What is the date you began writing this memoir and the date when you completed the memoir? I began writing the prequel to my first book, Summers of Fire: A Memoir of Adventure, Love, and Courage, within days after submitting the final manuscript to my publisher. I simply could not stand to not to be writing!
Click on the below link to purchase Summers of Fire: A Memoir of Adventure, Love, and Courage from Amazon
Where did you do most of your writing for this memoir? And please describe in detail. My home office serves a me in multiple ways. Not only is this where I write my books, but also where I create landscape designs for my clients, and paint in watercolors. This “office” space is really just part of my great room, separated from the living room and kitchen only with a partial wall. Because I live alone, there’s no worry about distractions, other than maybe my kitty telling me he’s hungry.
What were your writing habits while writing this memoir- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? Late afternoon with a glass of wine is when I do my most creative writing on my PC. Editing, though, is usually completed in the morning, when I’m most likely rested and have let some time pass before deciding what to delete…or keep.
Out of all the specific memories you write about in this memoir, which ONE MEMORY was the most emotional for you to write about? And can you share that specific excerpt with us here. The excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer, and please provide page numbers or Chapter number as references. Oh, my. That’s a tough one. There were a number of memories that left me feeling raw. It’s tough to find an excerpt that stands alone. I’m not sure if this scene will make sense, but here goes. It begins on page 153.
A SURPRISE CALL from Roy a few days later included a casual request: “Want to go see a movie?” If I’d been thinking about how absurd this date-like invitation really was, I would’ve said no. Like a complete fool, though, I said okay. We stood in line waiting to buy tickets, hands in pockets, stomping our feet occasionally to stay warm, our breaths forming white puffs. “So what’s new?” he asked. I paused for a second before responding. “Not much,” fully aware that I didn’t mention hearing from Ben. Because the movie he wanted to see was sold out (Fate?), we drove around for a while. I kept quiet. Roy he kept glancing over at me, as though expecting me to speak. Did he sense something was bothering me? In truth, I didn’t know what to say to him, or even why I was there. “I need to pick up some throat lozenges for my mom,” he said, turning into the Stop N Go parking lot. While he visited the cold-care aisle, I flipped through a bin of albums on sale for half-price. Don McLean’s album caught my eye. I pulled it out, and flipped it over to read the song titles. “Do you want to get that?” Roy asked from behind me. “Yes, but I didn’t bring my wallet.” I put the album back. 154 Linda Strader “I’ll buy it for you,” he said, retrieving it from the display. “Okay, but I’ll pay you back.” “No, you don’t have to. Let this be your Christmas gift.” I didn’t know if I should accept this, but I did want the album. I said, “Thank you,” and let him pay. With new music in hand, we drove to his house to listen. Sitting on his bed—him closest to the record player, me leaning against the headboard—I thought it strange for us to be here like this. After all we’d been through, I was unsure how to act, unsure of what he wanted from me. He moved closer, and fingered my hair. Every nerve ending sparkled; anticipation made my hands tremble. I sat perfectly still, wanting his touch, but afraid of it, too. What would he say this time? That he liked me, but did not love me? That he wanted to be friends with sex, or friends without sex? Or that we had nothing in common? He attempted to kiss me. I pushed him away. Not again. “I thought you said we couldn’t be close friends, much less lovers. I thought you didn’t love me anymore.” “I never said such a thing . . . well, at least not quite like that.” His eyes lowered. “If I did, I lied. I do love you, in a way.” In a WAY? What the hell! In what way? Certainly not in the way I wanted him to. How in the world could I believe someone who admitted to lying? “You know, I’d been doing pretty good in trying to forget you, until you called.” Angry tears filled my eyes; my upper lip trembled. “Why did you call? Was there no one else to turn to? Did you have to scrape the bottom of the jar? Were you that desperate?” “No . . . that’s not it,” he said with a deep sigh. “I’m so messed up. I don’t know what to do, or which path to take.” We were both weary of this game. And yet, why did we still play it? I played it because Roy had the key to my heart. And the key was the last thing in the world I wanted Roy to have. Did he know he had it? He must. Otherwise he couldn’t get me to go to him every time he called. I just wished I could forget him. I just wished he’d let me. Neither of us knew what else to say at that point. He leaned in again to kiss me, and I let him. I wanted to believe that he kissed me because he loved me, but who was I kidding? “I’m sorry, but you are just so beautiful, I had to do that,” he said, smoothing my hair behind one ear. Uprooted 155 I frowned. “Beautiful?” No way. I must get out of here. With my eyes focused on the floor, I stood, and took a deep breath. “Please take me home.” When I opened the front door, I stood in awe in front of a winter fairyland. While we were inside our confusing, painful world in which we just couldn’t figure out how to be in love with each other at the same time—four inches of fresh snow had fallen, covering everything with a thick layer of what resembled powdered sugar, coating tree branches, blanketing rooftops and his truck. The one streetlight made the scene twinkle as though stars lay scattered on the ground. Caught up in the magical scene, I stood there wishing that Roy would put his arm around me, and really mean it. Not just “in a way.”
Click on the below link to purchase UPROOTED: A NEW LIFE IN THE ARIZONA SUN from Amazon.
Can you describe the emotional process of writing about this ONE MEMORY? I cried a lot, trying to understand the relationship I had with that guy so long ago, one that still tormented me during the writing of the book. Silly…but I thought once I got it all on paper I’d feel better because I’d never need to relive it again. And as with my first book, I’d conveniently forgotten that I would need to edit those difficult sections, and not just once. It took time, but the gut-wrenching emotions finally slipped into a dull ache. At this writing I don’t feel pain, but I do feel something…sadness? Yes, a touch of sadness.
Were there any deletions from this excerpt that you can share with us? No deletions…if anything I added a lot to the scene before submitting to my publisher.
Click on the below link to visit Linda Strader’s website
https://lindastrader.allauthor.com/
