Theo Pauline Nestor's Blog, page 11

Emerging Writer Series: The Price of Admission

Hi Readers,

Around 10 years ago, I heard the term “emerging writer” for the first time. A writer with a collection of published essays that could be counted off on one hand, I suddenly had a name that promised I would be more. I was  “emerging,” which made me imagine that I’d been swimming out in rough surf and was now headed for the beach where I’d be visible to the human eye as a writer, where all my efforts would finally make sense.

On the eve of the publication of a book for writers, I find myself thinking about this idea of the emerging writer again and about the amazing energy of this time when one is coming into oneself as a writer. While a writer will continue to grow and “emerge” over the course of their career, this early period of “reading and writing and reading and writing”* is one that stands apart. To me, it’s not so much the early publications that define this time, but the experience of growing into confidence in one’s voice and vision as a writer.

Over the next few weeks, I will be posting pieces on the theme of the emerging writer. Today’s post, “The Price of Admission,” was originally published on Bloom. Most of the post in the series, like this one, will be written to me, but I’ll likely include a few guest posts as well. If you’d like to submit a guest post for this series, send me a query at theonestor@yahoo.com before November 15th.

Cheers,

Theo

*Tanya Taylor Rubinstein, who will be one of the faculty at Black Mesa Writers’ Intensive and Bird by Bird & Beyond, used this phrase “reading and writing and reading and writing” to describe her process during her emerging period in an interview I did with her for New Mexico magazine.  It’s simple, but for me it immediately evoked the excitement of the emerging experience.

The Price of Admission

It started in my freshman composition class. “It” being love, a crush, a longing for something more, although what that more was I couldn’t say.  I only knew that after devouring the assigned essays and short stories, I was hungry for more and that I, a notoriously lazy high school student, now stayed up late feverishly revising my essays. I wanted to.  The way we want to do things—even difficult things—when we’re in love. Two years later, at age 20, I dared to speak these words in a hushed whisper: I want to be a writer.

I think we know stuff before we know it. Speaking those words made me afraid because some part of me knew that becoming this person called “writer” would require more from me than I was ready to give.  I deep down knew that in order to claim the title of “writer,” I’d have to relinquish that which I believed I needed to survive. And, that type of handover just doesn’t happen without a good long fight.

Every occupation requires a fairly obvious set of specific skills—attorneys must be able to read stuff and argue effectively, teachers have to explain stuff clearly, and every occupation presents a less obvious emotional requirement.  While we may be drawn to a profession because we’re decent at arguing or explaining, we might quiver at the thought of confrontation or short circuit anytime someone tests our patience. And yet, so often we’re magnetized by the challenge of doing what we are sure we cannot.

While the skills of writing—organizing ideas, finding the right word—might have been fun and sometimes even easy for me, the emotional requirement of the job included a willingness to write the truth no matter what the cost—specifically to surrender the need to be loved by everyone all the time.  The writers I loved at 18, 28, 38 and 48 are feisty.  They’ve added the word Ms. to our vocabulary (Gloria Steinem), written with stunning vulnerability about heartbreak (Nora Ephron), and called out brutal injustice without flinching (James Baldwin). They are willing, as Terry Tempest Williams once said, to live in a border tribe of their own, if that’s the price speaking out exacts.

At 18, I was not willing to pay that price. At 18, I could wrap myself in a flaming flag of denial and not even cop to the idea that it might be warm in the room.

At 28, I was not willing still, but I was closer. I was in therapy, taking forever to figure out that I had hitched my survival to the idea that I had to be good; and that if I weren’t good, which meant not speaking out, I’d be banished. The thought was not without basis—these fears rarely are—but the point was that it no longer served me. In fact, my “goodness” stood directly between me and what I wanted: to be a person bold enough to speak her mind, and to speak it on the page for the world to see.

At 38, I was nearly willing. At 37, I’d sat in a café across the street from my daughters’ preschool, exhausted from parenting, a mismatched marriage, and the labor of trying to be nice and good when I felt angry and bad; and I wrote some honest sentences about the family I grew up in, about my parents’ alcoholism (obliquely), about my own teeth-grinding resentment (not obliquely).  From underneath those sentences, an essay bloomed, an essay in which I began to tell the truth about my life and my family and my anger.  That essay got away from me and into a magazine where other people read it and responded to it.  And, once I’d done that once, I was almost prepared to do it again—as long as I could stay within swimming distance of approval.

At 42, my marriage ended in the time it took to roast a chicken.  In the months that followed, I stopped volunteering at the school. I stopped keeping track of papers and appointments. I gave up on social reciprocity. I smoked pilfered cigarettes and drank brandy on the back porch after the kids went to bed.  I fell in love and lust even though everyone thought I should wait. In short, I was bad.

At 43, I wrote an essay about that chicken, about my husband’s mistakes and my own subsequent free fall from “middle-class grace,” and one Sunday, that essay was published in the New York Times.  That day was a changing day; it was a line in the sand. Once I crossed it, I could no longer cling to the safety of others thinking I was nice.  I wasn’t nice.

But I was willing.

It’s been said that the character of Juliet is an impossible role; by the time an actor is old enough to possess the wisdom to play Juliet, she no longer can pass for the age of thirteen that Shakespeare assigned to Juliet.

I was too young to play the role of the bold young writer at 18 or 28.

At 51, I’m nearly ready.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————-

I’m hosting two events ideal for the emerging writer this winter: Black Mesa Writers’ Intensive and Bird by Bird & Beyond with Anne Lamott. Check them out!

Bird by Bird Main Page

Black Mesa Main Page

Readers, I Need Your Help…And More.

UPDATE, October 18, 2013 9am: It’s working!  Your preorders have pushed WRITING IS MY DRINK’s Barnes and Noble rating to #462 (of all books!) and Amazon to #2050.  Thank you so much, readers, for preordering and sharing this post.  Any further efforts between now and the pub date (Nov 5th) to keep these numbers and my publisher’s interest up are greatly appreciated.  Theo

Dear Readers,

I just got off the phone with my agent, and she confirmed what I already knew and haven’t wanted to think about:  Preorders make a huge impact on how publishers promote a book.  (And frankly, I need to make an impact on my publisher).

So, here I am hitting you up.  If you think you’re going to buy DRINK, it would be a big help if you would buy it today.

Preorder here: Amazon

Or here: Barnes and Noble

Thanks, guys, as always for reading my blog! And please find below some FAQ’s on Drink answered.

Love,

Theo

Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About WRITING IS MY DRINK:
 What’s Writing Is My Drink about?

Writing Is My Drink is a chronologically told story of my journey from self-doubt to confidence in my own voice as a writer—and by extension, as a person.  Starting with the narrator as a failing journalist on a student newspaper, Drink follows the narrator through numerous adventures from what I consider “my creative history,” the events that contributed to my need to write and my long road to finally getting to what I’ve thought of as my “real writing.” Throughout this story, advice on how to trust oneself as a writer is woven in, and at the end of each chapter, you’ll find writing activities designed to help you find your own writing voice and material.

What’s the significance of the title Writing Is My Drink?

I got the idea for the title from something I’d heard in Al-Anon meetings.  In Al-Anon, a 12-step program for friends and family of alcoholics, sometimes people will say something like “Worry is my drink.”  In other words, “worry” is the thing they obsessively and compulsively return to—the equivalent of the alcoholic’s drink. This phrase inspired me to think about the surprisingly positive impact of my family’s history of addiction on my writing career.  I realized that my family’s thirst shows up in me in my rather obsessive general interest in all things literary and a very particular intrigue with literature that serves as a means of self-expression. And then it dawned on me: Writing is my drink.

How did you get the idea to write this book?

I teach a nine-month memoir writing course, and in teaching the craft of writing memoir, the importance of  learning to hear and rely upon one’s own voice became starkly vivid to me.  The most powerful memoirs, in my opinion, are the ones in which the writer’s personality is palpable on the page—in everything from word choice, to syntax, to the types of stories being told and their themes. 

I also realized in teaching this course that the apprenticeship period to becoming a writer who can actualize one’s vision is often a long one and writers need encouragement along the way.  As an aspiring writer, I was very inspired and calmed by three encouraging books—Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird, Julia Cameron’s The Right to Write and Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones—and those books inspired me to write Writing Is My Drink in the tradition of solace they established. 

What’s the central message of Writing Is My Drink?

I want readers to know that their power as people and more specifically as writers lies in claiming what is very particularly their own, no matter if “their own” is uncool or not valued or even perceived by others. Your juice as a writer lies in your obsessions, your passions, your history, your gender, your hometown, your race, your identity, your favorite music, art, movies, and books. Do not try to adapt to what “real writers” are like; head fiercely towards your own quirky self.

What advice does Writing Is My Drink offer aspiring memoirists?

1) Push yourself to be vulnerable on the page, 2) Don’t shy away from underscoring the drama of your story,  3) Share your wisdom in your personal narrative, 4) Highlight the universal aspects of your individual story and 3) Limit the scope of your story; don’t confuse memoir with autobiography.

Join Me at Black Mesa Writers’ Intensive!

Julia Cameron

Hi Readers,

When I was writing the book Writing Is My Drink, I kept three books stacked together on my desk: Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, The Right to Write by Julia Cameron and Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg, all of which I’d identified  as my book’s “ancestors.” If I’d never read these three books and been inspired by their open, expansive perspective on writing, I never would’ve thought of the idea for Writing Is My Drink, my story of finding my voice as a writer with advice and tips on how others can too.

So, it is a great thrill for me to share with you that I will be hosting the Black Mesa Writers’

Natalie Goldberg

Intensive at which both Cameron and Goldberg will be speaking and teaching.  I hope you can join me in Santa Fe on December 6th for this intensive exploration into the craft of personal narrative.  Please find all the details below. And, check out the bonus for early birds: The first ten signups receive a free 15-minute coaching session from one of the daytime faculty. 

I’ve been at the beach much of this gorgeous summer we just had in Seattle, but I’ll be back posting routinely here this fall now that the rain is back.

As always, I am grateful to you, the readers of my blog!

Theo

Theo Nestor Productions Presents the Black Mesa Writers’ Intensive, December 6, 2013. Santa Fe, New Mexico.
with
Julia Cameron and Natalie Goldberg
and
Candace Walsh, Tanya Taylor Rubinstein, and Theo Pauline Nestor

Come join us for a day of writing, inspiration and community focused on the possibilities and craft of personal narrative.  During this one-day intensive, we will explore together where our desire to tell our own stories can take us.  First person storytelling is our common impulse but our genre choices for sharing those stories are more abundant than ever.  Will your story be a blog post? A full-length memoir?  A solo performance? A personal essay? An autobiographical novel? Or maybe self-help?  The Black Mesa Writers’ Intensive will be a day of generative discovery into the art of personal narrative and a celebration of our shared need to express our experience. See the full schedule of the day’s events here.

Where: The Bishop’s Lodge, Ranch Resort and Spa, Santa Fe, New Mexico

When: Friday, December 6, 2013

Who: Anyone with an interest in personal narrative and finding their own voice. No previous writing experience required.

What: A day of instruction, discussion, and writing opportunities.

Advance ticket price (ENDS December 5th. Door Tickets: 325 dollars): 275 dollars (includes lunch). Pay full payment now through Pay Pal or credit card:

Or pay 137.50 now and 137.50 on November 1st:

Add on a one-hour coaching session with Theo Pauline Nestor  or Tanya Taylor Rubinstein in the afternoon on Thursday, December 5th for 99 dollars (You’ll have your pick of coach; very limited spots available):

Prefer to pay by check or money order?  Email me at theonestor@yahoo.com

After your payment has been received, you’ll receive a confirmation email from Black Mesa.

Bring: Your desire to write, paper, pens, or your laptop.

Limited space available.

Bishop’s Lodge

Stay and Play: Bishop’s Lodge is extending a rate of 99 dollars a night to Black Mesa participants from December 4th-8th. Call Bishop’s Lodge In-House Reservations and mention that you are with the Black Mesa group when you make your reservation: 505-819-4022.

In Santa Fe on December 4th?  Come to a free memoir writing class with me at Collected Works Bookstore at 6pm.

Candace Walsh

Tanya Taylor Rubinstein

Online Memoir Workshop with Theo in August

Online Memoir Workshop:
 
What:  A three-class memoir workshop open to up to eight students who’ve worked with me before (through one of my classes, coaching, or by attending Wild Mountain Memoir Retreat).  Participants will share a piece of memoir up to 3k words in length with the group.  The piece will be part of a 15-20 minute or so discussion online led by Theo and will receive written feedback from Theo.  Participants will receive guidance and guidelines for productive and respectful critiquing. (You’ll be learning a lot not only through your own workshop but by listening to and participating in the workshops of others).
 
Where: Anywhere you have phone service or Internet connection.
 
When: Tuesdays August 6, 13, and 20th at 6 to 7pm PST.  (Sessions will be recorded. If you have to miss a session, you can listen to it later).
 
Cost: 125 dollars, payable by check or Pay Pal.
 
Please let me know asap if you’re interested by emailing me at theonestor@yahoo.com.  As I said, the max capacity will be eight students.
 
Thanks!
Theo

Win a Signed Galley of Writing Is My Drink

Hi Readers,

The galleys of Writing Is My Drink arrived here a few days ago.  Pretty exciting stuff!  What’s a galley? It’s an early, uncorrected version of a book produced about five, six months before the book’s publication date, generally used to garner blurbs, reviews and early excitement about the book.

So I thought I’d generate some early excitement here by giving away a signed copy.  To enter to win, leave a piece of either good or bad writing advice on this page in the comments.  Please indicate whether the advice was good or bad for you :  ). Share a story about the advice, if you like.

On Friday July 5th at Noon Pacific time, I’ll draw a name randomly and announce the winner here on this page. 

Goodbye to All That: My Class of 2012/13 Moves On

Every June another group of my memoir students takes to the podium for our end-of-year reading.  It always amazes me how much progress they’ve made in their time in the Memoir certificate program through the UW’s Professional & Continuing Education department, and last night was no different.  In each of the writer’s readings, you could hear how they’d moved into their own voices.  Funny what happens when you work at your writing consistently for nine months.

Writer Holly Mullen and Theo at the after party at Black Bottle.

A few years ago I began a tradition of posting here one of their readings the day after our big event, usually one that addresses the issues writers face (See Deirdre Timmons’ “A Call to Arms” and Star Roberts’ “Late Bloomer”).  This year I wanted to share with you Holly Mullen’s piece on insecurity, a writer’s topic to be sure.  I only wish I could convey here the power and drama of her reading voice and presence, but I think her words will speak for themselves.

Enjoy!

Theo

The Lookout

by Holly Mullen

I walk toward the stage and am handed a microphone from the brave soul who went before me. I position myself so that I can see both the audience and the TV projecting the lyrics, as if I don’t know them by heart. As the first few notes of Aretha Franklin’s Respect pours out of the speaker, I give the audience a sly smile before I begin to sing.  I belt this icon’s time-tested anthem until the saxophone bellows and the lyrics disappear from the screen. Instrumental breaks are normally awkward, but I take this opportunity, not for any logical reason but because it’s what feels right in that moment, to do a handstand. I can hold it just long enough for the audience to go crazy. I right myself to resume the lyrics in perfect timing before I push my hand out to the side, bow my head slightly, and with just the right amount of growl, sing Aretha’s signature seven letters: R E S P E C T followed by her demand “Find out what it means to me.”

What does this performance mean to me? A lot, it turns out, because this performance is not reality. This is one of my favorite fantasies.

The reality is, when I am at Karaoke with friends, I usually sit, sipping a drink, and keep rhythm with my feet. I clap along and encourage whoever is on stage.  At the most, I’ll join a bigger group of girls for the innocuous Beyonce song.  My refrain from Karaoke is not for a lack of musical passion, it’s not the keen awareness that I’m mostly tone deaf; it’s neither distaste for the art of pretending you’re a rock star nor a lack of drinking like one. It’s insecurity, and it’s in my way.

An emotionally damaging childhood, severe teasing, bullying, tenuous relationships and repeated physical and emotional losses have merged to land me in a fog of insecurity. It’s the kind of insecurity that results in the near opposite of fantasy: fear. Many of my friends proclaim that karaoke in a private room with people they know is much preferable to karaoke on a stage in front of strangers. But I tend to disagree. Strangers do bring a level of unfamiliarity, but with friends, I have something to lose: them.

Sitting there watching my friends sing their hearts out, I worry my performance will fall flat and I’ll be a terrible disappointment.  Useless is the joy I feel when my friends sing because even though I have nothing but appreciation and admiration for their contribution to our night out, I struggle to trust that they would reciprocate. This insecurity dilutes the intellectual knowledge that my friends would never abandon me on account of any karaoke-related event, and instead keeps me on emotional high alert – always ready for the past to repeat itself.

It would be nice, and probably have a scientific name, if this insecurity only surfaced at Karaoke bars. It would also be much easier to avoid. Alas, this insecurity is with me everywhere I go. It’s there when I walk down the isle of the bus, when I ask a question in a meeting, and when I spot a cute guy on the street. Sometimes it’s a low, clanking din, like the slow hour at a small fine dining restaurant. Other times it’s a loud, demanding roar, like a small town’s only sports bar at full capacity. Regardless, it causes me to constantly analyze why people like me, why people like each other, what keeps people around, and what pushes them away. How can I earn my keep? How can I earn their admiration? What have I done right? And what will I eventually do wrong?

This insecurity, simply put, makes me wonder, “Am I worthy?”

What a vulnerable place to be, pondering one’s own worthiness.  As vulnerable as wanting just one more moon dance.  You see, I do have one clear, real memory of choosing a Karaoke song of my own volition. Likely a few more whiskeys in than typical, I punched in the song Moondance, first sung by Van Morrison, but brought to my attention by Michael Buble. No one immediately vetoed it: Validation number one. A friend enthusiastically wanted to join in: Validation number two.  Our singing garnered a sincere compliment from a member of our group: Validation number three.  But the most significant outcome of this moment was how I felt when I was singing; for a brief time I lost sight of myself, all of sudden I was out of my seat, hand to my chest for emphasis. I sang like I really wanted one more Moondance and I was going to get it. This was a rare moment of self-validation, where my sense of self was enough and I managed to see through, if only briefly, the insecure haze that pollutes so much of my life.

As significant as it was, it must not have been enough, and like a saturated piece of driftwood coming in with the tide, this moment was fleeting enough to confess its lack of sturdiness before it swept back out to the sea.  I wait for the next piece of driftwood, hoping one day for one sturdy enough to hold my entire weight. Until then, I will continue to keep a lookout.

Theo’s Summer Reading Recommendations

Want to learn more about writing memoir this summer? This class starts June 11th.

Interested in learning more about personal narrative and memoir? H ere are some books you might want to read:

Barrington, Judith. Writing the Memoir.Eighth Mountain Press, 2002.

Goldberg, Natalie. Old Friend from Far Away: The Practice of Writing Memoir. Free Press, 2007.

Gornick, Vivian. The Situation and the Story: The Art of Personal Narrative. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2002.

Hampl, Patricia. I Could Tell You Stories: Sojourns in the Land of Memory. W. W. Norton, 2000.

Lopate, Phillip. To Show and to Tell: The Craft of Literary Nonfiction. Free Press, 2013.

Lopate, Phillip, ed. The Art of the Personal Essay: An Anthology from the Classic Era to the Present. Anchor, 1997. If nothing else, read Lopate’s introduction, a beautifully written and thorough examination of the essay form.

Norton, Lisa Dale. Shimmering Images: A Handy Little Guide to Writing Memoir. St. Martin’s/Griffin, 2008.

Rainer, Tristine. Your Life as Story. Tarcher, 1998.

Shields, David. Reality Hunger: A Manifesto. Vintage, 2011.

Silverman, Sue William. Fearless Confessions: A Writer’s Guide to Memoir. University of Georgia Press, 2009.

Encouraging Books That Might Help You When You Feel Stuck: 

Cameron, Julia.  How To Avoid Making Art (or Anything Else You Enjoy). Tarcher.

Cameron, Julia. The Right to Write: An Invitation and Initiation into the Writing Life. Tarcher.

Dillard, Annie. The Writing Life. HarperPerennial.

Goldberg, Natalie. Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within. Shambhala.

Lamott, Anne. Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. Anchor.

Strayed, Cheryl. Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar. Vintage.

Beck, Martha. Finding Your Own North Star

Books Theo Recommends (Mostly Memoirs, Some Fiction, Some Graphic Novels, At Least One Book of Poetry–in the order they were found on my bookshelf : ))

 Knapp, Caroline. Drinking: A Love Story.

Williams, Terry Tempest. Refuge.

Daum, Meghan.  Life Would Be Perfect, If I Lived in That House.

Lamott, Anne. Traveling Mercies.

Strayed, Cheryl. Wild.

Dederer, Claire. Poser.

Spiegelman, Art. Maus I and II.

Hurston, Zora Neale.  Their Eyes Were Watching God.

Lerner, Betsy. The Forest For the Trees (about the publishing industry).

Walsh, Candace (editor). Ask Me about My Divorce.

Walsh, Candace. Licking the Spoon.

Walsh, Candace (editor). Dear John, I Love Jane.

Hanauer, Kathy (editor).  A Bitch in the House.

Woolf, Virginia.  A Room of One’s Own.

Dubus, Andre.  Broken Vessels.

Didion, Joan.  Slouching Toward Bethlehem, The White Album, Book of Common Prayer, Play it As it Lays.

Daum, Meghan. My Misspent Youth.

Beard, Jo Ann. Boys of My Youth.

Rodriguez, Richard. Hunger of Memory.

Shields, David.  Dead Languages.

Lamott, Anne.  Grace, Eventually.

Donofrio, Beverly. Riding In Cars with Boys.

The Best American Essay series

Benson, Amy. The Sparkling Eyed Boy.

Kingston, Maxine Hong. Woman Warrior.

Karr, Mary. Lit.

Gray, Spalding. Impossible Vacation.

Gray, Spalding. Swimming to Cambodia.

Daisey, Mike. 21 Dog Years.

Munro, Alice. The Beggar Maid.

Moore, Lorrie. Birds of America.

Moore, Lorrie. Self Help.

Braverman, Kate. Squandering the Blue.

Steinem, Gloria. Revolution from Within.

Tsing Loh, Sandra. Mother on Fire.

Forney, Ellen. Marbles.

Bechdel, Alison. Fun Home.

Fey, Tina. Bossypants

Finnamore, Suzanne. Split.

Barry, Lynda. 100 Hundred Demons.

Barry, Lynda. What It Is.

Morrison, Toni. Sula.

Morrison, Toni. Tar Baby.

Redfield Jamison, Kay. An Unquiet Mind.

Ondaatje, Michael. Coming Through Slaughter.

Howe, Marie. What the Living Do.

Ephron, Nora. Heartburn.

Ephron, Nora. Crazy Salad.

Gaitskill, Mary. Bad Behaviour.

Diaz, Junot. Drown.

Johnson, Denis. Jesus’ Son.

Sedaris, David. Me Talk Pretty One Day.

Fielding, Helen. Bridget Jones’ Diary.

Cunningham, Michael. The Hours.

Eggers, Dave. A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius.

Baldwin, James. Notes of a Native Son.

Harrison, Kathryn. The Kiss.

Dyer, Geoff. Out of Sheer Rage.

Houston, Pam. Cowboys Are My Weakness.

Wideman, John Edgar.  Brothers and Keepers.

Memoir 101 Friend Discount Until May 17th

Planning on working on your memoir this summer? I’m offering a four-week teleseminar designed to help you advance your memoir project starting June 11th. Sign up with a friend before May 17th and you’ll each receive a fifty- dollar discount off the tuition cost.

In our four regular class meetings, I will discuss the process of clarifying the topic for your memoir, generating your material, developing your memoir’s narrative arc as well as numerous other memoir writing topics, such as scene development and the narrator as a memoir’s central consciousness. In an additional meeting, I will answer questions writers have about their individual projects.

Where do we meet?  We meet online and on the phone.

When do we meet? Our class meetings will be four consecutive Tuesdays: June 11th, June 18th, June 25th, and July 8th from 5:30 to 7:00pm PDT.  There will also be a one-hour Q and A session with me during which I will address individual memoir writing problems on Saturday June 22nd at 8am.  All meetings will be recorded so if you miss a meeting you can listen to it later.

Here’s the Course outline:

First meeting: Introduction to the memoir genre; understanding story structure and how to develop your memoir’s narrative arc.


Second meeting: The three narrative modes of memoir: Scene, Summary, and Musing; the essentials of scene writing; the use of time in a memoir.


Third meeting: Developing the emotional preoccupation of your memoir; creating a narrator and a narrative readers care about; developing the universal elements of your story by using elements of the hero’s journey to create a memoir that chronicles a transformation of the self.


Fourth meeting:  Finding your voice as a writer; letting your personality show up on the page; creating a narrator who serves as your story’s “central consciousness.”

Who’s the instructor?  Theo Pauline Nestor is an award-winning instructor and writer who has taught the memoir certificate program for the University of Washington’s Professional & Continuing Education program since 2006.  She is the author of How to Sleep Alone in a King-Size Bed: A Memoir of Starting Over and Writing Is My Drink: A Writer’s Story of Finding Her Voice (and a Guide to How You Can Too).

Want to learn more? Read more about the course and register on this page.

Take a Memoir 101 Telecourse with Theo

Interested in getting started writing memoir?  Enroll in my Memoir 101 course, a five-class teleseminar that will teach you the fundamentals of memoir writing and guide you through generative writing tasks designed to help you discover your material and bring it to the page.  Writers of all experience levels are welcome.  Class will be filled on a first come first served basis. No application necessary.

$249.00

Enrollment in Memoir 101:    (4) 1.5 hour-long classes meeting on June 11, 18, 25th and July 2nd at 5:30 PDT and (1) hour long Q and A session on Saturday June 22nd at 8am. 249 dollars.

$124.50 now and the balance later.

Payment Plan: Enrollment in Memoir 101:    Same class as above paid in two (2) installments. One payment now and the other later—June 1st, 1013. 249 dollars in two payments.

$99.00

Add-On Consulting: Individual feedback from Theo in a 45-minute phone consultation on a manuscript up to 6k words in length. 99 dollars.

  

$135.00

Consulting-Only Option:  Individual feedback from Theo in a 45-minute phone consultation on a manuscript up to 6k words in length. 135 dollars.

…

How does it work?  Shortly after you enroll, you’ll be sent a phone number and a participant access code to call in for our first class meeting.  During our meetings, I will be giving lectures on the various memoir topics listed in the course outline below and fielding questions from you on these topics.  I will also be guiding you through memoir writing exercises that you will do in class and giving you optional assignments to work on outside of class. Each week you’ll read assigned readings from our texts.

The logistics:  Our class meets over the phone or online through GoToMeeting.com.  As long as you can dial in, you’ll be able to hear the class discussion. If you are online, you’ll also be able to see me and the other class members talking on screen, and if you’re accessing the class via computer with a webcam (ideal), your live image will be on our shared online classroom.  If you miss a class (or want to listen to it again), the recordings will be available for you to listen to at your convenience. The recordings will not be shared with the public as our class discussions–during which you’ll be discussing your own stories–will be confidential.

What if I miss a meeting? The day after the class meeting, you’ll receive a link to a recording of the meeting, which you can listen to at anytime.

Who’s the instructor?  Theo Pauline Nestor. You can read my bio here. Read testimonials from coaching clients here.

When do we meet? Our class meetings will be four consecutive Tuesdays: June 11th, June 18th, June 25th, and July 8th from 5:30 to 7:00pm PDT.  There will also be a one-hour Q and A session with me during which I will address individual memoir writing problems on Saturday June 22nd at 8am.

Course outline:

First meeting: Introduction to the memoir genre; understanding story structure and how to develop your memoir’s narrative arc.


Second meeting: The three narrative modes of memoir: Scene, Summary, and Musing; the essentials of scene writing; the use of time in a memoir.


Third meeting: Developing the emotional preoccupation of your memoir; creating a narrator and a narrative readers care about; developing the universal elements of your story by using elements of the hero’s journey to create a memoir that chronicles a transformation of the self.


Fourth meeting:  Finding your voice as a writer; letting your personality show up on the page; creating a narrator who serves as your story’s “central consciousness.”

How do I enroll? To enroll in the course, click on the “Buy Now” button for the course below to pay either through Pay Pal or with a credit card.  After your payment has been received, you’ll receive a course confirmation with further instructions. If you prefer to pay by check or money order, email me at theonestor@yahoo.com.

What if I want individual feedback on my work? Click on the “Buy Now” button for individual feedback and pay either through Pay Pal or with a credit card. (If you prefer to pay by check or money order, email me at theonestor@yahoo.com).  You’ll then receive instructions for sending a manuscript (up to 6k words in length) to me either now or during the course.  After I’ve read your manuscript, I will meet with you for a 45-minute phone consultation.

The One Question Every New Writer Wants Answered

On the last day of the quarter, I often ask students in my memoir class to write down on an anonymous slip of paper a question about writing.  When I did this recently, I received a number of questions about the legal implications of writing about others, how one finds an agent, how to decide on the structure of a book…all good questions.  But then there was one question that stood out from the bunch.  On a torn piece of lined notepaper, the writer asked, “Am I good?”

I’ve been asked this question point blank by several students over the years, but the beauty of this ask was this time there was no name and no face attached to the question, underscoring the universality and, in fact, the absurdity of the question.  The writer, I believe, understood that I can not answer that question and yet still needed to ask.

My answer to this question was this: I completely understand the need to ask this question.  Why should you throw away hundreds of hours of your life on writing if you are not “any good”?  Isn’t it fair to ask at the early stage of your development that someone tap you on the shoulder and say, “Hey, this really isn’t going to head anywhere?” But while I understand the need to ask this question, I can not answer it and I don’t think any other writer can answer this question for a new writer and here’s why:

No matter what I’ve read of your work so far, I have no idea what you’ll do next.  Maybe you’ll dedicate yourself to reading the best of your genre and take in the critiques of others with an open mind and a determination to make your work better.   Maybe you’ll stay true to your vision and your desire to write in the face of all the rejection letters that are an inevitable part of a writer’s career.    Maybe you’ll keep writing even after you’ve written a book even you don’t like that much.  I don’t know.

The other problem with the poignant and ubiquitous “Am I good?” question is the obvious response, “Good to whom?”  When a new comedy is previewed before a focus group, it’s predicted that the film will be an epic hit if 30 percent of the focus group thinks it’s funny.  30 percent!  When I look up on Amazon the customer reviews of books I personally might take a bullet for, I find many one-star reviews and comments like, “This book isn’t worth the paper it was printed on.”

Yes, I do think there is such a thing as talent.  Some people who have a natural ability with words and storytelling, but not all those with that talent decide to keep at writing.  There are also many writers who might have shown little discernible talent in their early years, but for whatever reason, they kept writing, and their skills improved.

But I remember longing for the Am I Good question to be answered, and when it was answered affirmatively, it inspired me enough to write, and it was the act of writing that helped me to improve as a writer.  In my college freshman writing course, we were asked to write a self-portrait as our entrance essay to the course.  When I received my essay back from the instructor, she’d written something about talent with words at the bottom, praise that inspired me to work very hard in her class.  Recently, I found that essay in a box of stored papers.

I started reading the essay greedily, looking for early evidence of talent.  But, instead what I read was the most ordinary of college freshman essays. Ordinary to the point of appalling.  Where was this “talent” the teacher had seen?  I don’t know.  And yet, it was  her praise that had set me to work.

So now my answer to your question is “Yes, you are good.” Now get busy.