Memoir

September 29, 2014

Claire Wingfield interviews Fran Macilvey

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Claire Wingfield Interviews Fran Macilvey

I am delighted that today, writer and editor, Claire Wingfield, interviews me about the process of writing and publishing my book, ‘Trapped: My Life With Cerebral Palsy’.

Claire is one of my mentors, instrumental both in motivating me to continue writing, and in helping to edit the manuscript so that firstly, it was more readable, and secondly, that so it didn’t end up telling lots of stories about other people. In this blog I have touched on the difficulty of writing memoir and, while endeavouring to be as truthful as possible, not treading on other people’s toes.

Her honest feedback also motivated me to keep going with the quest to find a publisher. It may have taken a few years, but it has been worth it! Claire has written ‘Fifty Two Dates For Writers’  to keep writers motivated.

Thank you, Claire, for being such an inspirational friend and a thoughtful critic.

You can find Claire’s interview, ‘Writing One’s Life’ on her blog today. Anyone who ‘likes’ this interview has the chance to win a copy of my book.

 

Good Luck flower

 

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August 5, 2014

Hanging it all out to dry

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Hanging it all out to dry

Writing autobiographical material is a bit of a tricksy business. We are rather beholden to tell something of the truth, though heaven knows that can be rather difficult, both to discover and to articulate. Entertainment value also supposes that we have to write something interesting, kinda, avoiding narcissism and voyeurism on the way. And, I suppose, we run the risk of offending whomever we mention in passing, if our portrayals are unkind, thoughtless or incorrect.

Writing “Trapped” is, by far, the most difficult thing I have done: relentlessly exorcising demons, re-examining every facet of life as I have lived it and understood it, and taking responsibility for many parts where I could have done better, been more kind, generous and especially, more aware of what others had to tolerate. Writing has allowed me to offer an apology, of sorts, and to meet and make up with friends and family, before it was too late. I am so glad I took that chance. I am so glad.

With hindsight, I also suspect that one reason I started writing was to demonstrate that, clearly, the world is very much kinder to me than I have hitherto been to myself. In that sense, there has never been anything to worry about. If only because publication brings friends and readers who are constantly generous, loving, thoughtful and supportive, writing has already worked wonders. I have harboured many fears – and I am sure many writers do – some of which we commit to paper, read through and then launch on an unsuspecting public amidst a sea of doubt. We fear the clamour of disapproval. Waiting fearfully for the backlash….blessed approval or silence answers.

Constantly seeking reassurance, perhaps writers habitually focus on critiques which are muted or less than stellar. We receive fulsome and genuine praise from all quarters, yet the comment we focus on is the lone voice which ‘damns with faint praise’. Many of us do this, I am sure, and I have decided to stop. Focussing too much on the critical critic is perverse, ridiculous, and completely ignores the truth that all opinions are valuable, and some have benefits that I will never notice or understand. I let it be, and write when I can.

Self-portrait - Orpen
Self-portrait – Orpen

 

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May 1, 2014

Telling Stories

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Telling Stories

Are memoirists selfish? Occasionally, after reading “Trapped: My Life With Cerebral Palsy” a reader may comment with a wistful sigh, that they don’t get to discover much about the other members of my family. Do they gaze quizzically into the middle distance and suppose they are dealing with a narcissist? Self-obsessed at least….the reflection may leave them wondering…

Memoirists don’t even have to claim to be accurate, for goodness’ sake! They can just bring a whole pile of memories to the table, and, so long as they are “what I experienced” they are allowed their own creative licence. No poring over volumes in the dusty halls of academe, no flights to far-flung Istanbul to track down long-lost relatives whom you recognise vaguely, but can scarcely speak to, as they stand before you patting your hand and remembering the way it used to be, before your grandmother left home….

There are indeed many other telling stories wrapped in with a memoir, waiting to be told. But the subject of a memoir has to wade into the past gently, finding a way through which leaves the bulk of other people’s recollections untouched, while benefiting from them enough to provide context, depth and explanations. I have no right to tell the story of anyone else’s life, and so I must leave other people’s life strands almost entire and alone, respecting the privacy of their memories, trials and tribulations and not using or abusing them to gain extra attention.

Deciding what to write about, and what to omit, has become, for me at least, an exercise in honest self-control; and if I aim for that, I will probably not go too far wrong. That is what I have always tried to do, at any rate, so that if anyone has an objection, I can at least be clear that I was doing my best to recount my story in my own way, with no other objective than to finally tell my truth. Not a bad aspiration, actually, for a day’s work.

Jules Breton - La Glaneuse Lasse
Jules Breton – La Glaneuse Lasse

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April 11, 2014

I Had No Idea

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Reactions to my book, “Trapped: My Life With Cerebral Palsy” have been overwhelmingly supportive and loving, with thoughtful and generous crits and reviews being posted on Amazon UK, Amazon.com (USA), Goodreads, Facebook and other websites. I am very touched and pleased that my story has already reached so many readers.

Interestingly, a great many people whom I would count as good friends, react surprised, saying, I had no idea. They are really astonished that so much can have happened of which they have been unaware, though of course, being introverted, depressed and solitary for so many years, it is unsurprising that, until now, only little fragments of my life and times, my thoughts, have surfaced to reach the light of day.

I counted it an important necessity to maintain peaceful dignity, but often that is a way of staying away from the helping arms that others willingly extend towards us. We do need to show our weaknesses, our frailty, and allow others to understand. I’m sorry that, for so long, I have been unable to share intimacies, or to trust that the reactions of friends and family would be supportive. I regret the missed opportunities to share more fully, because, at the very least, sharing would have helped me to notice that we all have stuff to deal with, we all struggle and suffer together in this melting pot called “Life”. Seeing that more clearly before now, would have given me the courage to make more mistakes, be more outspoken, to take more (small) risks so that I might move more freely and help others more often.

Today is a new day. And these resolutions build up slowly, gently forcing my hand. Thank God for the kindness of friends and strangers, and for the love that you have shown me. Thank you.

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March 20, 2014

Resolution

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My resolution and cheerfulness held well today, and we managed to finish all the audio recording of “Trapped” by four fifteen this afternoon. Hooray! On Monday, we do pickups, and edits, and that is about the end of this project, about which I have been preoccupied since January. Publication of book – tick! Narration of audio – tick! There is lots of new space in my head for doing some work, for writing, for resting and for getting in touch with friends.

Claire Montreuil, 1945
Claire Montreuil, 1945

It is strange to reflect that the engineer, whom I will probably never meet again after close of business on Monday, knows so much about me, and I know only his name, that he drives a dark, diesel engine car, and lives in town. I have his business card in my pocket with his phone-number on it, and that is all.

I have had various names, each one marking a distinct period of years in my life. I am glad to have arrived at Fran Macilvey, and here I hope to stay.  I am still getting used to it, though, and often forget that anyone who has read ‘Trapped’ will not need the usual context or explanations, even if I have only just met them. I would be interested to hear what other people feel about the experience of writing memoir, of sharing the highs and lows. Do you brush off the inequality in the information exchange, or does it leave you feeling unbalanced?

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March 19, 2014

I Must Not Be Selfish

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Just when I reach one of my lowest ebbs, there come two pictures of daffodils posted on Facebook by a lovely friend. I gaze at these and determine that what I most need is not courage or resignation, but discipline. And so decided, I don my scarf and coat and go outside for all of ten minutes in search of elusive daffodils nearby. It is windy and cold, a blast of spring air. As I gaze up into the sullen, darkening sky which mirrors my mood so neatly, I realise, This is not about me. I must not be selfish.

In writing my book, “Trapped: My Life With Cerebral Palsy” and now in narrating it for the audio book, I have at last accepted fully that, regardless of how humiliated I may feel, there is more at stake here, than my privacy or my sense of personal dignity. Other people are working hard for me, it is true, and many of them do so for little tangible reward. But the picture is bigger than this. I can read, and write, and I have a wonderful life. I have freedom to move and the space to express my preferences. I know that, most days, I do not do enough with that freedom, but at least I can move away from here. I have always known that, in life, it is having options that matters most.

There are millions of people in the world who suffer in silence, who endure cruelty, exclusion and neglect, and who have no-one to speak for them: millions of children who are misdiagnosed, misunderstood, pigeonholed, forgotten and overlooked: millions of adults who can do nothing about the places they find themselves in. As I write in my book,

“How many others with issues like mine are languishing in the shadows of institutional ignorance because their families listen politely to advice which owes more to prejudice and speculation than to hard facts or compassion? If it wasn’t for my mother’s decision so often to disagree, to go it alone, I would be in a “home,” possibly dead, having led only a teeny little bit of a life. No one would have known anything about me, or uncovered the thoughts lurking behind my eyes. The smallness of my life would have remained a hidden loss, overlooked, as the lives of so many disabled adults are overlooked.”

If my book can strike a blow for freedom of conscience, self-expression, human dignity and compassion, then the small terrors I have to endure are well worth the price. God will give me the strength to do as I must. And, with that faith, together we can all join and create miracles. I do so hope you agree.

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February 14, 2014

Career for a collapsing woman 2

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Career for a collapsing woman 2

It is simply thrilling, having a writing career which seems set to unfold in gentle ripples around me. It seems quite astonishing that I, of all people, should be able to say, with truth as well as conviction, “I am a writer” and be able to point to some evidence of success in that line.

Ahead of publication in less than three weeks, I feel so happy, very excited, more than a little scared and plagued with self-doubt: The changeable moods that flood through me are disorientating, yet I rediscover every day the power of relaxing and letting go. I may as well relax, wait and see what happens after “Trapped” is published. In some ways, the hard bits have already been done, since writing my magnum opus has been rather like having an operation on my heart without the benefit of anaesthetic. I have to trust that it will all work out well.

The audio script for ‘Trapped’ is also more or less sorted, ready for reading, ready for whenever I am told the studio is ready for me. If I had a retentive kind of mind, I would have the text word-perfect by now, and could recite it without the script at all. The words and the sentiments, the voices, are as familiar to me as vanilla ice-cream; so of course I want to read it. But it is so very intimate, in parts, so very private, that I occasionally feel as if the whole world will witness my humiliation and my pain. Reading a paper book is usually a private affair, but if I am also speaking aloud, I feel as if I am handing myself and all my intimate secrets over on very public plate. Does that feel humiliating? Yes, occasionally, and I don’t know why.

I am aware that ‘exposure’ and ‘humiliation’ narratives are only one side of the coin, the other side perhaps etched with ‘candour’, ‘bravery’ or ‘sharing’.  Nevertheless, from a place of relative calm, I observe a bewildering array of emotions, spilled like pins from a sewing box, which threaten to pierce my peace of mind at every hand and turn. Sometimes, caught unaware, it feels as if an unknown person is standing outside the room flicking the light switch on and off, on and off, just for fun. Should I get bereavement counselling for my poor old life?

What most readers may notice goes beyond the shame. Perhaps, reading aloud now will help me to have another period of coming to terms. I intend to give a reading to be proud of.

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December 10, 2013

Telling the truth

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Telling the truth

People think I am very funny, because I tell the truth. “Oh, how drole, how very amusing!” they chortle, trying not to choke on their tea, their coffee or their biscuit crumbs. “However do you manage?” Well, it’s easy, really. I say what everyone is thinking. I blurt out the “one stupid question” that no-one else wants to ask, for fear of looking idiotic. All things considered, I have little to lose, so I think of truth telling as my party piece instead: my secret weapon.

It was dad who started me thinking about this. During a visit to him abroad, as he was happily relating tales of his adventures, he confessed that it could be very tricky using humour to brighten the mood at a dinner party. Humour, it turns out, is a remarkably local affair – I may understand irony, a family joke, but the neighbours will probably consider the same joke too forward and rather rude. What might be amusing to the French ambassador sitting on dad’s right, may deeply embarrass the Lithuanian consul seated on his left…difficulties with language and the communication of small subtleties can proliferate alarmingly.

“So, what do you do about that?” I asked, wonderingly.

“Well, you see, Frannie, it’s easy….” He turned to me with a twinkle in his eye… “I just tell a story against myself. It could be anything…I might have told the cook I wanted salad for supper, not salami; or I might have dropped my glass of wine at an evening function. Whatever it is, I just make it sound funny and everyone laughs. We are all very entertained if the joke is on me, and my problem is solved. No more international misunderstandings. Very important, you see….”

While I marvelled at my father’s dedication to his job, even to the extent of putting himself forward so that everyone might laugh at his antics, I have learned that gentle humour is indeed a wonderful way to disarm unkindness, to steal a small advantage or to entertain our friends. If we make ourselves look a bit daft, they feel more comfortable telling us about their mistakes too. “Do you know, that yesterday, in my haste to get ready, I put my spectacles in the towel cupboard? I had gone in there to get a bath towel and took off my glasses ….I couldn’t see to find them again of course, and it took twenty minutes of padding about before I remembered….”

In my experience this sort of story always makes us feel better than merely gossiping, or telling the truth the way we usually do, with an earnest expression which we hope will soften the blow. There are times when “painful” truths are best left alone. Who wants to cause of unhappiness? Not me.

It was my father I thought of, when I had the wonderful idea to take twenty years of hard knocks and turn them into funny stories. At last, I realised, I could gleam something worthwhile from what I used to think of as my wasted years, by telling the truth and laughing about it. Hooray!

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