I recently began another memoir class, this one with Lissa Rankin, based on Nancy Slonim Aronie’s book, Memoir As Medicine: The Healing Power of Writing Your Messy, Imperfect, Unruly (but Gorgeously Yours) Life Story. It felt right, considering I was heading all the way back to the beginning to start working on a second draft, one that I envisioned delving even deeper into the nitty gritty and letting go of what is no longer relevant to what I like to call the “tree trunk” of my story. One of the first assignments was to write a blurb for my future book jacket, real or imagined. I have been given this exercise countless times in other classes, and honestly, I have avoided it like the plague. The idea of shrinking down the gist of my story into one or two paragraphs felt pretty much impossible. Until I concluded the first draft of my book, I had allowed myself to write with wild abandon, not worrying about editing for either the sake of my own personal comfort or that of others. It had slipped out of me like a jelly fish, and while it was an incredibly healing process, I had not concerned myself with the bones– the sturdy structure or frame that holds it all together. I basically had a tree without a trunk.

Thankfully, that has shifted. This shit is getting real.

Here is a (working) blurb for my book… (squeeee!)…