Stages

I’m trying to hold on to my work ethic, but the refrain in my head is holy shit, we’re hosting Thanksgiving for 16 people. This weekend I have to empty out my office the dining room, clean out the cesspit refrigerator, and drink a lot get ready to host two of my sisters and attendant family.

I’m still reading Son of a Gun, and I still love it. He neither tells too much nor too little. His scenes are fleshed out. There is only a little bit of bullshit. The book is about a man looking into his mother’s murder by his stepfather. He goes to a support group for people with murdered loved ones and writes:

“They don’t discuss the phase after the zombie phase: the denial phase, the rage phase, the writing-a-book-about-it stage.”

What stage are you in?

Advertisements

9 responses to “Stages

  1. Yesterday I watched this panel discussion.

    It doesn’t get interesting until about the 38 minute mark — which gives you about 4 minutes to watch. Mary says this one thing which I needed to hear: In a memoir, the narrator’s interior life has to be very large, and everything that happens has to filter through that self.

    This is the hardest thing for me in the writing, the making sure I’m “there.”

  2. well, since I live in [name of country redacted] and we don’t celebrate Thanksgiving (officially, that is), I am celebrating it today. Turkey has been defrosted at the butcher’s (we also have small fridges and ovens in [name of country redacted] since we don’t have to cook turkeys (officially, that is) and stuffing).

    And, since we walk on our heads in [name of country redacted] I can have asparagus and peas from the garden at thanksgiving. Jealous?

    x

      • It’s weird living on the other side. I spent a year in Jo’burg and the most disconcerting thing was that on Christmas day, after a braai (barbecue), the accepted tradition was going to the zoo in Pretoria. That South Africa had a zoo was strange, considering the preserves and all, anyway, I remember riding a cable car across the zoo grounds and looking down on picnickers Christmas day afternoon. For a girl raised in New England, anything on the ground besides white stuff and an occasional deer passing by was just plain weird.

  3. The cool thing about where I live is that my feet are on the ground while I am walking upside down. Got it?

    How’s your tennis elbow, by the way?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s