My husband and I went out to California a few weeks ago. We arrived at our hotel room delighted to discover one of his colleagues had been kind enough to leave us a welcome package replete with a lovely little book by Floriana Peterson entitled 111 Places in San Francisco That You Must Not Miss.
Which is where I discovered 826 Valencia. The brainchild of Dave Eggers and Ninive Calegari, it’s a pirate storefront with cool loot up front and one-on-one tutoring programs for kids in the back. In the middle, the young author's work is for sale. Yes, you read that right...the same little folks being tutored go on to publish and sell their essays, poetry, and short stories. I even picked up a book of essays about the joys and perils of technology--written by his peers--for my eldest.
In case you create the space to get out there, I'm telling you, the place has a great vibe.
Peterson’s lovely little book is also how I discovered Egger’s memoir, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, which more or less spawned the whole pirate-tutor-shop place which doesn’t surprise me, even though it's a book about his mom dying of cancer.
At first blush, the disparate parts--cancer, pirates, tutoring kids--may seem unrelated but not when you think that maybe for Eggers writing went a little way to healing the hole in his heart left by his mom, then it makes sense that the pirate-tutor-shop followed. I imagine he wanted a storefront to give that particular medicine to as many people as he could. Preferably young ones. It's a great WHY.
Writing is extraordinary medicine. And when you get through writing a memoir--I should know I’m three quarters of the way there--you know who you are and an what you can do. You don't need anyone else to tell you what you’ve been through, where you're going. You shine on about it instead of being ashamed.
And that makes all the difference in your life and the lives of those around you too.
I’m always encouraging my personal writing students to show more than they tell.
What’s the difference? There are many but the most important is probably that when you tell me, and tell me, and tell me more (even though exposition does have it's place)…in a personal story or bit it can come off like a chronological resume, or worse, a blow by blow. First this happened, then that, then the other thing. The result is usually boring.
I’m not nearly as interested in what’s happened to you, as I am in what you make of it. And I want you to make art. I want you to be so honest and vulnerable, that I feel all kinds of things you may or may not have intended. When you do that, I can trust you because while I might not agree with you, or have been through exactly the same circumstances, when you show me your world I understand how you see it because I can see it too.
If too much telling becomes a habit, writers also run the risk of telling their readers how to think and feel, what conclusions to come to, and I don't know about you but I don't like to be told what to do.
Besides, don't you want readers who think for themselves? The last thing you want to do as a writer is insult your audience's intelligence.
Lead me to the water and let me drink it myself. Thank you very much.
Back to Eggers, I started reading his memoir and came across this terrific passage. I'll show it to you now.
"It’s not that our family has no taste, it’s just that our family’s taste is inconsistent. The wallpaper in the downstairs bathroom, though it came with the house, is the house’s most telling decorative statement, featuring a pattern of fifteen or so slogans and expressions popular at the time of its installation. Right-On, Neat-O, Outta Sight!—arranged so they unite and abut in intriguing combinations. That-A-Way meets Way Out so that the A in That-A Way creates A Way Out. The words are hand-rendered in stylized block letters, red and black against white. It could not be uglier, and yet the wallpaper is a novelty that visitors appreciate, evidence of a family with no pressing interest in addressing obvious problems of décor, and also proof of a happy time, an exuberant and fanciful wallpaper.
The living room is kind of classy, actually—clean, neat, full of heirlooms and antiques, an oriental rug covering the center of the hardwood floor. But the family room, the only room where any of us has ever spent any time, has always been for better or for worse, the ultimate reflection of our true inclinations. It’s always been jumbled, the furniture competing, with clenched teeth and sharp elbows, for the honor of the Most Wrong-looking Object. For twelve years, the dominant chairs were blood orange. The couch of our youth, that which interacted with the orange chairs and white shag carpet, was plaid—green, brown and white. The family room has always had the look of a ship’s cabin, wood paneled, with six heavy wooden beams holding, or pretending to hold, the ceiling above, The family room is dark and, save for a general sort of decaying of it’s furniture and walls, has not changed much in the twenty years we’ve lived here.The furniture is overwhelmingly brown and squat, like the furniture of a family of bears. There is our latest couch, my father’s, long and covered with something like tan-colored velour, and there is a chair next to the couch, which five years ago replaced the blood oranges, a sofa-chair of brownish plaid, my mother’s. In front of the couch is a coffee table made from a cross section of a tree, cut in such a way that the bark is still there, albeit heavily lacquered. We brought it back, many years ago, from California and it, like most of the house’s furniture, is evidence of an empathetic sort of decorating philosophy—for aesthetically disenfranchised furnishings we are like the families that adopt troubled children and refugees from around the world—we see beauty within and cannot say no."
Mind you, I know my once upon a time colleagues over at the Modern Language Association will be miffed. For quotes longer than four lines the rule says to indent, but Mailchimp (what I use to get these e-mails to you) makes this whole e-mail look wonky when I try to do that so I've used quotation marks to signal what belongs to Eggers. His writing is brilliant, isn't it?
I knew you’d think so. I could go on and on deconstructing the elements of powerful personal writing on display here. There’s contrast and levity. Eggers shows you the room so well, most people feel as if they’ve waltzed right in but what strikes me the most about this passage is the way the décor speaks volumes about his family. The way he talks about people without talking about them. This passage alone earns the book its lengthy title, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. If you’re a speaker or writer, I highly recommend you study it, and lean into its possibility for your personal bits.
If this piece brought to mind a particular room you once lived in, why not write about it? Who knows it might be fun to discover the heart and soul of your family in the furnishings.
Don’t forget, I ALWAYS love hearing from you. Drop me a line, tell me what you’re up to, or whether or not you enjoyed this piece.
Oh and before I go, you should know the personal writing classes I’m teaching on City Island are exceeding my expectations in every way. I’ll be opening new sections in February—both in the hood and online—so, please, let me know if you’re interested.
And, if you’re local, or close enough to get local for a day, I’ve teamed up with an amazing yoga instructor and an accomplished chef to bring participants a half day retreat. We did it for the first time last month and it was so lovely. People who came said such beautiful things afterward: "Astonishingly helpful," "breath of fresh air," "absolutely love the energy." If you can, join us this Saturday because we're doing it again.
If you're interested, and you haven't already seen or gotten the flyer, drop me a note letting me know you want one and I'll e-mail it to you.
Until next time... be well, be light, and--even if it's just a few minutes a day--write.
Love,
Clementina
P.S. If you happen to spot a typo or some other such nonsense, feel free to let it go, or drop me a line and let me know. I appreciate you either way. Of the many things I'm grateful for every single day, I'm thankful my oversights or mistakes on the page aren't likely to hurt anyone. That said, I honor and respect you and the language so if there's anything at all I've missed, bringing it to my attention gives me another chance to course correct. Thank you.