The Persistence of Memoir
Procrastination (n.) the act of delaying something that must be done, often because it is unpleasant or boring. – Cambridge Dictionary
When you finally get down to it, you wonder why it took you so damn long. I began writing my memoir about twenty years ago. It went through countless revisions over those years. It was put aside to “rest” for months at a time. I tried to forget about it, let it go, give up. But it wouldn’t leave me in peace.
Wish I Were Here was actually going to be a novel, at first. It is a true story, so I ultimately decided not to hide behind fiction. The manuscript has been finished for six years. About four years ago, I made the decision to self-publish rather than continue the tiresome search for an agent. The idea of formatting the manuscript myself was daunting. Seemingly little things like page numbers were ridiculously complicated. Once I sought out the proper software, it was relatively painless. No software is completely without bugs, but I’m grateful to have found Atticus. The print-on-demand/bookstore website that I use, Lulu.com, has a very straightforward cover creator. It did take several proof copies to get both the interior and cover just right, but at least I know how to use it going forward. I want to thank 99CentsCrafts on Etsy for allowing me to use one of her fantastic images for the paperback version’s cover. I don’t believe I could have encountered a more perfect image.
The paperback version of Wish I Were Here is now available at Lulu, Amazon and other online retailers. The ebook version, which was released a couple of months ago, is also available at Lulu, Amazon and other online retailers.
So, Wish I Were Here is finally set free into the wild blue yonder. And I am set free from the burden of an unrealized dream. May we both journey far beyond known horizons.
In other areas of my life, I am the opposite of a procrastinator. Bills are immediately paid; work tasks completed way ahead of deadlines. I’m fifty-five and only one destination on my life list remains; I intend to do this voyage this year. There’s nothing that stresses me out more than feeling like I’m running out of time. Why did I dawdle for so long on releasing this memoir? I was intimidated by the idea of the empty space that follows completion. The mystery of new possibilities. The joy of accomplishment.
As I was tying up the final loose ends for publication, I crossed paths with other memoirs: Jim Harrison’s Off to the Side, Robin Down’s Golf in the Wild series, and William Shatner’s Boldly Go. Memoir is a special genre. It does not follow a well-worn template. It is a peek into a human being’s perception of his or her past. The baggage we have dragged along with us. The perils and triumphs along the path. Memoir meanders memory’s erratic trajectory. It is perfect in its imperfection.
The idea for Wish I Were Here’s flashback/parallel timeline format came from Margaret Atwood’s novel Cat’s Eye. That novel is also about the enduring effects of childhood ostracism. How the past is an everpresent companion on one’s present journey. I’ve often wondered if I would have blazed such a trail around this planet if I had been accepted by my peers. The desire was there as a very young child. Yes, I would have embarked on this incredible journey, even if they hadn’t chased me away. But maybe I wouldn’t have been so frantic to escape. Maybe the alienation wouldn’t have been so damaging. Now that I’m back in Michigan, so close to where I started, all I can say to those cruel ghosts of my childhood is: who’s laughing now? I am. Lightheartedly and without rancor.
The relief and gratitude I feel. My steps are so much lighter. I can now go further, deeper and with more intent. More voyages are to come; more discoveries to share. New creations are coming soon to my Substack sanctuary. An unfinished historical novel will be dusted off and revisited. Possibly finished and published? Then there’s my out-of-print 2006 novel Blue. Maybe the re-edited version will be reprinted. The mystery and liberation of maybe. I now wish to simply flow. I am weary of ambition. Of goal-oriented existence. What will be will be. I thank you, dear readers, for wandering with me.