Dee Ready: It's a Cat's Life

          A pet's memoir?   Dee Ready offers her reasoning in today's guest post.

            I woke, suddenly alert, on the morning of July 8, 1989, and felt compelled to go downstairs to the computer. Once there, my fingers began to type. A few seconds later, I read the words given to me: “At the end all that matters is love, my love for my human and hers for me. I have planted the memories of our life together in her heart. She will find them there when I am gone and they will comfort her.”

            Momentarily, I sat puzzled. Why was I saying these words? Then I realized that it was Dulcy, not I, who was speaking. She and I had lived together for seventeen and a half years. Two days before, the vet had euthanized her because of kidney failure. And yet she was speaking through me. These words had to be coming from the deep center of myself where Oneness dwelt. And surely, Dulcy and I were one.

            This was the beginning of the book that came to be called A Cat’s Life: Dulcy’s Story. She channeled the book through me over a yearlong period. By mid-October of 1989, she’d completed the story of how she’d selected me, trained me, and turned me into a one-cat human. The following spring she gave me a number of poems to add to our book. They revealed her outlook on my foibles.

            A Cat’s Life was Dulcy’s final gift to the one she loved unconditionally.

            And my gift to her? Getting her book published.

            For a year I sent out query letters and received back only rejection of Dulcy’s story. Then, in April 1991, an editor at Crown Publishers, a division of Random House, suggested that I delete half of the 44,000 words and concentrate only on the relationship between Dulcy and me.

            Overjoyed by her words of encouragement, I needed only three days to prepare the 22,000-word manuscript. The fourth day I sent it to her. Several weeks passed and then on July 8, the editor called to offer me a contract. Oh, joy in the morning!

            A year later—in late September 1992—Crown published the hardcover of A Cat’s Life: Dulcy’s Story. It was then I responded to Dulcy’s gift by promoting her book in every way I could. I set up thirty-six readings and signings, five local television appearances on noon news and daytime talk shows, interviews with the three major newspapers, and a reading on Minnesota Public Radio. Later, a vice president at Crown credited me with selling most of the nearly 14,000 books that readers bought in the following months.

            I was disappointed when Crown did not choose to publish the trade paperback. So once again I sent out query letters. In December 2000, J.N. Townsend published Dulcy’s story in trade paperback. Once again, I set up signings and readings.

            A few years later, Townsend reverted the rights to me. At the same time, the publisher offered to give me the 670 remaining copies if I would pay the postage. This generous offer made all the difference, for it was then I realized I could sell Dulcy’s trade paperback on my blog.

            Beginning this past December, my blog has featured ten postings on Dulcy’s memoir. The postings relate all the intricacies of getting published and promoting a book twenty years ago. These postings end with the difference between getting published in 1992 and doing so now.

            Of course, one of the real differences now is the possibility of self-publishing and electronic books. Taking advantage of this, I hired one of my nieces to type the manuscript anew for me as all I had were the 1991 floppy disks. She also prepared the text per the directions on Amazon/Kindle.

            Thus far, readers have purchased thirty trade paperbacks through PayPal and twenty-three e-books. Now let’s admit that selling 30 paper books out of 670 doesn’t seem like much. But perhaps Dulcy’s book will continue to sell as new readers come to my blog. That, at least, is my hope.

            Having a little discretionary money is wonderful, but that’s truly not why I’m selling this book. The truth is that Dulcy’s story is a memoir that reveals the deepening growth of a relationship between a human and an animal. Between Dulcy and me.

            It’s her love letter to me. And until the day I die, I will do all I can to introduce readers to a cat named Dulcy who enriched my life for seventeen and a half years, gave me a story to treasure, and has abided with me since her death in 1989. I am blessed.

           Thank you, Dee, for your moving story.   Dee Ready can be found at coming home to myself

Harry Powers’ Saga

        A couple of years before my father died in 1990, he put down the story of his life in what he titled "The Autobiography of a Nobody".  I did not know about this until after his death.  He had loaded it onto a floppy disc, but none of us could figure out how to access the information.  Fortunately he had printed a few copies, one of which I have.

The following is an excerpt from Chapter 2 of my father's  Autobiography of a Nobody:

Image via Wikipedia

Harry Powers 1920

         Harry Powers and his two sisters owned the confectionery store one block from our house. Oh. the many times if we got a penny or two or more, how we would run to the store to buy candy from the store. Adjacent to the store was their living quarters. Harry had a coupe, one of the few that had an automobile in the neighborhood. On several occasions he would let me ride with him, and then deliver a grocery order to one of his customers. 

THEN THE NEWS HIT THE NEWSPAPERS! 

        Every few hours during the day an extra hit the streets. Since my father worked for the newspaper he saw to it that I got a big bundle of fresh extras to sell so I could have spending money. EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT! HARRY POWERS MURDERS THREE WOMEN! 

       This was a devastating event that hit and shook Clarksburg (WV). It had a remarkable influence upon our neighborhood. It was being told that many of the neighborhood girls were on his list to be next. This had a temporary affect upon these girls whose names were on his hit list. 

       It bothered my mother. One night my mother had a terrible nightmare. She climbed out of her second floor bedroom onto the porch roof screaming that Harry Powers had her. The harder my father gripped on my mother’s arm the more she would scream thinking that Harry had her, She was very close to jumping off the roof. Finally my father was able to awaken her. Harry had a tremendous effect on other people in the immediate neighborhood. 

       What had happened was that Harry Powers, a heavy-set man, placed an ad in a lonely hearts section of a newspaper that attracted three different women at three different times, He owned a farm in Quiet Dell, West Virginia. They would come there!  I was too young to know exactly what Harry did to them, but I do know that he murdered them, and threw their bodies down the well. 

       A sort of a neighborhood scandal occurred in this case also. One of the more affluent neighbors decided to put a fence around a portion of the Quiet Dell Farm. He then pursued to charge admission to the curiosity seekers. The law didn’t like this, and quickly put a stop to it. 

      Harry Powers owned the house across the street from us. Authorities of the law dug up the entire back yard on the suspicion that he had buried people there. No bodies were found. 

      My older brother Tommy recalls the time he was rolling a tire from the top of our street. The tire got away from him, rolled down hill two blocks, jumped the ditch and hit a pillar that supported the front porch roof. The pillar was devastated. Harry came up and surveyed the damage. My father settled the matter amicable with Harry and all was satisfied. I don’t believe my brother was punished in any way for this matter. but I suppose he did learn his lesson. 

      Harry Powers was found guilty of first degree murder on all accounts. He was sent to West Virginia. State Penitentiary in Moundsville, W.Va. where he was hastily executed by electric chair. 

     Today murders are everyday occurrences all over the world. In my boyhood days they didn’t occur that often. This was national news with a national following. Even then there were some sensational tabloids that came out stating Harry Powers is still alive. You know the story! Elvis is still alive. However I can assure you, Harry Powers was executed by electric chair.

      Just a note:  According to Wikipedia, Harry Powers was actually executed by hanging in 1932.  I feel very fortunate that my father had the foresight to create his autobiography for his descendants to read.  I can see some of my father's influence in my own writing.  I guess I should thank him for that as well.

        

Winds of Change Without Awareness--A New Year's Eve Once Upon a Time

Image via Wikipedia

          I try to remember but I can't.  It's the exact year that I don't remember, or most of the details of that evening.  I do know it was New Year's Eve.

          I was married to my second wife, Susan, at the time.  We were in Tennessee at my parents' house.  This is where we typically spent New Year's Eve.  It was the more happening place between going to Richmond, Virginia, where her parents lived, and being with my family, who were the more fun party people.

          My father was still alive at the time, our kids were still babies, and my wife and I were still in our thirties.  The house was aglow with lights and music and chatter and laughter as the festivities pressed on toward the turning over of one year to the next.  Everyone was having a grand time.

         At one point Susan and I decided to go out into the dark quiet of the night to take a break from the activity in the house. It was unseasonably warm that end of December night.  Strangely and unseasonably warm--more like a summer night, but with the crisp dryness of autumn.

         In silence, we strolled into the expansive back yard to a point that was about fifty yards from the house and sat down side by side in the desiccated winter grass.  Wordless, we smoked a joint under a cloudless starry sky and basked in the comforting balminess of the evening breeze.  Gazing upon the big house with lights in every window silhouetted against the black night sky, I slipped into a meditation.

        Here from where we sat in the back yard, the lights, the house, the people seemed so far away, and it was only Susan and I with our life together beautiful and filled with so much promise.  A feeling of serenity and security enveloped me as I clutched Susan's hand.  I felt that now was forever and this moment would have no end.

         Then a whoosh of warm wind swept over us and I felt exhilarated.  With a deep breath I leaned forward to breathe in the moment.   It was only Susan and I.  Our world was perfect.  A mental image of a distant future filled my mind--a place peaceful and beautiful where my wife and I would grow older together and watch our grandchildren grow and we would fade into the twilight years happy with the satisfaction of dreams fulfilled.

          That was then, one moment on a New Year's Eve many years ago.  Not too many years after that night it ended.  Things changed and became different.   I'm not even sure what happened or why it happened, but only that it did happen.   Susan left and what we had was over.  Any dreams she had once had about us were simply shrugged off as she moved on, leaving me to shoulder the burdens of memory and the confusion of questioning why things had come to the point they had reached.

        It was one New Year's Eve when things were weirdly warm and sublimely wonderful.  It was only an illusion--my personal illusion I guess.  The winds bring change that we don't even realize, things we don't understand even after they've blown past us.  Life sweeps us forward to where the next adventure awaits.  There is time for memories, but no real time for memories.  The memories are only illusion.

       A new year is a new year and an old year is an old year and all of the years just blend together.   Our minds capture certain memories isolated without reference other than the years that came before and the years that followed, whichever those years might have been.  And even then we sometimes don't know which years or why.

      Capture this moment in time.  Savor it and breathe it in deeply.   This is the last time you will ever be here.

Assembly Required--A Christmas Memory

Image by paparutzi via Flickr          Once I'd become old enough to have some semblance of intelligence, which is to say I could sort of read and follow directions, I became the official Christmas eve assembler for the toys that my younger brothers and sister would be greeted with the following morning.  I was Santa stand-in after my Santa dreams were shaken into reality.

           My dad was a good dad, but he was not good at mechanical and handyman sorts of projects.  He was a bookkeeper by day and a professional juggler in his not particularly secret other life outside of work.  Forget fixing broken things around the house or do-it-yourself car repairs or any of those types of jobs.  

          When I was little I just figured Santa's elves had assembled all of my toys and the big jolly guy just delivered them while I was sleeping.  Actually come to think of it I don't know that I ever got many gifts that needed assembly.  My mother must have had some sort of arrangement about that back then.   But once she figured out that I could figure out stuff, I became the handy kid of the house.

          My mother would go all out at Christmas when it came to buying toys for my younger siblings.  I usually went on the shopping trips and egged her on as I looked for things that I could have fun playing with.  Then Christmas Eve, my closest sister in age and I would help my mother wrap the presents as we listened to Christmas music or had some special holiday program turned on the television.

           Each year, the gifts that required assembly became bigger and more elaborate.  My father would retire early leaving me with the chore of putting together the crazy stuff my mother had bought.   My mother, sister, and I would be up late wrapping, chatting, and laughing.  At times I might let out a scream of frustration when my Christmas projects were not fitting together like the instructions showed, but I was committed to fulfilling my yuletide mission.

          I suppose those Christmas mornings back then were worth the effort, all of us in pajamas watching the wonderment of the younger ones.  My father watched with good-nature and perhaps a smug satisfaction that he hadn't had to put any of the toys together.  And though I put on airs of reluctance on the eve of toy assembly, it always gave me a certain sense of pride in the part that I had played in those Christmases when I was younger.

       

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Memoir Through Journaling: guest Teresa the Journaling Woman

            Today I'm pleased to welcome one my earliest blogging friends.  Since Teresa often blogs about memoir related topics on her blog Journaling Woman and has a blog devoted to memoir topics--The Ruralhood--I knew she would have to be one of my guests here on Wrote By Rote.  The day has come and I'm proud to introduce Teresa and her Journal.  Be sure to leave a comment to be eligible for Teresa's special giveaway.  Details follow this post.


 Dear Diary, um Journal,

I’ve never written a memoir, but I’ve journaled for years and it all began with my girlfriend “Dear, Diary”.  It’s my personal belief that it is beneficial to record our life experiences for ourselves and for future generations. Trust me on this.

“Writers are the custodians of memory, and that’s what you must become if you want to leave some kind of record of your life and of the family you were born into.” --William Zinsser.

My parents are excellent recorders of our family history and their own daily activity through writing, photographs and orally.  I can’t tell you how many times in the past 10 years, I’ve asked my mom and dad to retell stories and family facts to me. Why the repeats? I didn’t pay attention the first time. And, I may have taken those family stories for granted and the storytellers.  

          Along with journaling, I record my life experiences through blogging.  I am the author of two blogs, The Ruralhood and Journaling Woman.

           The lovely "Thoughts" journal that you see pictured here will be given away to one lucky person who leaves a comment for Teresa.  Details at the end of this post.

       

The Ruralhood blog is where I reminisce about my life as a rural person both as a child and an adult. It’s important to me to leave memories for my children and grandchildren.  My intention is to create a blog book of The Ruralhood.

Journaling Woman is the blog where I post about my writing, practice my short story skills, and share my own kind of humor.  I reserve Sunday to post about my Christian faith and belief in God and hopefully inspire others along the way.

“Writing the story of your own life is a bit like drilling your own teeth.” -- Gloria Swanson

If writing about your life seems as unsettling as a Stephen King movie, it doesn’t need to be.  Preserving your history can be done easily through various formats and inspired by easy activities.  Voice Recorders can be used to record family stories and conversations. Video Cameras can also be used to record your family stories, facts and history.  Don’t forget to make copies for your children and grandchildren. You can never go wrong carrying a small notebook in your pocket or purse to jot down memories and events to write in detail—later. Revisit family places where your parents or grandparents lived.  And don’t forget to trade stories with your siblings and cousins. Memories come at all times of the day and night and from every day exposure. Being prepared to note the memories is important.

There are numerous ways to share memories with your family.

My grandparents may have used these instruments to pass on family information:

·         Cassette or spool recording

·         Typewriter

·         Handwritten journals, diaries, tablets

·         Storytelling

·         Handwritten letters

·         Telephone

My grandparents would not have used these instruments to pass on family information, but you can:

·         Blogging  (Family, public or private)

·         Blog Books (Did you know you can make your blog into a book?)

·         Ebook of family recipes, stories, photos

·         Photo CDs

·         Home movie DVDs

·         Emailing

·         Social Networking sites

·         Cell phones

·         Electronic tablets

Your ancestors did it, and you can do it too. Now, get started recording your thoughts and life experiences.  Your family history should not be forgotten.

Can you think of other fun ways to create memories for future generations?

~~Teresa

Suggested Reading:  How to Write a Memoir by William Zinsser

Quotes source: http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/g/gloriaswan315451.html#ixzz1djaCqVcL

             Yes, Teresa is giving away a journal that you can use to create memories of your own.  To be eligible,  leave a comment here with an email so Teresa can contact you if you are the winner.  You can also leave a comment on her blogs Journaling Woman or The Ruralhood--a comment at any three sites will make you eligible.  Whichever way you choose, please check out both of Teresa's sites so you'll see what she does.  The journal winner will be announced on Monday December 26th on Teresa's Journaling Woman site.  


             Thank you, Teresa!


             Next week a fun Christmas memory of my own and a bittersweet New Year's story the week after that.

Writing a Memoir: Not for the Faint of Heart -- by special guest Linda Hoye

          

           Today's special guest is Linda Hoye.   Linda's  A Slice of Life Writing blog visits many topics including writing memoir.  One primary area of focus that Linda writes about is the subject of adoption.  Today she tells us a bit about her personal story and the process involved in bringing that story to the pages of her soon to be published Two Hearts: An Adoption Memoir.

Writing a Memoir: Not for the Faint of Heart

I’ve written off and on for most of my life and about four years ago I decided to get serious about it. My husband and I were empty-nesters and had recently relocated to Washington State from Canada.  Since all of our family and friends were back in Canada I found myself with extra time on my hands. I took a few online writing classes, joined the Story Circle Network and the National Association of Memoir Writers (Both organizations excellent resources for writers.), started a blog, and began writing about my life growing up in Saskatchewan.

I didn’t originally start out to write a memoir. At first I thought I would just write some vignettes about my childhood and document family history for the benefit of my children and grandchildren. It was my husband who encouraged me to write about my adoption experience, and convinced me I had a story that others might be interested in.

I had no way of knowing at the time just what I was getting in to!

I refer to the first few drafts as “Dragnet Drafts” because they contained “just the facts” and no emotion. Even though I had already done some grief work related to having been adopted, I was still very stoic and shut down, but I realized that in order to write about emotion I would have to feel the emotion, and that was not easy for me.

Family photo

I used photographs a lot during the process. I pored over pictures from my childhood, trying to remember how little girl Linda had felt back then. I had tiny photographs of my birth mom that I scanned into my computer so I could enlarge them and see her face more clearly. I had a lot of suppressed anger toward the woman who gave birth to me and seeing her face on a regular basis forced me to come to terms with it. I put pictures of all of my eight siblings up on the wall next to my writing desk, at one point I put a large sheet of paper up on the wall in my office and taped photographs of key people on it so I could see everyone all the time.

Mother and child

I read journals and poems I had written during dark times in my life and I compiled reams of documentation from my search and reunion. It was during the process of pulling those documents together when I realized there was something missing. I won’t go into the details (I hope you’ll read my book when it comes out to find out the whole story!) suffice to say I took a step that ultimately and unexpectedly led to finding peace about my adoption experience. If I hadn’t been writing a memoir it’s possible I would never have gotten to that place.

Aside from that, perhaps the greatest benefit I gained during the writing process was the opportunity to step back and objectively look at people, places, and events and see them in terms of a bigger picture. Much like the individual threads of a tapestry are woven together to make a design much more beautiful than any of the threads are by themselves, threads of situations and people are woven together to make up the unique picture of our lives. Oftentimes we aren’t able to see the beauty without stepping back, and it is in this stepping back and impartially considering the experiences of our lives that we find truth. We are able to let go of our preconceived biases toward people who have done things that hurt us and see them in a different light—a light of understanding, acceptance, and perhaps even forgiveness. We are able to see ourselves in a new way too, and understand reasons for choices we’ve made, and see how our choices changed our life.

Three sisters

       Today, four years after embarking on my memoir writing journey, I’m considering publication options for Two Hearts: An Adoption Memoir and my husband jokes that he has his wife back—without his support and understanding I could not have written this book

.

I hope my story will help other adoptees understand that if we are willing to acknowledge our issues and do the work we can find our way to the other side of the silent grief many of us deal with. Maya Angelou says: “You did then when you knew how to do. When you knew better, you did better.” I pray that Two Hearts will be a resource to help us know better so we do better regarding adoption in the future.

               Find Linda's blog at http://lindahoye.com/.   Thank you, Linda,  for this touching and informative post.

                Next week we will be visited by Journaling Woman who also writes wonderful memoir vignettes on her blog The Ruralhood.  

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Meandering With Memoir: Guest Post by Deanna Hershiser

        My guest today is Deanna Hershiser who can be found at her blogs deanna hershiser on the unexpected avenue and From the Third Story awakened again.  In this post she tells us about her experiences in writing memoir and offers some helpful advice about getting memoir writing published.

        I want to thank Lee for hosting me today at Wrote by Rote. He's got a great blog thing going here; we who are interested in memoir writing need more places to go to be inspired.

       Since before I could read and write, I've been presenting stories. I'm grateful to parents, teachers, and friends who encouraged me. Editors, too, helped guide my process, as I contributed to their projects in collaborative ways. Especially I appreciate my husband, who exhorted me to work toward publication, and who has listened to many rough drafts involving himself as a character. He's quite a guy.

       While I love print publications, writing online gives me good ways to practice and experiment. Five years ago I started blogging, and I keep up fairly well at my main site, which you can sample here. Lately I also blog, here, about my conversion to Eastern Orthodoxy. I've spent valuable time in a nonfiction group at The Internet Writing Workshop, a helpful space for those willing to receive feedback from various other writers.

Meandering with Memoir

       I first wrote about a friend, another young mother, who died when we were both in our thirties. My initial story sold to a national Christian magazine. The friend's death, my reaction to it, and the reaction of the Christian community I was then part of affected my life, my faith, and my writing. Years later I completely rewrote the story, revealing questions that, in my forties, I felt freer to ask. This piece, "An Overture's Turn," received an editor's choice award from Relief: A Christian Literary Expression and was my launch into creative nonfiction (CNF).

       Next I worked on a book-length memoir about my marriage of 32 years. Like most couples, Tim and I've had our ups and downs. Unlike many wife-writers, I feel compelled to relate through essays our failures. The reasons for this, perhaps a psychologist could fully untangle; I only know they involve God's gift of compassion toward me, and how our marriage journey has made me grateful for this mercy.



      With Tim's blessing, then, I wrote. As it turned out, the first third of my marriage-book manuscript became another essay for Relief, titled "Memorial Day." Later I resold the essay to Mike O'Mary at Dream of Things. Mike's people regularly put out calls for CNF submissions. I was fortunate to be part of the Dream of Things' anthology, Saying Goodbye. My marriage's turn-around story fit their theme of "Saying goodbye to the people, places, and things in our lives." The book has received good reviews and is available here and here.

     

   After my parents retired, I began interviewing my dad. He and Mom returned to his hometown, Eugene, Oregon, where Tim and I live. With gusto, Dad took up his favorite pastime, fishing. He invited me along. This brought back childhood memories -- early mornings out at first light to join Dad in his element. The fish never mattered; I just loved being with Dad. He used to speak sometimes about his fishing friend, Richard Brautigan. The two of them parted ways in the mid-50s, before my birth. Brautigan went to San Francisco and became famous for his weird, whimsical novel, Trout Fishing in America.

      My most recent essay, "From A Damselfly's Notebook," is based on Dad's stories about fishing with Brautigan. It landed in the print journal Rosebud (Issue 51), one of a few publications I used to buy from Barnes & Noble and study. Dad has kindly welcomed other published memoir pieces involving himself, such as a brief essay you can read online at Camroc Press Review and another at The Shine.

       Web journals like these offer submission guidelines. I recommend studying what they publish, giving their guidelines an attentive read, and sending them your own shorter memoir offerings. While they pay only in recognition, such a thing can be quite a boost. You can even link on Facebook to your published essay and wow your friends.

Why Memoir?

       People craft narratives from their lives in different ways. The diversity is great. I loved Frank McCourt's three memoirs, even though I wouldn't write the same way regarding most anything -- religion, sex, etc. He found a poetic voice for what meant most to him. Like music, his prose remained in my mind and drew me back to his pages. Other favorite memoirists of mine include Philip Lopate, Abigail Thomas, Gary Presley, Tim Elhajj, and a fellow Oregonian, Lisa Ohlen Harris. Very different authors, but each captivated by real grit and beauty from their life stories.

      Connections between myself and the lives of others -- my people, my characters -- fascinate me. Fiction would be one way to explore such connections. Some people naturally make it all up to find the truth. Other folks, though, those of us engaged in our dances with memoir, are compelled to begin with stark reality and weave from it meaningful tales.

      The places and the ways I have been with people reveal much to me. Remembering is a sensory experience. It can involve adventures, such as sharing a leaky rowboat with my dad. It involves another sort of effort some days, returning in my thoughts to books that shaped my childhood, to music I clung to during dark seasons. However recollections happen, working with them is one of my most valued efforts. Finding the next ways to do so (assuming my hubby remains patient) will occupy me for years to come.

        I want to thank Deanna for providing us this wonderful look into her writing life and her tips on life writing.  Please be sure to visit Deanna at her memoir blog and see what else she has to say about the topic.

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