All the Broken People

I've only had the book 'A Complicated Kindness' by Miriam Toews, for a few days, and I'm three quarters finished already. It's just a fantastic book! I relate to it of course, because I was raised in a Mennonite home, so a lot of the inside information brings back my own memories. It's strange, and kinda cool to read something that hits so close to home. More than that though, is the style of writing. There is deep sadness in this story. The characters are all yearning for something more. The sometimes mindless regulations in the Mennonite religion leave them frustrated, but there are rules against asking questions, and so the frustration grows.

The narrator in the book - Nomi Nickel, tells her story with heartbreaking honesty, and tongue in cheek humour. Never falling into the trap of self pity, she relates the story of her family's dysfunction in a straightforward way. She doesn't beg for sympathy, and as a result, the reader doesn't feel manipulated. The sympathy the reader feels for her is genuine, rather than something that is given grudgingly because she demanded it. Her candour is heartbreakingly touching, it's impossible not to admire her. I'm impressed with Miriam Toews' writing talent, I can see why her book is doing so well.

This book is a lesson for me in my own writing. I was number 100 on the list of people waiting for it at the library. My turn came at a very opportune time - I've just begun rewriting my memoir; All the Broken People.

I first began writing my memoir ten years ago. At the time, I was in the midst of coming to terms with my childhood abuse memories. I'd recently left the streets of Vancouver where I'd spent eleven years trading my body for cash. I was covered in psychological battle scars from both experiences, and in great need of therapy. I preferred to heal myself through deep meditation and writing. That's where this memoir came in. I wrote everything down. Every detail of every memory, every sensation, every emotion, I left nothing out. This was very good for me emotionally, but ... not so good for the book. Though I understood vaguelly (I was new at writing), that it would be a mistake to 'air my laundry' in a gossipy, sensational way, I couldn't seem to distance myself enough to write this thing in any other style. As a result, I struggled with a lot of negative feelings. Actually I felt quite tacky in having written this stupid thing.

After at least a dozen revisions, I had put the manuscript away and turned to other projects. Somehow, though, I couldn't forget the thing completely. It kept whispering to me, asking to be revisited, asking for one more chance. I tried to ignore it, but couldn't. About two weeks ago I suddenly understood something - the book is not about me. Does that sound strange? It's not really.

I used to be terribly insulted when the odd person would suggest my memoir might never be published. That people wouldn't be interested in reading about the troubled life of "some unknown woman". I viewed it as a personal attack - *I* was not valuable enough to have my experience published and placed on shelves with other books. *I* should write on other subjects because I am not important, my memories are not important, nobody cares about *Me*. I understand now that this isn't what was meant at all. It's not about *me*, it's about the *publishing business*. It's about human nature. I understand now that I don't necessarily have to shelve this manuscript, but I do need to rewrite it so that it's not "an unknown woman's memoir". I need to make it pertinent to others, and something that others will want to read.

So I'm taking out all the bits that make it a memoir. And I'm taking out all the bits that hinder the flow of the story. I'm cutting, or at least condensing a lot of my memories, I'm adding more of my happy memories to balance the darkness. I'm rewriting all the parts that come across as self pitying. I'm concentrating more on sensations, rather than retelling the actual memories. It's much less 'in your face', and leaves much to the imagination. I'm changing the 'voice' of the narrator. In the end, I hope I will have produced something that even my family could read, and not feel as though they've been slapped in the face. If I don't achieve this, I will keep the manuscript in my desk drawer and chalk it up as a learning experience.

It's exciting to be doing this, I'm optimistic about the outcome. That doesn't mean I believe it will surely be published - I don't like to make predictions like that. I hope it will be published, but my optimism is for the way the book will feel to me when it's done. I have great expectations that I will feel satisfaction and pride in a job well done. That, to me, is the finest reward.