After doing a lot of writing about my life when I was 21-24 years old, most of which I haven't posted, I found myself ready to go back to revising my book draft, a childhood memoir of growing up after mother loss. It ends around age 17. I took a break from revising it for several months because I was tired of it. Obviously if I was bored, the draft wasn't ready for public consumption.
One of my early readers last year was frustrated by some aspects of the book. Also, that reader had stopped paying close attention about three-quarters through. I could tell because a few of the clarifying questions asked had been answered already or immediately after. At first feeling dismayed, I then realized that this might be the biggest-scope, most actionable feedback I had. Reader stopped paying attention = I dropped the rope.
For the millionth time, I had to sift the story to find the unbroken thread the reader needs. And this is good, reflective, healing, enriching work.
Writing about myself aged 21-24, the launching years, showed me a person in a deep emotional deficit. I had lacked, and been unaware of lacking, the specific kinds of support I needed to thrive during the year before college graduation and the two years afterward. I thought after graduation that I had everything I needed and wanted, in a basic sense. An apartment, a best friend, a boyfriend, a job. I despaired at understanding what was wrong, what I needed to change in order to have the exuberant life I'd had when I still lived at home.
Retracing (recently) how I got into that deep hole took me back to childhood events when I learned to see my needs as wishes or weaknesses that I could defer, squash down, or deny. These moments of learning to reject my needs were easy to define now, because of all the writing and reflecting I've done. And they’re already in the book. But I hadn’t seen them so specifically through the explicit framing of emotional needs. I still had a tendency, today, to see them as wishes. Wishes for more adult attention, wishes to be surrounded by a big family or neighbor group, wishes to be liked at school for who I was.
If they’re wishes, well, every kid learns we can’t have everything we wish for. Don’t expect it. This is the real world.
That idea of wishes needs clarified my whole childhood memoir: it revolves around emotional needs, how they are met or not, and what happens.
I was a lucky child whose needs were met by parents and surroundings. Then my unlucky fate, the long illness and death of my mother, took a lot of the attention I needed away from me, and I had to keep growing up and being formed without family attention. My dad turned away from me without really meaning to; I think he was desperately trying to take care of himself.
Still, I was lucky to have a good self image. I took for granted that I was likeable and lovable. Though very uncertain, I was able to reach out, this way, that way, to try to meet my needs. And again I was lucky. I was surrounded almost completely by good, safe people, and I built a healthy patchwork.
By the time my childhood memoir ends, I was happy enough, safe enough, and savvy enough (because of friends, neighbors, and bike rides, and because of the material/homelife structure provided by my dad). That all meant I could take the next step out of my small bubble and connect with my first boyfriend (lucky again: he was great). The book ends right before that.
So, back to revisions. All that other writing recently was really worthwhile.
I hope that wasn't me lol 🙈
These are great reflections. As you know, this part resonates deeply: "Then my unlucky fate, the long illness and death of my mother, took a lot of the attention I needed away from me, and I had to keep growing up and being formed without family attention. My dad turned away from me without really meaning to; I think he was desperately trying to take care of himself."
I'm also wondering if you might need a developmental edit? They can work wonders.
Hmm, interesting. Your introspection makes me wonder whether my mother's prolonged dying from when I was 16 through 21 left me feeling like no one was attending to my needs during this formative period of my life. I never really thought about it that way. Perhaps my HEAVY drinking was not only a way to numb myself, but also an attention grab. Neat. Good luck on your next stage of revisions. I Doubt I would have it in me.