The writer who cried wolf … except, instead of “wolf,” he cried “I’m a writer.”

Remember last year, when I had that mini-nervous-breakdown in the parking lot at work and swore that it would serve as the launching pad for my creative-writing career? Well, since that time, I have successfully completed my first draft of … nothing.

Yes, that’s correct: Other than writing a few dozen posts for this blog, I, during the 18 months that have passed since I made that lofty proclamation, have done very little in the way of inching towards my goal of producing a complete written work. And by “very little,” I mean “nothing.”

Sure, there was that months-long foray into studying the art of fiction and screenwriting … but the primary outcome of that adventure was the realization that I’m infinitely more comfortable writing about my own life, even at its most unflattering, than I am at making up stories about other (fictional) people’s lives. Someday? Maybe. Right now? Not so much.

Thankfully (or perhaps regrettably; we’ll see) I still feel compelled to write, and still have people in my life encouraging me to do so … to include my mother-in-law, who last night took me into the big city to attend a memoir-writing workshop led by local author Beth Kephart. Beth’s appearance in Philadelphia marked yesterday’s release of her latest book, “Handling the Truth: On the writing of memoir.”

Handling the Truth

I can handle the truth … I think. Maybe.

Memoir is the thing I keep circling back to when I agonize over just what it is I should be writing … which probably comes as no surprise, since, as this blog’s mere existence would suggest, my favorite thing to write about is: Me.

And so, memoir. I’m going to try to write one. I even said as much to Beth Kephart last night while she was signing my copy of “Handling the Truth.” (I apparently realized the folly of my statement and subsequently burst into an awkward-looking fit of uncomfortable laughter, as captured in a picture Beth posted at her blog today.)

She graciously played along by acting as though she believed me, and even went so far as to inscribe my book with words of encouragement:

"To Jon, In honor of your memoir to be."

“For Jon – In honor of your memoir to be.”

So now I feel like I have to write one. Sheesh. Thanks for the pressure, Beth.

But, OK, I’m going to write one … just as soon as I get the cacophony of doubtful, self-defeating voices in my head to shut the fuck up, that is. I’m quite certain I’ve been listening to them for long enough.

Pin It
This entry was posted in Life. Bookmark the permalink.
Post a comment

16 Comments