Anna Blake's Blog, page 54

The Irony of Memoir.

Do you read much memoir?

I’ve been reading almost nothing but memoir these last two years. It started with wanting to know what similar books were out there. It seems there is tiny sub-genre of moving to the country memoir. Most of them were women who wore pumps in the barn and whined that there was no Starbucks close. They were a modern day Green Acres sort of plot. Just not amusing to my ears. I grew up on a failing farm; maybe I’m a bad sport.

As I went on to other memoir, I was blown away. What a wide and varied genre. The truth is that I love to read about human experience. Real life has a way to twisting back on itself in intricate and unexpected ways that is more unbelievable than fiction. If that’s possible.

But I admit, it’s kind of arrogant to think your life is so extraordinary that people would want to read about it. They warn you right off the bat that if you are writing a family history, give it to your family and don’t bother publishers. There are other reasons to skip memoir: I’m not famous, I don’t travel much, and I hate to cook. Those are the big memoir categories but they don’t fit me any better than Green Acres.

In my case, I had a story that I needed to tell. I hate the way that sounds but it was just that plain. There was a story telling itself in my head and it wouldn’t shut up.

When I was young I thought I was the only person to ever feel my particular feelings; that mine were somehow wildly different, that I deserved some special dispensation because of my experiences. I marched around thinking no one could understand how challenging my life was. I was silly, in other words. Heartfelt but silly.

By the time I hit thirty, I had an awakening. And it was simple; we are all the same person. Not identical; I still hate cooking. But the same in that the human condition rings true underneath the surface. So reading about driving a sled dog team (Winterdance) ends up having the same thing in common with starting life over, with a karaoke sound track (Turn Around Bright Eyes) or a poet trying to make sense of tragedy through the length of time a dog lives (Dog Years).

This is where I have to thank my blog readers. Some writers hate the idea of blogging; that it somehow flattens their creativity or maybe they think giving their words away for free was a bad thing. For me it’s always been inspiring. The weekly comments on my blog really fueled my confidence and I don’t know that I could have written my book without those affirmations. I’m grateful for every comment. No kidding.

My favorite comments are the ones when the reader says that I stated what she was thinking or feeling, or that I have described a situation in some way that made sense to her emotionally.

Those comments aren’t my favorite because I’m arrogant, but rather because I’m common. The irony of memoir is not that some authors are just so elite and above us because they hiked the Pacific Trail (Wild) but that they are like us because we will all know the loss of a parent. What I love about reading memoir is knowing that we all share a common spark. We just use that spark to light things differently.

*Warning: Memoir means real life happens.* This memoir of mine is not a pastel Disney version of my blog. It’s edgy and deals with some uncomfortable situations. But on the high side, there are horses in it.

This week in self-publishing: I held The Cover Challenge. Just kill me. My book designer sent six cover ideas, from photos I sent, my synopsis, and some samples I liked. They were all lovely covers and I decided to get opinions from a few of my close circle. And it’s like I said, we all light things differently. The range of opinion was wide and the best part of the experience was that I got to disappoint people before the book is even out! It was good to cross that inevitable line early. What did I expect? Of course we would all see them through the eyes of our own thoughts.

In the end, I picked the cover that had the parts most important to me. We are finishing up the wording on the back of the book and I’ll show it to you as soon as it’s done.

In last week’s post (here), I whined pathetically about the introvert drama of having a photo taken and much to my joy, the comments told me one more time, how wildly, happily common I am. You told me that strange old women were holding your horse’s lead rope in photos… and one more time, you all made this process lighter and easier for me. (And thanks to photographer Sheri Kerley for her patience and good work.)

Did I get it right? Is this how we label ourselves?

Stark Naked Introvert

Fully Clothed Introvert.

Weekly Photo Challenge: (Un)Broken

Anna Blake:

From my other blog, but more appropriate here…

Originally posted on Horses |AnnaBlakeBlog | Equestrian:

I usually glide through these photo challenges, feeling amused and clever. I struggled with this one. Broken is a word that’s uncomfortable for me. In fact, I hate it.

In the horse world, broke(n) is a term used sometimes to refer to a horse that has been trained. It’s an old school word that has a connotation of harsh methods, usually involving physical domination. Most of us use more politically correct terms now, but the methods remain.

No small number of women were broken in their young lives, many times by the same harsh aggression used on colts. It’s something our society condones when someone is wild or free or beautiful. We are unnerved by that joy in others. Some of us think the constriction of hard work, intimidation, even violence, is the antidote for being filled with light.

This is Vinnie: Started young, passed around, used, injured, and rescued…

View original 85 more words

Uncomfortable Things.

May I start by saying I think we can all agree that introverts can be party poopers sometimes. I mean, I would know.

I’m talking the true definition of introvert/extrovert. It isn’t about who dances on the bar singing old Patsy Cline songs or who is out of their underwear and into their jammies at 5:15 P.M. It actually refers to how we restore our energy. Some of us require alone time to collect ourselves and some of us are energized by the company of others. (And most of us are a little of each.)

I love a party as much as anyone, you know, as long as there are dogs there, but I am an introvert. There are some high sides. I notice a lot of people who are good with horses are introverts–with a mind quiet enough to hear animals. Most writers are introverts–how else could they sit still so long? I’m the kind of writer that chuckles and gets teary and is totally spellbound sitting in front of my keyboard, typing away at all hours. With a couple of corgis. And a briard. And a few cats. Because I am fascinated with my own words.

Okay, seeing it written out like that–it does start to look a bit wanky. I suppose it’s time to mention the down side. I suspect Crazy Old Cat Women are introverts, too. I probably fit that profile as well, but I like to think I’m more liberal because I am so opened minded and inclusive where species are concerned. Horses, llamas, donkeys, goats…see what I mean? Right?

And it isn’t that I don’t enjoy being out in public–I do. And I actually enjoy meeting people and socializing, as long as a dog’s waiting for me in the truck and I can make an excuse to leave early to go and throw hay to the horses.

It’s just that I like my social life in moderation.

So, for me writing the book was the easy part, and this talking-and-promoting part is much harder. I am confident about the book itself, but other requirements unglue me. Which brings me to this week’s drama. I need a photo of me–a good one. I need a “head shot”. **pauses to hyperventilate**

And none of my out-of-frame selfies with Edgar Rice Burro quite fit the bill. Bad news for me. I have friends who just love the camera but I have no idea how they do it. And when I’m nervous, my chin quadruples, so I’ve got that going for me. Sure, I’m able to handle thousand pound horses using my breath, but a camera lens makes me quiver like a Chihuahua. There. I said it.

Who to ask? I ruled strangers out immediately. After all, I know my limits and I had some prerequisites. I hoped Sheri would help me. We met briefly a few years ago, but recently connected again at the courthouse where we are both following a horse abuse case. Then we became Facebook friends where I got to see her photography. She considers herself an “amateur hobbyist wildlife photographer” and her work is beautiful. She also photographs kittens for the Humane Society. That would be a real plus–I fidget about that much. Mostly I thought an animal photographer would be more tolerant in my particular case.

Thank you, Sheri! She agreed and we bonded over shared introvert experiences, as she set up and checked readings. My first prerequisite was that the shoot happen in my barn; it’s where I’m most comfortable. We stood in front of a stall so it would be dark behind me and she clicked away as I tried to look literary, as well as control the nervous twitch on the right side of my lip. The proofs looked good, so we spent the next two hours shooting horses and llamas and eventually my lip relaxed a bit more. Edgar Rice Burro volunteered to be Sheri’s tripod. It takes a village sometimes. The photos look great.

The Dude Rancher says I’m smiling like Kevin Costner, and since people seem to like him, it’s all good. I’m nowhere near as charming a kitten, but Sheri, you are a genius with all of us: birds, antelope, and even aging soon-to-be-published authors. My relief is as big as my gratitude. Thank you. And thank you again.

So check one more uncomfortable thing off the to-do list. One week closer to published and the finish is in sight. No, I didn’t include examples of the aforementioned wonderful photography. I’m working my introverted self up to that. I notice the balance between confidence and insecurity that seems to teeter and swing pretty wildly for me lately.

What intimidates you? Where is your safe place? Do you ever hear a small, still voice say, “What could you possibly be thinking?”