoir]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://turningmemories.wordpress.com/?p=433</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[<p style="float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 15px; width:240px; height: auto;">
		<img src="https://i0.wp.com/thememoirnetwork.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/twogirls.jpg?fit=366%2C366&#038;ssl=1" width="240" style="max-width: 100%; height: auto;" />
		</p>It was the summer the city burned. The weather was dry and hot, but the real tinder was a mixture of frustration and anger, white and black, promises and demands. If I paused to consider these things, the pause was imperceptible. I stood at the edge of the pool contemplating&#8230; (more&#8230;)]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
	<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">433</post-id>	</item>
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		<title>A Grandmother Story: Nothing Broken</title>
		<link>https://thememoirnetwork.com/grandmother-story/</link>
		<comments>https://thememoirnetwork.com/grandmother-story/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 04 Oct 2012 23:36:22 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Christine Terp Madsen]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Anthology - Editors & Memoir Professionals]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Anthology of Memoir Writing]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Memoir Professionals' Stories & Articles]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Memoir Writer's Blog]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[autobiography]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[family stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[memoir]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://turningmemories.wordpress.com/?p=420</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[<p style="float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 15px; width:240px; height: auto;">
		<img src="https://i0.wp.com/thememoirnetwork.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/comb1.jpg?fit=300%2C300&#038;ssl=1" width="240" style="max-width: 100%; height: auto;" />
		</p>“Look at this,” my grandmother said. “Not a tooth broken.” We kids looked at the comb. We were not impressed. “I made this when I was 8 years old.” (more&#8230;)]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>3</slash:comments>
	<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">420</post-id>	</item>
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		<title>My Grandmother&#8217;s Depression Story</title>
		<link>https://thememoirnetwork.com/depression-story/</link>
		<comments>https://thememoirnetwork.com/depression-story/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 04 Oct 2012 23:30:24 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Christine Terp Madsen]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Anthology - Editors & Memoir Professionals]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Anthology of Memoir Writing]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Memoir Professionals' Stories & Articles]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Memoir Writer's Blog]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[autobiography]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[family stories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[memoir]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://turningmemories.wordpress.com/?p=417</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[<p style="float: right; margin: 0 0 10px 15px; width:240px; height: auto;">
		<img src="https://i0.wp.com/thememoirnetwork.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/jerry-lewis.jpg?fit=300%2C303&#038;ssl=1" width="240" style="max-width: 100%; height: auto;" />
		</p>The usual person gets four natural grandparents. Naturally, I got five. Or six. And they were all in one body&#8230; (more&#8230;)]]></description>
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