Writing a Memoir Is Hard!

I've discovered that writing a personal memoir is exceedingly difficult. Does one catalogue the sequence of events, or pick out the most important? How can one create dialogue and drama in historical circumstances from 50-plus years ago? Is it possible to re-imagine the emotional settings and memories? Will anyone want to read this?

The advice that Jerry Jenkins gave me when I asked him about writing a memoir was: 

"Good memoirs are not hard to sell, Connie. Look for the transferable, universal principles; leave out the boring parts; grab the reader by the throat from the first line and never let go; write what would keep you reading and hope there are thousands like you out there."

So here's the continuation of the previous section of the memoir. I hope it "keeps you reading!"

...In their [my parents] own words, “In a daze we made little Connie ready.  She was quite lively and smiled as sweet as ever—like a little doll in her white dress with a touch of blue. She almost looked ready for heaven to us and it truly seemed as though we were taking her to her funeral as we went to that hospital.  Sensing something was wrong, Connie kept hugging her sister Cathy, as though this comforted her somehow.”

As the word spread through the mission headquarters, many people rallied to pray, both of the missionary group as well as nationals.  Mom and Dad, on their way to the hospital by taxi with me, were in a state of shock, disbelief and numbness. 

“The hours felt like years were compressed into them and time seemed to stand still,” Jack wrote later.  They were still dazed as the doctors examined me again.  Jack and Marian could read the verdict in their faces and the terrible reality began to sink in.  Their own little baby had polio! This fearful, deforming, often fatal disease had been the scourge of the decade.  Every parent of the 1940s knew the symptoms well, as millions, mostly children, had fallen victim to this world-wide epidemic."

...To be continued. I hope.

Zero Degrees?? You've Got to Be Kidding!

This weekend is ridiculously cold here in Western NY (zero degrees, mean temp, tomorrow -- and I mean MEAN.) So, I will stay inside, cuddled in my electric fleece throw ($20 at Walmart--should have bought one years ago) and work on my authorship endeavors.

One of the points Jerry Jenkins has strongly made is the need for Ferocious Self-Editing. This basically involves shredding your manuscript, using it to start your fireplace and going into another line of work, like a Caller at Bingo or something. Not really. He took some poor, benighted soul's first page of a novel and reworked it down from 150 words to some 50. It definitely was enlightening and helpful. One has to be thick-skinned and tenacious to be a writer. Learn proper grammar and punctuation, for heaven's sake (do people on F.B. ever self-edit their postings?)

So here's another snippet from my rough-draft of memoir:

It was all in the category of normal missionary adjustments, with its ups and downs, frustrations, and adventure. Then May 18, 1947 dawned—the muggy, tropical heat already rising in waves—and with it, an encroaching event by which life was measured before and after. Dad and Mom were up, preparing for the day, which mostly involved language study at this point. Neither of them had any premonitions of what was about to take place…

Plucking me, a toddler of 19 months, out of the crib, Mom lovingly began dressing me, but noticed I looked pale and feverish. As she put on my shoes, I winced, as if the action hurt me somehow. Then she set me on the floor and I fell, cutting my tongue badly. Mom noticed right away that my feet and legs didn’t seem to support me. Dad had seen me fall also and they looked at each other with fear mounting in their hearts. What could possibly be wrong with their baby? Dad tried to appear confident but quietly checked the reference for polio in their medical encyclopedia. The clammy hand of dread clutched even tighter as he confirmed the symptoms.

A doctor came and after checking my reflexes, chest, and back, he told them that all indications pointed to polio. He said they must immediately take me to the Catholic hospital in Makassar, where there was a Chinese pediatric specialist.

....to be continued. Maybe.

I'm Supposed to Blog Again!?

Well, after a very long hiatus, I'm back, trying out this blogging thing again. The main reason being that I've joined Jerry Jenkins Writers Guild (which is GREAT, by the way!) and he encourages all of us "wannabe authors" to get our feet wet by blogging, getting published in magazines, periodicals, etc. One of the principal motives as to why I quit long ago was because it seems to be very difficult to build up "followers." But, I'm not going to whine about that -- yet. I'll give it another whirl and see what happens first.

As a way of explanation: I am working on my own memoir--(do I hear quickly departing footsteps as you immediately think of something quite urgent that is calling you away?)

The title will be something like, "The Crystal Bell of God's Protection" and tells mainly the story of how I had polio as a small child and the long road God has brought me along to where I am today.

Here is a short excerpt:

 “In a daze we made little Connie ready.  She was quite lively and smiled as sweet as ever—like a little doll in her white dress with a touch of blue. She almost looked ready for heaven to us and it truly seemed as though we were taking her to her funeral as we went to that hospital…”

Very early in my life God provided a Crystal Bell for me, in His sovereign omniscience, knowing what would be needed to protect and keep me for my planned destiny. I was only a toddler but my heavenly Father could see clearly through the mists of time which shrouded the future. I would not be able to understand this until later."   

So, there you have it -- the first two paragraphs of Chapter One. Stay tuned for more...I hope.