After my last post on literary agents I think it is quite obvious that feisty, southern female writers are being ostracized from the literary world. Here's the thing: Publishers and literary agents WANT, WANT, WANT authors/writers with distinctive voices. Well, I have no problem there. My father says I haven't had a problem with voice since I came out of the womb. Next, pulishers/literary agents demand unique stories and that they be told in an original fashion. If you read the synopsis for my manuscript The Courage Chronicles: A Memoir then you would know that the year I chronicle about me and my liberal, southern family is quite, shall we say, unusual. I love it when people ask me after hearing some of what has recently unfolded in my life, "Hey, have you ever thought about writing a book?" I always return a longing look with a cocked right eyebrow and say "Well, yes I have, but since I don't come with the brand name Kardashian, it's been a bit like hunting for a speck of a diamond in a haystack to uncover a literary agent/publisher willing to go out on a limb for an ordinary, southern Generation Xer who trekked to hell and back with her family". People, please! I have survived glaucoma at age 30, Meniere's disease at age 18, and a rare autoimmune disorder at age 32 so the list of unpredictable challenges in my life has been swift, long, and unending; therefore, I continue to pound the computer keys, mail the manuscript, read the latest Publisher's Weekly columns in order to find me an agent or publisher. I didn't think this quest would encompass me banging my head against a brick wall at times; teaching certainly made me do that, but getting something published has about cost me my mind and dignity.
I decided to take an urgent break earlier this week before almost committing to jumping off the roof of my house due to the stress of this publishing quest. I received the latest Lilly Pulitzer Spring 2013 catalog and took myself to a local Lilly boutique just to gaze upon the latest collection of dresses in candy land colors. Damn, I can't wait for summer! Hilton Head here I come! After taking myself to lunch at my favorite seafood restaurant and indulging in a crab cake sandwich, I picked up Martha Beck's memoir Leaving The Saints: How I Lost The Mormons And Found My Faith. Ms. Beck is hysterical; I recognize her from my O, The Oprah Magazine columns. I like her because she tells it like it is in a no holds barred fashion. And Lord knows, like me, this woman has quite a story to tell. She grew up in Mormon country with a father who held the prestigious position within the church of defending the religion. I was horrified by the ritual she was subjected to prior to her marriage. My first reaction to its summary was: What The Fool?! Bless Martha though, like me, she soldiered on after a strict childhood and made her way to Harvard majoring in Sociology. (Okay, I didn't attend "The Harvard", but I attended a UNC college which is like the Harvard of Southern colleges for those who wanted to eventually teach English to the masses). Back to the book, Ms. Beck senses she is losing her connection to spirituality until the birth of her son which wasn't exactly a walk in the park. After his birth, she and her husband turn west and head back to Mormon country to regain the support and love of family. Ms. Beck is determined to find spiritual serenity while there, but she starts questioning the faith, begins speaking out about feminism, and frighteningly, starts having flashbacks to her childhood. I almost dropped my teeth when I intuited early what had occurred to her as a child.
Bless Martha, she goes to find someone to help her cope with her discovery and flashbacks only to find a social worker who is only infrequently invested in helping her overcome the post traumatic stress disorder the new revelation has caused. So the social worker asks Martha to bring in her family thinking everyone will contribute their stories and memories and generally be supportive of Martha. No luck. The family turns on the social worker like my cat does any canine. It was scary. None of them back up Martha's revelations and generally become dismissive. At this point I think, God this woman has a family full of neurotic revolutionaries just like mine! Bless this woman, she hunts for a new therapist and finds one that is in fact a certified therapist. This therapist brings in the family member who caused Martha so much trauma and you know what? He's just like members of my family and likes to live in DeNial too. Eventually, Ms. Beck discovers how to achieve her spiritual serenity and I can tell you it involves a lot of chopping wood in the middle of the night, support groups, and a huge stage for a revelation like no other. At this point in the book I think maybe she's a close relative. Oh, Martha's fine now. She left the Saints. They wished to excommunicate her anyway. She even cut ties with her family. A woman's got to do what she's got to do in order to find peace. Hell, I've always known that like Martha, I'm going to have to walk though hell in order to find my slice of heaven. Ya'll better take a gander at this memoir.
No comments:
Post a Comment