People have asked how I wrote my memoir and what the process was. I don’t believe there’s one way to write. It’s different for everyone and no process is the same. I believe I have writing in my blood. My grandmother was a writer back in the 1970’s. I inherited her passion and have been putting pen to paper from an early age, around six-years-old. I had a journal and found it fascinating to record my thoughts, then years later reflect and relive those memories.
In my twenties, I was dating and working in Manhattan, post college life. It was a merry- go-round of small apartments, roommates, going out late at night and waking up early for work the next day. Dating was a sport at that time. Each guy a puzzle as I’d mix and match the pieces in my mind, trying to imagine if he could fit into my life. I’d jot down my experiences, just like Taylor Swift after each break up. But there were no tear drops on my guitar, just on my keyboard. Before I knew it, I had a contemporary Sex and the City(ish) novel on my hands. It’s title was: The Race For The Ring (so intellectually stimulating, I know). Fast forward, all of my friends got married before me so I lost the race.
In the world of writing a book, one hopes for a literary agent, their job is to get the manuscript in the hands of a publisher. It’s a long and excruciating process. I tried, sending out dozens of query letters to publishing houses across New York. I imagine that query letter, piled among thousands in some random inbox , like a needle in a haystack, never seeing the light of day.
I found out that The New School in Manhattan was having a meet and greet with literary agents and for a small fee, I could attend the event and pitch my manuscript to the best in the business. This was like speed dating on crack. Rows of plastic folding chairs filled an expansive conference room. The bell would ring and a game of musical chairs would begin. Writers moved from folding chair to folding chair, pitching their stories until the sun went down. Did I get any bites on The Race for the Ring? With a hot title like that, how could I not? But my book didn’t have that X factor. So I pushed my laptop under my bed as it collected dust for many years and from then on I was quite busy. I got married and had a baby - no big deal.
Years later, my daughter was napping and I sat there staring at her porcelain plump cheeks. I thought, what happened to that novel I was writing? Also, how do I occupy my time when my child sleeps more hours of the day then she’s actually awake? I dusted off my computer but quickly realized that this time was different. I didn’t have any more dating stories. After all, I was married. So what would I write about? I did have my past. It was packed with more tears, heartbreak, and sadness to fill a complete library. So why not?
That’s where the journey of writing about 9/11 began. Memories of my dad, of the attacks, of better times like family vacations. The special small moments like sitting on the couch with my dad eating pretzels and drinking soda. From the biggest catastrophes to the tiniest of tokens that I now value as priceless memories, it was all put down on paper. Now I had two very different stories. One was a novel about dating. The genre of a novel was perfect because I didn’t have to own my words, it could be fiction. It’s fun, pretend, and a figment of my imagination. It was all my own experience but I was scared to own it. Then there were the stories of my dad and 9/11. It was raw and emotional. Labeling this fiction would give it no weight, no intensity. To have lived that horrific day in history and write about it with authenticity, I’d have to own it 100%. I’d have to jump in and call this what it was, a story of my life. So that’s when the title and genre completely changed. I had my memoir, Chasing Butterflies: The True Story of a Daughter of 9/11.
Once my daughter turned two, I’d drop her off at school for three hours in the morning. I’d go to the Starbucks next door with my laptop and write. A chapter a day, that was my goal. Write, edit, tie up loose ends. At 11:55am I’d quickly close my computer and hustle out the door, pushing it open as the brisk winter chill hit my face, and go into mom mode to pick up Jade at school.
I spent the next two years weaving the stories of sex and dating meets daughter losing father together. I wrote, and rewrote, then rewrote some more. I think chapter one has been changed at least five times. I’d print out the manuscript, then start shuffling around the pages, maybe chapter four is really chapter two? It’s like a Tetris game, trying to intertwine the stories and chapters perfectly. Just like the game, hoping for a sound structure at the end and not something that comes crumbling down.
Meeting my agent was complete luck. My dad was looking down on me when simultaneously my mom said, “look up!” I was strolling Jade to our neighborhood park with my mom when she noticed a literary agents office, adjacent to the playground. It was on the first floor of a brownstone with a sign above the overhang. I called, pitched my story, we met in person, and the rest is history. The icing on the cake is my agents name, Jeff. Does landing an agent usually happen this way? Probably not. But I would say that meeting in person sells the manuscript much better. Especially if you’re writing a memoir. When an agent can see the face and hear the voice behind the story, it’s everything .
From there, my agent took the reigns in getting my book copy edited, connecting me with a cover illustrator, and eventually getting the book published. The process took over a year.
At the end of it all, here’s what I learned. I’ve heard “No, this can’t work, I don’t get it” more times than you’d imagine. I used all of that feedback as fuel to keep going because I knew in my heart my story was worth telling and getting out into the world. I’d like to quote Cher, because if you’re looking for a quote from Einstein , you’re reading the wrong blog. Cher once said, “If you wait for someone to believe in you, you’ll be waiting forever. You have to believe in yourself.” So whatever your goal is, listen to your heart and go for it.