Drip, Drip, Drip
December 9, 2021 § 23 Comments
By Heidi Croot
Writing the first-draft hot mess of my memoir was easy—a mudslide down the inky slopes of several thousand journal pages.
Rewriting countless drafts, fun—an archeological dig I’ve never tired of.
Restructuring the thing, hell—as I struggled to place backstory at the precise moment of reader thirst.
But none of those ups and downs compared with the anxiety I felt about sending my manuscript to my two aunts and my uncle, who appear frequently in its pages.
I had reason to be nervous.
My memoir is about their eldest sister, my mother—a woman they were estranged from most of their lives, my own longest estrangement from her spanning a mere seven years. My aunts and uncle tried to have my back through the turbulence. An only child, I leaned heavily on their love and support.
Yet as soon as I mentioned I was writing a memoir, I detected frost in the air. Heard rumblings of that old lament, “airing the family’s dirty laundry.”
I understood their wariness.
They were of a generation that preferred to hold troubling family truths underwater with the flat of their palm. I am driven to haul those truths out, towel them down, assess them from every angle. What can they teach us? How might they heal us?
My aunts and uncle don’t read memoir. I knew if they were going to accept my manuscript, I couldn’t just thrust 300+ pages at them and hope for a miracle. I would need to chart a wayfinding course to the genre using signposts and lamplight.
And about two years ago, drawing on what I knew about awareness campaigns from my 35+ years in corporate communication, that’s what I did.
I casually sent them essays by memoirists who acknowledged their vulnerabilities and the challenges of truth-telling.
I sent book reviews and memoir quotations to show what other writers were sharing with the world.
I sent updates on my own project with excerpts from my work-in-progress that I hoped would demonstrate a balanced take on our difficult family circumstances.
This drip-drip-drip approach paid off when the Los Angeles Review of Books published my essay, “How to Tell Your Mother She Can’t Go Home Again,” describing one of the harshest events of my mother’s life (and mine)—her first day in a nursing home, eight years before she died.
With that, my memoir project could no longer be ignored. Nor could its intent, tone or potential reception in the world.
My aunts and uncle read the piece and sent congratulations.
We had taken the first hill.
It was time for the second.
By now the manuscript was ready for beta readers. I promised my relatives a copy but kept them waiting while I finished some edits. One aunt in her eighties complained that at this rate she might not be around to finally read the thing. My uncle asked how it was going. I could hear the other aunt’s fingers drumming from her home in California.
They were eager to read.
Good.
I emailed the pdf to the California aunt. She immediately responded with family stories triggered by my chapters, as well as helpful editorial suggestions and a factual correction.
“For the duration of the reading it was as though my sister were alive, in front of me with all of her strife and fury…” she wrote me when she finished reading. “You’ve done yourself proud, Heidi.”
My beloved writers’ groups responded to this news with jubilance.
Meanwhile, I invited my other aunt, and my uncle and his wife of 50+ years, to my home, where I presented them with coil-bound copies. We spent a convivial weekend enjoying a charcuterie board, tacos, wine, and quiet time as they turned pages.
They didn’t offer encouragement, though my uncle remarked that his avid reading signaled his interest, and his wife dissolved into tears at one point, acknowledging the painful path our family had been forced to take in tangling with my mother.
In my beta reader guidelines, a one-page menu of suggestions I developed for first-time readers on what kind of comments would be most helpful, I had asked for their feedback within a month—one week away as I write this. I’ve invited them back for a second weekend to close that loop. After all, this was a business arrangement: their access to my full work in exchange for their editorial catches and family history tweaks.
No reply yet.
Offering feedback can be challenging when you’re not used to it.
No reason to be nervous, I want to tell them. You’re in safe hands here. It’s going to be all right.
Heidi Croot lives in Northumberland County, Ontario, Canada, and is working on a memoir. Her corporate writing has appeared in numerous trade publications, and her creative work in the Los Angeles Review of Books, Brevity, Linea magazine, Writescape, the WCDR anthology Renaissance, and elsewhere. You can reach Heidi on Twitter @heidicroot.
You obviously have some game in working with a challenging crowd. I’d guess that comes, in some part, from navigating your mother’s storms.
You are a discerning reader!
I loved this, thank you. I will want to buy the book.
And when that happens, I’ll be spinning like a top aboard the moon. Thank you!
Good luck! I love the concept of creating an awareness campaign for those not familiar with memoir. I can see where that really laid the groundwork.
Thanks Rachael. At first I was just doing what I do (communication career). I saw the pattern of it in the rear-view.
Heidi, I loved this essay. I’ve taught a lot of classes about interacting with family around a memoir and found your approach creative, brave and effective. I’ll be sharing your post in the future. good luck with your memoir and with your family.
That this idea should have life in your classes makes me so d**n happy. Thank you for your support. You of all people get it.
You wrote that you casually sent them essays by memoirists who acknowledged their vulnerabilities and the challenges of truth-telling.
You sent them book reviews and memoir quotations to show what other writers were sharing with the world.
I would have loved to have been the recipient of these.
Might this not make an excellent, additional book on its own?
Your way of writing is captivating, Heidi. I absolutely want to read your memoir when it is out in the world.
Thank you Brenda–for your heartwarming feedback and also your inspired idea. I’m throwing it in the hopper.
Such great work, Heidi. Many congratulations!
Thank you, Betha — appreciated!
Do you like your new name??
Heidi, a marvelous piece. I know how much courage you’ve had to muster to climb these hills. Now I appreciate reading about the skillful ways you’ve engaged these close readers. I have my fingers crossed for the final engagement! And congrats on the publication of this beautiful essay!
Thank you for your years of support in every important way, Sue! That you know the story behind the story is a true gift to me.
I found this to be quite beautiful and helpful to me too. Thank you!
I’m delighted, William!
Heide. I want a copy please!,,,, Love you and Phil and feel your pain with family interactions.
I’ll make sure you get a copy, bella. Thanks for reading!
Heidi Croot — you are an inspiration. I (and my various mss) have been the beneficiary of your careful and discerning eye. I’m with Brenda Damen on this — once the memoir is sold, you have your next book ready to focus on. Brava!
Best cheerleader ever (next to Phil)! Thank you Ruth…you are such a good friend with such a wondrously big heart.
This is good advice for any memoirist.
[…] friends, and family members (including my aunts and uncle who appear frequently in its pages…read about that here—only three knew from experience what they were saying yes […]