Drowning in Memory's Waters
Finishing Memoir
'I’ve said it’s hard. Here’s how hard: everybody I know who wades deep enough into memory’s waters drowns a little.' Mary Karr - The Art of Memoir
The memoir is written. Small typos are being entered at the final editing stage (some will be missed, but hey...) Any more fiddling at the edges and I'm in danger of spoiling. I'm reminded of the artists on, Landscape Artist of the Year, a favourite programme of mine, who talk about putting their brushes down before they spoil the work or do something they might regret. They are of course time bound with only four hours to complete a painting. I am not. But still there has to be an end.
I've read through the text so many times now that I'm bored with my words, they have nothing new to tell me, they’re stale, flat, they are all the adjectives that I can conjure to criticise, to decide it's not good enough and not worthy of publication. This is not unfamiliar territory for me, or for any writer for that matter. It's a hurdle we meet whenever we finish a poem, a story, a novel or in this case a memoir, and it's a hurdle I've learned, blinkers on, to jump over. But it's a tougher hurdle to approach this time, because the work is so personal.
I'm dealing with this by reminding myself that reading is a choice. No one has to read Handmade. No one has to struggle through. They can put it down. They can choose never to pick it up.
I also remind myself of your support. The support I find here on Substack in your comments and emails and in your subscriptions truly helps me go forwards with greater confidence and more self-belief. So, thank you. Added to this there is the possibility that others who’ve grown up with a narcissistic parent may find help or reassurance within the book (there will eventually be a hard copy book) and that might be a good thing.
In my next post I should have a cover for the Substack digital version to show you, and a timetable with details for publication here.
I've anticipated being done with this memoir for some time now. So I should be feeling a sense of relief. Relief however is not what I’m experiencing. I guess I’m still drowning in ‘memory's waters,’ trying to keep my head up above the waves of emotion. Finishing has left me with a sense of sadness that I hadn't anticipated. In writing the past I’ve confronted difficult and painful memories. I’ve looked at them through a different lens. A lens more resembling a magnifying glass
'You think you know the story so well. It’s a mansion inside your head, each room just waiting to be described, but pretty much every memoirist I’ve ever talked to finds the walls of such rooms changing shape around her.' Mary Karr - The Art of Memoir
I have been an observer both distant and close up, watching as the 'rooms,' change shape, questioning memory, belief, events, the 'truth,' and ultimately reflecting on the impact my relationship with my mother has had on the person I’ve become and the life I’ve lived. All of this, combined with other bits of sad news from people close to me, have ensured it's not been the easiest of weeks. So forgive me if I have a memoir sized hangover and am not more upbeat.
It's a lot. It fills my thoughts, and I cannot escape the resulting sense of loss. Sharing it all feels exposing and brings up anxieties and vulnerabilities. Why did I even begin? After my partner John read the memoir at the weekend, I asked him if perhaps I shouldn't publish it after all. He said nonsense, of course I should. So publish I will but it’s not easy and I’m here to warn you, if you decide to embark on a memoir and you have a difficult story to tell, know that it will demand a lot of you emotionally - before, during and after. If you do decide to go ahead then read Mary Karr’s, The Art of the Memoir. It’s an invaluable guide and companion to have along the way.
I think what I probably need now is a good dose of young grandchildren to look after, guaranteed to wear me out, though I've certainly had my share of that recently too. Maybe some quality time with friends. Quite possibly I need a new project - which is always the case with me.
The sunny weekend helped. I took myself up over the fields beyond our house to view the landscape from a different perspective and to listen to some music. I'm not so big on walking these days but it's amazing what a good dose of air and space, and headphones and sunshine can do. It was also an antidote to the news which I hardly dare mention as it's so awful - if like me you're struggling with it all, here is a poem for you, a timely poem for all of us...
THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS
by Wendell Berry
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
~
As for quality time with friends. I highly recommend it. Yesterday I met my dear friend M, in Durham cathedral, one of my favourite places in the world.
Before we met, I lit candles and sat for a while in silence.
When we met up we joined hoards of primary school children making their way through the aisles and then out into the cloisters We lingered in the warmth of the Chapter House before going out into the Close and on to Cafedral cafe in Owen gate where we drank coffee, talked and as always laughed. It was the perfect antidote to the blues.
As always thanks for reading - and please keep your paid subscriptions coming - every penny I receive goes to MSF - and it is much appreciated - this below, from our last donation
Avril x
I love that poem too.