Koren’s Comments (group member since Oct 18, 2010)

Koren’s comments from the Q&A with Koren Zailckas group.

Koren wrote: "In the third Fury-related contest, readers responded to the question "What is your favorite synonym for 'furious?'"

The winning response can be found in the following video: http://korenzailckas...."


You can read the other responses below:

My favorite synonym for angry is “bent out of shape”. As in: I’m all bent out of shape that this is the third time I’ve entered Koren’s Fury contest, and I’ve yet to win! (the synonym also works well because I can stand to lose a few pounds) :)

When I get angry I don’t say much more than: “What a load.”


Disappointed…When I am angry, at myself or others, it always stems from disappointment. At something I did or said, or something someone else did or said.


You know I am angry when I use the word “seething.” It just sounds like an angry word.

My favorite synonym for angry is tumultuous.

“Cheezed off”

Exasperated

Irate

Enojadísimo

Outraged

Mad. And upset.

Wrathful …irascible … infuriated - I love them all :)

Incensed…..that’s a good one : )

Pissed off

Kara wrote: "Koren wrote: "Kara wrote: "Hi Koren,

This is another question that sort of combines both Smashed and Fury.....
In Smashed, if I recall (and please pleeaaase correct me if I'm wrong) you talk ab..."

My pleasure. Thanks for reading the books.

I probably think far less about gender now than I did when I was in my early twenties. I think gender certainly contributes to the way we experience the world. But the year I turned 30, I realized with considerable horror that when I'm making generalities about one gender or the other, I'm usually basing it off of my mother or my father. So many very strong and misguided ideas about how the world works take shape in childhood. We draw them when we're kids and never revise them.

Butterfly Joi wrote: "Koren, I thought that was amazingly creative. I never thought about a trailer for a book. Why not?

My name is Butterfly Joi and I have you on my list of books to read. I'm looking forward to it be..."

Hey B Joi,

I'm really touched by your note. And so thankful that you're here to take part in this discussion.

I can relate very much to your post. Politeness/agreeableness/sweetness have always been my default mode too. Until very recently, I was always inclined to turn my anger inward and take it out on myself. I think the most depressed and panic-stricken months of my life were actually, secretly the angriest.

There are psychologists out there who say anger can be quite difficult for men too. Many fear it will make them look like bullies.

But, yes, I think fury is one of the last taboos for women. There's still research coming out all the time that shows our culture thinks anger undermines femininity.

A couple of months ago, one found that women who get mad in the workplace are seen as "professionally unstable," whereas their male counterparts aren't.

There was another where researchers would show participants an angry face and happy face and ask them to identify them as male or female as fast as they possibly could. By and large, the participants thought the happy faces were female and the angry faces were male. When the photos didn't follow that model, it slowed them down and gave them some trouble.

It may take a few more generations to change. I think upbringing has a lot to do with it. Maybe our mothers taught us direct shows of anger weren't ladylike. In all likelihood, our grandmothers were appalled by it!

Kara wrote: "Hi Koren,

This is another question that sort of combines both Smashed and Fury.....
In Smashed, if I recall (and please pleeaaase correct me if I'm wrong) you talk about how you don't trust a lot ..."

Hi KEF,

Sure. I suppose that's right. In my college life, I did feel as though the men I was drinking with had an upper hand. They didn't have to worry quite so much about being date raped in a blackout--that kind of thing. And I did feel a bit wounded by the few who had hurt me.

I also know the section you're referring to in Fury. For those who haven't read it, I should say: There's a scene where I'm attending an anger management seminar. At the time, I imagined I was there for research only. I was very guarded, defensive and reluctant to participate.

So in this scene, we're doing an exercise where we're supposed to beat up a punching bag and pretend it's the "men in our life who have wronged us," particularly our dads. (There was also a subsequent session where we "beat up" all the "women in our lives who had wronged us, particularly our moms.")

When the therapist instructs me to beat the male bag, I tell her that I don't want to. That maybe I'll try later when we get to the females in our lives. I claim I'm angrier at women and expect more of them. It's an obvious lie (really, I'm trying to find a way to access my anger for my mother) and the therapist quickly calls me out on it and alerts the whole room to how ridiculously deluded I am.

So to answer your question, that blanket statement in Fury isn't meant to be taken at face value.

Butterfly Joi wrote: "Koren, my question is how did you decide to open yourself up and let the world see you, fully and completely? I mean, we all wear these masks as if we're okay when we're not. But instead of wearing..."

It was easy to be uninhibited when I was writing SMASHED. Probably just because I was so young and naive. I wasn't acquainted with the harsh criticism that can accompany book reviews (college writing workshops were about as close to critique as I'd ever come). I wrote Smashed as though it were just for me.

I remember walking into the Strand bookstore in NYC shortly after I'd finished my final draft Smashed. I just looked up at those 18 miles of books and thought about how many great books get published every year and how many vanish into obscurity. I honestly never expected anyone to read my first book, so it was really easy to let it all hang out.

Fury was an entirely different animal, and I experienced a lot of writer's block while I was writing it.

As anyone who has ever written memoir knows, writer's block is always fear when you're writing from your life. It's not like you don't know how the story ends. It's not like you're not well-acquainted with the characters.

I was really terrified to let readers into the angry side of my emotional spectrum. I'd always concealed my anger from the people I loved because I worried that they would leave. (My family had disowned friends and family members they'd had past conflicts with.) I worried that it would be much of the same with my reader. I feared that he or she would write me off. That I wouldn't be able to maintain his or her interest or empathy.

Somehow I overcame those anxieties (which had a lot to do with coming off as flawed, imperfect and basely human as I am). At that time, anger was the most important theme in my life and it was a story I desperately wanted to tell.

Therapy helped. And I highly recommend it for anyone who's working on a memoir. It's a great place to sort through your memories--to begin to process and make sense of them. Not only will it help you to find the clarity and insight that you need to do justice to your story, but it will also just provide you with some personal, emotional support.

Memoir-writing can be emotionally and physically draining. Reliving the traumatic stuff takes a lot out of you. I know a few memoirists who can only work for an hour or so and literally pass out in exhaustion at their desks.

Will wrote: "Do you edit for clarity? Does the memory remain primary, or are you willing to bend events to the narrative?
There's a school of thought that fiction can be more true than memoir, because memoir mu..."

I'm never willing to bend events. In the past, I have run up against people in the publishing industry who have suggested I ought to (this was shortly before the James Frey affair and other widely publicized memoir scandals).

I was trained in the tradition of Stop-Time, Speak, Memory, the memoirs of Mary Karr and Tobias Wolff. In my writing life, I was raised with the belief that a memoirist should follow a certain code: challenging one's own memory at least as often as a reader will, acknowledging when you don't remember something, and never ever making up events or dialogue that didn't occur.

Mary Karr always says that when a memoirist lies, she lies by omission. The moment you write about one event as opposed to another, you are giving it a certain weight and significance. In that way, memoir writing is always subjective. A good memoirist isn't an objective reporter; she's constantly editorializing, hunting for conclusions and insights and giving very strong opinions as she goes.

I think you're absolutely right when you say memoir writing is more restrictive than fiction. But that said, a memoirist still has lots of room to play with language, style and time line. Just because your story is true, doesn't mean it has to be linear. There's still plenty of room to play with structure, flashbacks and narrative arc.

In my books, I think I've pretty much copped to most of my most mortifying moments. At least the ones that were relevant to the story I was telling.

My husband pretty much gives me free license to write about anything that happens in our lives (and has from our relationship's beginning). In his first read of FURY, he jokingly wanted me to cut out all the parts where looks too vulnerable or sensitive. He wanted to give himself the macho edit: like instead of saying he cried in a scene, he wanted me to write something about how he went out and wrestled a wildebeest with nothing but his bare hands.

I could see certain family members "accidentally" destroying my file cabinet in the event of my untimely accident. But then, I think they'd be surprised (and a little disappointed) by how little they actually appear.

I never aim to rat anyone out in my memoirs. And I never reveal anything sensitive about them unless it has played a very big and important part in the story that I'm trying to tell. Even then, I agonize about it. And as I write about the event, I try very hard to put myself in their shoes, find some empathy, and not reduce them to a villain in the eyes of the reader. My ultimate goal is always: let the biggest asshole in the story be me.

In the third Fury-related contest, readers responded to the question "What is your favorite synonym for 'furious?'"

The winning response can be found in the following video: http://korenzailckas.tumblr.com/post/...

Authors are always bitching about book trailers. ("They're tacky." "Undignified." "Low-brow." Blah.) I for one, love myself a good a lit-related video.

Here's a link to the book trailer for my new memoir FURY: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dmMKUQ...

My husband and I bought ourselves some red footsie pajamas and shot it on a Saturday afternoon.

In the past, we've also shot music videos for his band Brakes. You can watch one of our previous videos here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jj_s04...

Koren wrote: "Koren wrote: "In the second Fury-related contests, readers responded to the question "What Are You Holding a Grudge About Right Now?" The following was the winning response:

“Five years ago my 84..."

And a few more:

“I have a grudge against this country’s mental health system. This year I was diagnosed as bipolar, and have been prescribed numerous drug cocktails by my psychiatrist. I’ve experienced all the horrendous side effects you can imagine: weight gain, unrelenting jaw tremors, lethargy, rashes, loss of focus and muscle control. I attend support groups and subscribe to mental health publications. But yet, I still can’t seem to get my illness under any sort of control. My episodes become outbreaks of behaviors that I can’t account for later. I’ve lost money, opportunities, physical health, and relationships. Ever since I was diagnosed and “treated”, I’ve only gotten worse. Is the system trying to make my symptoms more extreme, and thus more dependent on their services? Has my diagnostic label made me unconsciously feel less responsible for my own actions, and thus less restricted when it comes to acting out inappropriate behavior? Are these “mental illnesses” nothing more than gimmicks to increase profits by the drug companies and psychologists? I don’t know, but I do know it’s not working for me.”

“Whoever had the bright idea to match college roommates based on answers to a few ridiculous, simple questions should be evaluated for delusions. I lived with someone my freshman year of college who was essentially my exact opposite. She would leave her awful Windows 98 safari screensaver on the loudest possible volume so that I almost died every time the elephant stampeded across the screen. She thought it was okay to come in and turn on her music at 3 AM (after I’d been asleep for hours) while she got ready for bed in the dark. And I gave up trying to be pleasant sometime before the end of the fall semester when she banged drunkenly through the door at 3 AM, horked all over the rug, and just left it there until she got up the next afternoon. Way to go on that 1.67 GPA you managed before dropping out.”

“My mom lost my SmartTrip card leaving me totally stranded. She has promised to get me another card but I am holding a grudge against her until that happens.”

“I think I may be holding a grudge on people who ‘let me down’ or ‘tried to discourage me’ or ‘didn’t believe in me.’ I think I’m also holding a grudge on on holding a grudge on myself.”

“Let’s be real: Everyone holds a grudge against their parents for some reason or other. With my own job, paying my own bills, feeding myself, and miles between me and my family, I can’t help but maintain the grudge that I hold against my father. This past summer it was the worst. How convenient was it that my experience as an adolescent consumer of alcohol peaked at the same moment that my father’s alcoholism did and his doctor told him he had to stop drinking. When he was completely cut off, I was emerging into the world that he raised me in. Summer nights with cousins, drunken campfires that I grew up singing around burned on, but he chose to not grace us with his singing voice, hiding away, complaining about the noise. Who does he think he is, that he can withdraw from this world completely, and put me down for partaking? Singing at the top of my lungs, slurring the words, he grabs me by the arm and says, ‘maybe you shouldn’t be singing if you’re so drunk.’ The words don’t hurt as much as they might have, rolling out of my less-than-sober thoughts, but time after time he says more or less the same thing. Somehow, he still wonders why we’re no longer friends. We could be, if I ever stop holding this grudge.”

“This might sound petty, but the only real grudge I’m holding right now is the fact that I never got to (and never will get to) be one of the lucky ones to play the ‘Grand Prize Game’ on The Bozo Show. I actually got to attend a taping as a child, and still remember anxiously waiting for that magic flying arrow to land on me. I had been throwing ping pong balls into six home-made buckets for weeks before the taping, practicing diligently for when I got my chance to shine and win the Schwinn bicycle & a bunch of silver dollars. To say I was crushed would be an understatement, as I saw that damn arrow landed on a kid a couple rows down from me…my dreams of Grand Prize Game glory vanishing right before my eyes. I still have the ticket stub hanging on my office wall. A daily reminder of what will never be. The Bozo Show unfortunately has went to the big circus in the sky - so I have a grudge to bear that can never be filled. Maybe winning this contest might help? :)”

“A couple years ago, my ‘best friend’ started sneaking around with my brother and ended up having an affair with him while she was still married to another man. She ended up moving to my home town and marrying my brother. My whole family now loves her. Safe to say the whole thing upsets me a little-“

“Not to sound so typical and overly-dramatic, but I am holding a grudge against my ex-boyfriend, who I sincerely believed, used me for almost 2 years. One of the reasons why I started reading Fury (other than extreme anticipation due to my love of Smashed), was to try and dissect some of the reasons I am so angry over our break-up. There was something different about my break-up with (name redacted). It affected me differently than the other men I had broken away from. I found myself angry more often and not only at him. The grudge I am holding is due to how much time I put into the relationship, only to be left broken-hearted and empty. (Name redacted) was training to be a cop. However, when I met him, he worked security at our local pro-football stadium. I loved him all the same. He was handsome, interesting and smart. I felt safe around him. He was not very available, which as we all know, leads to the thrill of the chase. I embraced his strong ambition to achieve his goal of becoming a city police officer, something he had dreamed about since he was a little boy. I was there for him from the very first tests, from the nervousness he felt when he had to go to physical exams because he suffered from Juvenile Diabetes and that is sometimes a condition that is not accepted in law enforcement. I was encouraging, every step of the way, when his family was not. I was there when he got the call that he was accepted to the Police Academy, with a fresh set of Under Armor workout gear and a congratulatory greeting card. I was there when he failed his first test, and learned that he could ONLY fail one test. I was there to open my house to him when he didn’t have an apartment and didn’t want to stay at his parents for fear the academy would find out he was not living in the city, a requirement for being an officer. I never asked for a dime. Sometimes I blame myself, for being so naïve. For not realizing that I was being used. For it would have been one thing if (name redacted) showered me in gratitude and “made it up to me” in any way possible, if even with small things. But he didn’t. I was always last priority. Most of our time was spent together in the evening hours, and I don’t mean around the time Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune comes on, I mean around the time when the David Letterman comes on. I can’t even count the times I stayed up studying with him until 1 or 2 in the morning, and woke up to make him breakfast at 6am. Why did I stay with him? Why did I continue to love him? Because there were times when he would show emotion, that would leave me begging for more. He always gave me just enough. I kept coming back for more, almost like a drug. I was addicted – to the love and the pain he caused me to feel. I broke up with him on Father’s Day, when I couldn’t take how distant he had become, when I couldn’t stand how unsympathetic he was to the fact that my dad wasn’t home that day and my parents had divorced a few months before. I couldn’t take how he looked at me that day and said he wasn’t going to see me all week because he hadn’t seen his friends in a while. A couple of weeks after we broke up, I started to regret my decision, and attempted to go back to him. We hung out a couple of times but the feelings were gone. He had no “ties” to me formally, so he called me back and saw me when it was convenient for him (not very different from when we were dating). In early August, I saw him driving with a woman in his car. I asked him why he hadn’t told me he was seeing anyone, to which he replied “I don’t owe you anything. Move on, I have.” I was devastated. I felt like someone literally ripped my heart out of my chest. Two years of complete devotion to him, for nothing. I learned shortly after that, that he was dating his Field Training Officer, the same one we had when we were together. I’m not sure if I’ll ever know if he was cheating on me, but I wouldn’t doubt it. A grudge is a horrible thing to have. It takes so much energy. I often find myself completely exhausted after I think about the hurt he has caused me. What makes me most furious is that he is out there living his life, not a care in the world, maybe not ever thinking about me and the time we spent together. I hope that someday I can lift the grudge that I have on him, definitely not for his, but for my own sake.”

Koren wrote: "In the second Fury-related contests, readers responded to the question "What Are You Holding a Grudge About Right Now?" The following was the winning response:

“Five years ago my 84 year old fath..."

You can read the other responses below:

“I spent most of my first year of graduate school dating a fellow graduate student, who repeatedly asked that we not put our relationship on Facebook or show it openly with the department, as it was personal and didn’t want it to start drama… within, etc., which I agreed to because I saw the point to maintain professionalism, etc etc. Which was fine until Spring term, when he broke up with me by - get this - flat out stopped talking to me with absolutely no reason or discussion, just cut all contact with me cold turkey, no apologies or anything. And then two weeks later, low and behold, he is in a new relationship with yet another female colleague of ours, who was my friend - all three of us have the same f***ing advisor! Their relationship not only was departmentally open, it went officially on Facebook. I see both of them in my classes every goddamn day and at every department function, and seeing them makes my entire body flush with anger and I’ve had to get up and leave rooms because I get so angry. This situation put me in therapy. Needless to say, I am still holding a grudge and will be until I f***g graduate. At least I’m not required to go to his dissertation defense….though honestly, if he died today, I wouldn’t even go to his funeral.”

“I try not to hold grudges, but I’ll be honest, my ex broke up with me, we canceled the wedding (a month away and two days after the invites were sent out); and he had the nerve to say I was the one who’d called it off. It wasn’t a great relationship looking back, but he couldn’t even own up to what he did and to this day maintains I broke us up. That makes me frustrated.”

“I’m holding a grudge against four individuals, but really, myself most of all. I was bullied enormously, growing up. Three people were the instigators at the core of the of all the abuse, and one came years later. I say myself, because I think I should’ve been strong enough to stop it. (at least at the beginning). For whatever reason, I didn’t stop it, and then I couldn’t. This bullying was daily, unprovoked and wore me out, mentally. I think if I would stop and process how angry I still am about it, Id probably feel so much better. Its such a weight, and I know it affects some of the decisions I make today. Maybe it affects more decisions then I even realize.”

“I wanted to send you my ‘grudge’ not publicly display it. I could relate to you so much in your book “Smashed” because I have been a binge drinker myself. You are such a talented writer and I admire your strength because I am trying to write my own memoir and I am having a lot if difficulty because of the anger I am experiencing when I attempt to write. How do you handle the anger that surfaces when you are dealing with your issues head on without the numbing effects of alcohol? I hold a huge grudge with my mother, and her side of the family. I feel like I have no mother or even family. I am trying very hard through therapy and my own journey through self-help to conquer these feelings of anger and loneliness. I used to suffer from a debilitating case of anxiety and such a low self-image I developed an eating disorder that turned into binge drinking as an escape. Now I am no longer relying on alcohol to numb my feelings those hidden issues are yet again surfacing and I am having trouble dealing with them. I was raised in a very angry family and I am terrified of anger and I do not want to see myself as an angry person. I have made so many positive changes within in the past year but the anger I am feeling will not go away.”

In the second Fury-related contests, readers responded to the question "What Are You Holding a Grudge About Right Now?" The following was the winning response:

“Five years ago my 84 year old father lost his ability to swallow foods and liquids. It was the result of post-polio syndrome. He was bedridden and suffering from Alzheimer’s. My father’s health care proxy stated that he did not want a feeding tube. Along with his physician’s advice I decided to honor my dad’s wishes. I called his close friend to tell him what was going on. This man became very angry with me and told me I was wrong. I should mention that he is a well-respected physician. At my dad’s funeral the same man heckled the priest when he was speaking kindly about my role in my dad’s care. The decision to withhold treatment was the most difficult thing I have done in my life. The friend’s response has caused me to doubt myself since then. I realize that I am responsible for my reaction to this man but I cannot help but blame him for it. I do hold a grudge against him. I wouldn’t have as much doubt and guilt if he hadn’t reacted as he did.”

Koren wrote: "This series of contests began with the question "What was the angriest you ever got as a kid?"

The winning response can be seen in the following video: http://www.youtube.com/my_videos?feat..."

The following entries were also contenders. The responses were so hilarious (and heartbreaking) that it only seemed right to compile them:

When I was in the 3rd grade a classmate of mine used to mercilessly make fun of the lunch I brought in every day because it was ethnic. My parents didn’t have a lot of money so they gave me leftovers to bring to lunch. It was usually some k…ind of hispanic variety of rice and beans or arroz con pollo so she would always have something to say about it and finally one day I snapped and shoved the spoon she was eating with down her throat! It was crazy because I was a quiet kid and had never been in trouble before so my parents were horrified and it didn’t help that the girl was the principal’s daughter! I got in so much trouble but never did have the heart to tell my parents why I did it.


I remember getting angry when I was in the 7th grade. My parents had rented me a clarinet for the semester for beginning band. I wanted to keep it. They decided in was better to buy a used one from a pawn shop and return the new… rented one. The damn thing was junk. It was ugly and I was embarassed by the worn out thing. I hated it because the thing was in major need of repairs and my folks didn’t understand it. I slammed it on the floor and broke it while I was crying and screaming at it. I refused to play the clarinet ever again.


I was 9 at the playground with my 2 year old brother. Two “bullies” - a brother / sister duo on their bikes (maybe 10/8 yrs old) came and spit loogies on me and my little bro. I was so mad. Not embarrassed or ashamed about myself, but so ANGRY that someone would do that to my poor two-year-old brother. I don’t have a lot of angry memories as a kid (maybe why your book resonates with me so much) but this infuriated me.


I’d say the maddest I ever got was a fight I had w/ my girlfriend … we lived together on a main street in Maynard, MA & we got into a zinger!!! She stormed off & I got so mad I proceeded to put her bike, clothes & other belongings out on… the sidewalk in front of the house! Right in the line of traffic… I was furious & told her it was over!!! When she came back I wouldn’t talk to her so she promptly moved out & took all her stuff to her Mother’s house! She got the last laugh though & constantly refers to this story… because she married me & now she owns ALL the stuff! Boy, that makes me mad!!!

I’d say the maddest I ever got as a kid, or teenager was in high school. I was talking to my boyfriend on a pay phone in the hallway making sure he was coming to pick me up that day. One of the deans came by and told me it was time to han…g up. I said…when I’m finished. She said…no, NOW. I said no, I’m trying to get a ride home, I’ll hang up when I’m finished. So she reached out her stupid hand and HUNG THE PHONE UP!! I still had the receiver in my hand and I yelled “WHAT THE F**K!!! I went to slam the phone down, all while her hand was still there. So I wound up hitting her with the phone (hard), and then ran out of the bulding with her screaming after me. The next day a security guard was waiting for me at my locker and needless to say, I got suspended, lol. But I stand by what I did, that b*tch had no right to end my phone call, lol.

In 8th grade, our homeroom teacher informed us that our graduation gowns had come in. They were in boxes in the back of the classroom so a bunch of us ran over there and I went to grab one out of the box. The te…acher (Ms. St. Hill…I’ll never forget it) yelled “NO!” and smacked my hand! I did not like that so I flipped and yelled WHO DO YOU THINK YOU’RE HITTING??? And I swear to you, I threw a chair at her. My class went NUTS and started chanting “Christine, Christine!!!” So of course I thought I was a little bad ass. She dragged me to the principal who called my mommy (I wasn’t such a bad ass anymore) but to my shock and surprise, when my mom heard she smacked my hand, she lost her mind, came to the school demanded a meeting with the principal and before it was over, the teacher apologized to ME! LOL. Too bad school was over like 2 days later cause I was the most popular kid around for all of 48 hours, lol.

When I was 15 in my freshman year of high school some junior/senior guys kicked over my friend and I’s mopeds. The next day, which happened to be Halloween, each one of them found a dead raccoon waiting on the seats of their cars. They never confronted us after that day.

The angriest i ever got as a kid was the combination of being 9 years old and going to “visit” the ex in-laws in another state. My mom then dropped me and my sister off and left us there for 4 years. On top of that, I wasnt a very attractive girl so I got teased alot. (I looked like a boy with a mullet/perm) Needless to say, I was pretty angry.

It sounds completely ridiculous and inconsequential but the first angry moment that popped into my mind is actually one of my first memories and has stayed, clear and steady, with me over a quarter of a century. I was 2 or 3 years old and my mother had taken me to her friend’s house down the street from our own home. I was wearing pink courderoy overalls. On the front of the overalls was a giraffe holding a bunch of balloons which were actually different colored pom poms affixed to the bib. I remember absolutely nothing about this visit except being there and the infuriating moment that the friend’s daughter reached over and ripped off one of my pom poms. I was upset, sad, and angry that something, no matter how trivial, that was MINE, was taken away from me ’just like that.’ And although we were both children with presumably innocent will, the fact that my mind refuses to let this memory rest is perhaps an indication that it was my early understanding that people can, and will, hurt you without warning or reason.

I don’t remember this, but my dad posted a comment on my Facebook “AWE” list (a list of things I’ve Accomplished, Witnessed, or Experienced): “You were probably three years old. Your mom and I had you in a stroller at Lincoln Park Zoo, we were in front of gorilla cage. Back then some poor little boy stepped in front of the stroller…you leaped out and grabbed him by the face. Mom and I had to pry you off !!!!” Like I said, I don’t remember this outburst of fury - but I guess it serves him right for getting in the way of my view of the monkey!

I was two years old. My sister was 4. I loved going to bed…which might sound weird for a kid, yes, but that was the way I was (and coincidentally, I have not changed). Anyway, clearly my sister didn’t want to go to bed because she was walking up the stairs at a snails pace. She was in front of me, so I couldn’t get around her. I got so annoyed and mad that she was going so slow. So mad, in fact, that to rush her or simply get her moving - I bit her on the ass. She screamed and my mother’s first reaction was priceless. To teach me a lesson, my mother did something that forever etched this event in my childhood memory: she bit me back, right on the ass. I remember being so mad. More mad than ever. After all, I was going to bed! I was doing what my mom wanted and trying to get there faster! Oh the lesson….. This is a memory I have never forgotten, which is pretty unique since I was only two. It might also be the oldest memory I have of growing up!

This series of contests began with the question "What was the angriest you ever got as a kid?"

The winning response can be seen in the following video: http://www.youtube.com/my_videos?feat...

This folder is devoted to an ongoing series of contests related to my new memoir FURY.

Anna wrote: "Hi, I have just written a memoir about a failed relationship and found the process (nearly 1 year) so therapeutic and really helped me to move on from my anger and extreme sadness. It is the most ..."

Thank you Anna. And congratulations again on your book.

I agree, writing a memoir can be a very transformational process.

In the past, I've always really resisted the idea that memoir-writing is cathartic. But I suppose that's only because it seems to imply that "feeling better" is the goal. When I set out to write these memoirs, I'm usually aiming to find some insight into the larger culture. The way I see it, I'm just using my own experience as a starting point.

But I can't escape the fact that writing about my life has changed my life dramatically. I'm sure you know what I mean. It's inevitable. Memoir writing requires so much self-scrutiny. You learn so much about yourself in the process (even things you'd perhaps rather not know).

Like your book, Fury also begins with a failed relationship. It's funny, I'm not sure I ever would have been able to be in a successful, loving or honest relationship unless I'd written this book.

Melissa wrote: "Koren wrote: "Hey Melissa,

Thank you so much for this. I can't tell you how much I can relate.

My anger style is pretty similar. I grew up thinking anger was dangerous. My parents had di..."

Okay, I have only just learned how to use the reply feature...Thanks all for bearing with my tech ineptitude. (There seems as though there ought to be a word in there. Maybe, "in-tech-titude.")

At any rate, I think you're absolutely right. So important to experience the full spectrum of our emotions.

Most of my family members are avoiders. But the others are fixers. Sometimes things just need to sit broken for a minute. You need time to survey the damage!

Hi Anna,

And congratulations. That's an extraordinary achievement.

I'm not familiar with Australia's defamation laws. But when the time comes for your manuscript to be cleared with a lawyer, I'm sure he or she will tell you that you're in fine shape just so long as the average reader doesn't know who you are writing about.

Unavoidably, there will be a few people with the insider knowledge to see behind your attempts at anonymity. In all likelihood, they were there when the events occurred. Or else, they knew/know you personally. There's little you can do about that. Everyone's entitled to privacy. But then, everyone is also entitled to tell his or her own story (and even put it in print for all the world to see).

If you're very brave or very worried about the people who find themselves in your story, I recommend showing your finished manuscript to them while you're still in the editing process.

I recently did this with Fury. Pretty much as soon as I had a rough draft, I sent it out to my family, some relatives, my old therapist and the friends who appear in the story.

You'll have enough on your mind when the book goes to publication. Sometimes it's a relief to deal with your closest critics before the professional reviews start rolling in.

Hi Katie,

Thank you so much for your post. And for reading both my books.

No, I don't think of Smashed and Fury as separate entities. I haven't read the whole of Smashed in some time, but when I think back on the two, I'm inclined to say that Smashed is about the symptom and Fury is about the deeper condition.

Even though there isn't much talk about alcohol in Fury, I think it's very much a recovery book. By comparison, I'm always surprised when I hear people describe Smashed as a recovery book. In my mind, it's mostly a drunkalogue--just a chronicle of a slow, downward descent.

I don't write much about alcohol in Fury because not drinking wasn't much of a struggle for me. The bigger challenging was feeling emotions fully without literally blacking them (and myself) out.

Smashed does end on an angry note. But when I think of that section now, it strikes me as what I want to call an almost "political anger?" As I was finishing that book, I was incredibly angry. I was angry that alcohol had eclipsed so many of my life's other milestones. But I was also livid about the amount of sway the alcohol industry has in Washington. I was pissed off about the way alcohol is advertised and marketed to children in this country (girls under 21 see 90% more ads for malternative beverages than women of legal drinking age). I was mad that universities weren't and aren't doing more to help their students--five American students died of alcohol poisoning in the month that I finished writing Smashed.

One of the things I had to confront in Fury is the fact that I've only ever been comfortable accessing anger when I'm playing the role of the academic or the activist. My anger in Smashed is very real, but it's not anywhere near as personal as it is in Fury. When I wrote Smashed, I was too afraid to go there.

Amazingly well stated, Will. I couldn't agree more.

Even as I was writing Smashed, I'm not quite sure I realized how frequently I'd used alcohol as an escape from emotion.

About three or four years after I quit drinking, I began to feel incredibly overwhelmed. Not by sobriety, just by...well, life.

In the past, I'd always relied on alcohol as an escape from emotions like anger, resentment, disappointment, loneliness. But suddenly the escape hatch of alcohol was closed off to me, and I had no real idea how to process my emotions or communicate them to the people around me.

Mostly I went on trying to deny or ignore the flood of emotion that you mentioned in your post. You can imagine how well that worked out. As anyone who's ever tried to repress a strong emotion knows, it never really goes away. It only crops up at later at a less appropriate moment. I found myself yelling at the wrong people or going to pieces when the tiniest things went wrong.

Ironically, it was at this point that I set out to write Fury. When I began the project, I thought it was going to be a journalistic book of essays exploring American anger. I thought I was going to be like Jane Goodall, studying "the angry people" from afar.

Over time, I began to realize the truth. My subconscious had elected to write about anger because I desperately needed to come to terms with the backlog of resentment I was carrying around. In my personal life, I needed to figure out how to express disagreement; how to fight with people; how to be human, flawed and honest. Sobriety had turned me into a bit of a control freak. I had turned it into my backwards quest to become saintly and perfect.

In order to change my life (and in order to remain healthy), I had to feel the full range of my human emotions. Initially, that terrified me.

Hey Melissa,

Thank you so much for this. I can't tell you how much I can relate.

My anger style is pretty similar. I grew up thinking anger was dangerous. My parents had disowned a few friends and even family members that they'd argued with. In that very simplistic way that kids draw connections, I decided early on that anger and love were incompatible. I thought conflict always led to dissolution.

Very twisted, but without that cholerophobia (fear of anger) I don't know that I would have become a writer. (Perhaps you feel the same?) Because my family despised emotional talk, I didn't attempt to engage them in it. Instead, I too wrote down my more difficult experiences and feelings in journals.