I wrote about my conception imagining how it transpired for my non-fiction class. I was trying to frame my birth around the theme "triumph over negligence." How no one wanted me and to tell this story, or essay, with a lot of playfulness and color. I sent Mom the first few pages, a quite mellow beginning before the manure hits the fan and she took umbrage:
"Sorry, you were conceived out of love not a bunch old squirrel calls!" she writes. "We sound like a couple of hillbillies. This had better be fiction!"
Later, she writes, "You need to take out the part about your own experiences. It's not tasteful or relevant." The part about my own experiences is basically everything else, so in effect what she is saying is trash it all. Writing is hard. I try awfully hard to be funny. I recall in our workshop how one of my classmates wrote about her Mother hitting her brother with a shovel full of dog shit and I got really jealous because those episodes are what make good non-fiction to me and I wish I had this experience in my life, but sadly we never had any pets.
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4 comments:
The worst teachers talk about themselves to their classes and do it as a lame attempt to conceal their flimsy knowledge of the subject that they are supposed to be teaching.
There's a surfeit of wacky dysfunctional family memoirs. The world is full of broken toys at the bottom of the cupboard as Jackie Collins once declared.Perhaps studente should compose memoirs in the form of nursery rhymme or moral fable and if that fails try the racy 1970's airport bestseller genre.
Say hi to Judith Krantz for me won't you, Muriel.
Worst teachers are the best.
I'm reporting abuse NOW.
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