I have been getting some amazing rejection letters. Personalized ones, complimenting my writing. Some agents like my memoir, but don't think they can sell it, because I'm not famous. For some it just isn't the type of book they get all jazzed about. One agent passed on the memoir, but read this blog and left the door wide open for a future project.
Last year, when I started querying, my body broke down. My thyroid wasn't liking the whole process. I had hot flashes and mood swings, and felt like crap. I stopped querying and got my physical health back together as best I could. I was still carrying the 10-15lb weight gain, but I felt pretty much like my old self.
Recently, I started querying again. I also got brave and let several friends read the manuscript. Then, I shared it with a group and got good feedback. Each person who has read it, contradicts the last person with their suggestions, it is so subjective, but overall the sharing has been a good experience and the feedback positive.
And now my hot flashes are back. And I feel like crap. I'm really, really starting to think this memoir I worked so long and hard on, is not the path to my joy.
Talking with a friend about it, she told me a parable, or maybe it is a true story from the island she grew up on, I'm not sure. She said they poke a small hole in a coconut and put seeds in it to capture monkeys. The monkey reaches into the coconut to retrieve the seeds. The monkey wraps its hand around the seeds, but when it does so it cannot fit it's clasped fist back through the hole to get it out. If the monkey would let go, it might be able to get the seeds another way. It would surely have it's freedom. But instead, the monkey remains trapped.
Before writing the memoir, I spent my life trying to hide the shame I felt. Shame showed up in many forms but underneath it all was the feeling my parents did not care enough about me to provide the love and safety and comfort every child deserves. I internalized it and thought I was inherently unlovable.
After a lot of work, I had already reached a place of forgiveness for my parents, but had not rid myself of the shame. Writing the memoir took me from shame, to pride at the life I had transcended. Instead of shame, I feel compassion for the young person I once was.
Compassion. Let's talk about compassion. Aren't my parents also wounded people who simply were not capable of parenting, due to their own sense of shame and worthlessness? Neither one had an ounce of self love. How could they love anyone else? I am not condoning anything here, or shooing anything under the rug, but haven't they already been through enough? When does the chain of pain end?
Perhaps one day I will fictionalize the whole thing. I do think there is value in the story. Readers will come away with compassion for kids, perhaps giving them the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps choosing kindness instead of something else when interacting with children in their lives. You just never know what kids are going through at home. A couple of years ago I would have been furious if someone had suggested fictionalizing. I would have cried, "But this is my truth!"
I know what's true. I no longer need anyone else to validate it.
Am I merely afraid it will never get published? I don't think so. I feel strongly if I keep plugging away at it, some agent will eventually bite. I always succeed at what I set out to do. Though sometimes, I do give myself permission to change my mind.
Last year, when I started querying, my body broke down. My thyroid wasn't liking the whole process. I had hot flashes and mood swings, and felt like crap. I stopped querying and got my physical health back together as best I could. I was still carrying the 10-15lb weight gain, but I felt pretty much like my old self.
Recently, I started querying again. I also got brave and let several friends read the manuscript. Then, I shared it with a group and got good feedback. Each person who has read it, contradicts the last person with their suggestions, it is so subjective, but overall the sharing has been a good experience and the feedback positive.
And now my hot flashes are back. And I feel like crap. I'm really, really starting to think this memoir I worked so long and hard on, is not the path to my joy.
Talking with a friend about it, she told me a parable, or maybe it is a true story from the island she grew up on, I'm not sure. She said they poke a small hole in a coconut and put seeds in it to capture monkeys. The monkey reaches into the coconut to retrieve the seeds. The monkey wraps its hand around the seeds, but when it does so it cannot fit it's clasped fist back through the hole to get it out. If the monkey would let go, it might be able to get the seeds another way. It would surely have it's freedom. But instead, the monkey remains trapped.
Before writing the memoir, I spent my life trying to hide the shame I felt. Shame showed up in many forms but underneath it all was the feeling my parents did not care enough about me to provide the love and safety and comfort every child deserves. I internalized it and thought I was inherently unlovable.
After a lot of work, I had already reached a place of forgiveness for my parents, but had not rid myself of the shame. Writing the memoir took me from shame, to pride at the life I had transcended. Instead of shame, I feel compassion for the young person I once was.
Compassion. Let's talk about compassion. Aren't my parents also wounded people who simply were not capable of parenting, due to their own sense of shame and worthlessness? Neither one had an ounce of self love. How could they love anyone else? I am not condoning anything here, or shooing anything under the rug, but haven't they already been through enough? When does the chain of pain end?
Perhaps one day I will fictionalize the whole thing. I do think there is value in the story. Readers will come away with compassion for kids, perhaps giving them the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps choosing kindness instead of something else when interacting with children in their lives. You just never know what kids are going through at home. A couple of years ago I would have been furious if someone had suggested fictionalizing. I would have cried, "But this is my truth!"
I know what's true. I no longer need anyone else to validate it.
Am I merely afraid it will never get published? I don't think so. I feel strongly if I keep plugging away at it, some agent will eventually bite. I always succeed at what I set out to do. Though sometimes, I do give myself permission to change my mind.
Is it fear of success? Self sabotage? I don't think so. Dragging this story around is like a sack of bricks on my back. I love t
hat girl, but I'm not that girl any longer. We've talked and she says, "I didn't get through all that to stay in it. I got through it so you could fly." Precious, she is.
hat girl, but I'm not that girl any longer. We've talked and she says, "I didn't get through all that to stay in it. I got through it so you could fly." Precious, she is. Writing this memoir healed me of shame. It taught me I can indeed write. I had the opportunity to share my very most personal story with people I trust. I am so very grateful for every person who has read my manuscript. What an honor you gave me, bearing witness.
That being said, pursuing publication of my childhood memoir, at least at this time, in this form, is not the path to my joy.
The monkey is letting go.
Let's see where freedom takes her.
19 comments:
"I didn't get through all that to stay in it. I got through it so you could fly." Precious, she is.
Precious she was and precious she is.
love.
I have always thought of you as brave, a warrior - this post validated my impression
Love the photo. My pal Manic Mommy queried over 150 agents before finding "the one." I got lucky by meeting my "soul-agent" at a conference the day after my First HuffPo piece was published. I clutched it in my hands like it was gold. If you want to be published - you will. If the memoir has given you the gift of closure and the publishing bug has left you, that's cool too. You're a terrific writer with a great voice - if you put publishing aside for a while you'll still be a terrific writer with a great voice. Maybe you'll write the next Marley and me once the doggie arrives???
K
Oh my dear friend-- and I Do feel you are a dear friend, and isn't that wonderful/funny??-- But my dear friend, you move me.
I always feel our stories are much alike. People often tell me I "should write a book" sbout my life...and I always feel I couldn't do that. The why, I could never put my finger on...I write about it on my blog, a little...I know how telling your story can set a little bit of your spirit free...And bring healing love and validation from many directions. Why not a memoir? Much for the reasons you state here, and I didn't realize it. It isn't fear, it is...wanting to move that little girl forward.
I DO think you should think about turning some of your themes into fiction. Because you ARE a writer, and you have a gift of reaching people's hearts with your words. Perhaps you do have something to teach people, and they can come to it in fiction, which can be JUST as imortant and life changing! This is what I decided to do, myself. And as I write it...I find myself grasping more wisdom from my own story, things and ways of understanding that had gone right over my head before, when I was so personally tied to the "memoir" part of the theme.
Anyway, I support and salute you, warrior woman. You walk your path with your strong soul, and light the way for so many. Myself, included.
:)
PS, you were ADORable.
:)
You haven't changed a bit. Cute then. Cute now. And of course, you have changed immeasurably. Blessings to you on the path to joy. I love reading what you write.
Love.
What a sweet photo. I love it. And I love your idea of fictionalizing your memoir, if that path is calling to you. I recently read some quote about reaching our goals in spite of the paths changing a bit along the way. And sometimes, that's just what they need to do. xoxo
When does the chain of pain end? I'd say you killed it stone dead. Your kids will never know what it is not to be loved beyond reason, not to be cared for or put above all else. That is an amazing and powerful place to come from and you give that to them.
My childhood wasn't that great with a few dodgy bits thrown in but there were some good bits too. It wasn't all bad by any means. It's only I would say in the last couple of years I've come to terms with things that happened and although I certainly don't feel the pull to write about it I feel I have finally reached a good place, the real me. Sounds like you've reached that place too, publishing your memoir would top it off (and I would certainly buy a copy!) but I think you're already soaring
You were and are precious. You are also wise.
The chain of pain has ended, Michelle. You parent your children with love and care and so much joy. They know their own pain (everyone does), but it will never be the killing pain of not being treasured and nurtured.
Who knows what will fall into this open hand? Won't it be fun to see?
it's interesting...i always thought of you as a brave warrior...and now i see you as a vulnerable little girl.
congratulations on both. you've worked hard.
love you.
A nice thing about written words, they don't go bad. You can put them down for a long time and they won't spoil, you may decide to go back and work more/ differently with them later and they will still be viable. So glad the process has been so healing so far.
I would like to read some of the memoir- any chance you will serialize parts of it on the blog?
-e-
follow your hearts. the heart of that sweet, beautiful girl and the heart of the strong, incredible woman she has grown to be.
neither will lead you astray.
love
it takes so much guts and courage to bare your soul and go through all the hard work of trying to get something published. good for you for going for it. and good for you for growing and changing through the process and realizing that maybe it should take a different form--that tenacity will pay off.
Oh, Michelle. What a wonderful realization. Here's to letting go. Here's to love. Most especially self love.
xo
Your writing is so inspiring and here you go doing it again...
I love what you write - no let me rephrase, i love what you write and HOW you write it - you most definitely are a writer. AND what you write most definitely connects with the heart of the reader... whatever you decide to do, please do not stop writing & sharing your writings! (whether as a blog or as a published piece).
that's a beautiful post! and my god what a CUTIE IN THAT PICTURE SHE IS PRECIOUS!!!!! your words will get out there. they already have. and more will. either in this memoir or as fiction. in any case, your healing will lead to our healing. xxxxx
You are such an inspiration, Michelle. You're right to see the writing as something intrinsically valuable on its own. I am so pleased that you're there, but I truly believe that this book will be published because of the way it was written and the person you have become through the writing.
The querying part sucks and you're right to honor the messages your body and soul are giving you about it. Something tells me that all you have to do is wait and the solution will present itself. Fictionalizing it or continuing to edit it will only result in more physical symptoms for you. Let it be and it will speak for itself.
Love you.
I won't attempt to dissuade you from your rest. If you're taking it, you need it. When you're ready to submit again, though, bear in mind that Richard Bach received 140 rejection letters before Jonathan Livingston Seagull was published. Gone with the Wind was rejected 38 times. There are more examples here: http://www.debbieohi.com/personal/rejections.html. And I seem to recall that Ordinary People, by Judith Guest, was rejected more than 200 times before an editor picked it up.
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