Last Saturday, I traveled to Lansing to speak to the Peninsula Writers group about memoir writing. I spoke for about an hour in the morning and then led two writing sessions in the afternoon.

I arrived about 10 minutes before 9 a.m., and I was supposed to speak at 9:30. When I arrived, the other two speakers and the organizer was there along with the Barnes and Noble rep. I was worried no one would be there, and I would basically end up talking to myself.

About 10 minutes later, enough people had arrived that I began worrying about having to speak in front of too large a crowd. In the end, there were about 19 people there, which was a good size. I was happy with the turn out.

I had practiced reading the passage I was planning to use, but when I began talking, I heard a request from the back of the room for me to speak up. I was speaking loudly (I thought), but there was a fan system that was blowing, and it made it hard to hear me. I had to speak louder, and I worried that my voice projection would leave me little for voice <em>inflection</em>. I was grateful there was water for me to drink, and by the end of my hour of speaking, my throat ached a bit. The loud (and I hope inflected) voice had caused the sore throat, but everyone heard me just fine.

I read a column from I’m the Mommy (On Our Way to Crazy), and I read a portion of my memoir, Fat Man’s Daughter. Overall, I was pretty happy with the reading. It went well, and I had a lot of people asking questions during and after the reading.

Later, during the writing groups, I was so impressed with the talent of the group. There were some wonderful writers there.

My only awkward moment — at the very end there was an open mic section. The first time someone read, I clapped. Everyone else snapped their fingers. Whoops. The second time someone read, I tried to remember the snap, but I still clapped. It is hard to not clap.

One reading that stood out for me — I believe the author’s name was Lisa, and she did this wonderful piece involving her husband, Bruce Willis and a knight in shining armor. But really, everyone who read was just wonderful. It was a great way to spend the day, and I was amazed at how valuable it was (it was free for everyone to attend).

Plus I learned something as I listened to the other speaker talk about poetry and creativity. I never realized there were different genres within poetry — duh!

Thanks for playing.

On my last trip to the library, I picked up a few books. When my oldest daughter saw my selections,she was a bit surprised. The books were: Fat Girl (a memoir), The Fat Girl (an old YA book from the 80s) and a fiction novel titled Beautiful Bodies.

I have tried to read Beautiful Bodies, and I am not liking it. It is supposed to be about six friends having a dinner party and talking, but the first few chapters are each of the characters time before arriving at the party, and it is boring. Very boring. I don’t think I’m going to read anymore. This is progress. I used to keep reading books that didn’t appeal to me.

I haven’t read the YA book yet (or tried), but I did read the memoir Fat Girl by Judith Moore. This is a  book that I have thought about buying more than once, but I didn’t because it is a tiny book and expensive by comparison.

It is also a depressing book. I didn’t learn anything interesting or different about fat issues. There was a lot of self-loathing, and I forced myself to finish it. One review called the book “breathtaking,” but I didn’t get that at all.

One book that I did like recently, and I liked it because it offered a new perspective as well as lots of good stuff about weight — Life in the Fat Lane by Cherie Bennett. It is a YA book. It really makes you think, I think. Or at least it did me.

And that’s my review. I am going to avoid weight-related reading for a bit. Next on my reading list: Peace Like a River by Leif Enger.

It was on an envelope. A few quick lines. I wrote it while stopped at a traffic light, and I used my steering wheel as a table. I didn’t want to forget. It was an entire passage of thoughts, a new room, that I wanted to explore as I continue to write my memoir. I needed to record it, so I wouldn’t forget. I remember writing on the envelope. I remember recording an important thought.

I can’t find the envelope. I don’t remember what I wrote. I just remember writing….

I have not yet given up hope the envelope is gone. There is a pile of paper I brought in from my car Saturday, and the envelope is probably in the pile.

I just wrote it Friday morning. It can’t be lost yet. Can it?

***

I was reading the memoir, Three Dog Life, and there was a passage about memory that I really liked. I want to record it, so I remember. This passage has nothing to do with the envelope, other than both have to do with memory….

And this passage struck me because it addresses something I’ve wondered about — how my memories in written form impact other people.

“Six months ago a friend was angry with me and I with her. I had written something someone said years ago, but it was she who heard the words, not me, a fact I had completely forgotten. Her experience was precious, and she accused me of stealing her memory. Not only that, but what she remembered with grief I had somehow transmuted to gratitude, so besides stealing her memory, I also got it wrong. We argued, but there was no meeting place. For days the same questions went through my head. Is memory property? If two people remember something differently is one of them wrong? Wasn’t my memory of a memory also real? There were no solid answers, just winding paths I went round and round on. I thought of nothing else; a chasm had opened between me and my friend.

“When I went to see Rich that Thursday, the first thing he said was, “Please forgive the selfishness of an old man who seizes the past for his own.” He paused, but I was already listening closely. This sounded oddly like what I’d been thinking about” (Thomas 129-130).

There’s more, but I have class.

Thomas, Abigail. Three Dog Life. New York: Harcourt, Inc., 2007.

In my nonfiction grad class, this week we are to read John Grogan’s Marley and Me. I was excited when I saw this book on the booklist because it’s one that I’ve wanted to read and it gave me a legitimate excuse to buy the hard cover and not wait for the paperbook version. I even started reading it before classes began.

This week I’ll be finishing it up and taking a few notes. Then, on Oct. 20, I will be driving to CMU to meet with John Grogan in person. He’ll be there for CMU’s Storytelling Festival. He’ll talk publically (it’s free) at 1 p.m. with a book signing afterwards. I, however, will get a semi-exclusive opportunity (by invitation for some students) to meet with him earlier in the day. What do I want to know? I’m not sure yet. Input is welcome.

Grogan’s semi-exclusive audience is mostly journalism students because of his background as a journalist. I’m looking forward to the talk.

There’s something else happening on Oct. 20 too. I have it on good authority that someone in my household is going to be a year older that day. It might be someone turning 11. That someone might have asked for several items for her birthday including a racing go-cart (as in to drive in competitive races), a dirt bike (despite having one), a four-wheeler, and a "family talk cell phone." Her latest request, after it was suggested those might not happen, was a birthday party for about six or so of her closer friends AND a $100 gift certificate to Target. Why Target, I don’t know. Or was it Meijers? I’m not sure anymore. I know it wasn’t Wally World. For those of you still wondering, the birthday girl will be Amanda Ann. I should be back in plenty of time to participate in the birthday activities.