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spirits in the trees and drown all the clocks 'til there's none

It's Friday night and I'm alone in an AirbnB in the low mountains. It's been raining all day, which has been wonderful. It's also very cold (California cold, that is) and I love that, too.

I'm here for a solo writing retreat but it's taken me until today to actually put words to paper (or type to the digital version of paper anyway). Got here late Wednesday and graded homework as I binged Emily in Paris, which is such a silly show but sometimes your brain needs silly--and gorgeous clothes, and lovely Parisian backdrops and cute French boys.

Yesterday--more grading. Honestly, it took me all day to catch up and although that's not really how I wanted to spend my first full day here, it was nice to clear my to-do list--and my brain.

Today, a little more work and then I finally set about writing.

OK, well first I started making lists and organizing and jotting down notes and free-writing.

I've been working on this memoir for a little over a year now and it is just a *mess* and part of this weekend is about extracting the story from the mess.

A memoir is supposed to tell of a particular story or journey from your life but mine can't be so categorically neat. It's not "This happened and then I did this and eventually I learned this".

There are so many instigating moments but the crux of it comes down to telling the story of both of my mothers and how their lives intersected with mine and then how my life intersected with my abusive first husband and how I got out of that, and then unwinding into the story of how both of my mothers died of cancer, four years apart. How I thought P's death would prepare me for my mother's, but it didn't.

I know, I know--it seems a bit incoherent and not very compelling.

Hence, the notes and the outlines and the organizing.

What is important and what is just non-essential fluff.

What is the story others might want to read?

Might delete this entry later because, honestly, whenever I try to talk about writing a memoir I question myself because, honestly, who the fuck cares?

Anyway, I'm listening to Sparklehorse, sipping chilled wine and staring at a pine-scented candle that's starting to lull me to sleep with its flickering warmth. It's the first time I've been alone for any real length of time in eight months and it is much-needed.

10:30 pm - 13.11.20

sounds:
words:
i am:

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previously on ... - next time on ...

sister to a father of a thought - 22.11.20 - 1:40 pm

shotgun down the avalanche - 21.11.20 - 3:25 pm

spirits in the trees and drown all the clocks 'til there's none - 13.11.20 - 10:30 pm

a shift back to democracy - 09.11.20 - 5:36 pm

georgia (and other states) on my mind - 05.11.20 - 1:56 pm

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