The Uninhibited Reader

I’m reading a book called Naked, Drunk and Writing. It’s one of the glories of aging that I no longer feel a need to hide the cover when someone asks me what I’m reading. Age lets you shed a few inhibitions and writing requires that you do. Not that I am naked, drunk and writing, you understand. But being willing to not pull any punches always makes a writer’s prose better. It’s like the fantasy novel I’ve been working on for years now. It got better after I stopped trying to keep my protagonist from killing anyone. It’s a fantasy after all. The bad guys have to die.

It’s also why we love memoirs, I think. The willingness of an author to bare their life and soul on paper is like picking at a scab. You just can’t stop going back and doing it. Or, in the case of the memoir, reading it. Whether its dumb choices, crazy addictions, or bad marriages, we love when people expose themselves, warts and all. Not just because we live in a voyeuristic culture, but because we want to learn from other people’s self exploration. We want another’s soul journey to help lead us, or embark us, on our own. Of course, there are some stories that are more soul bending than I can handle. People are always asking if I’ve read Lucky by Alice Sebold, but I have to admit Sebold’s story of being raped and left for dead is just more than I can handle. I feel the same about Mary Karr’s The Liar’s Club. I know its great literature, but I just can’t manage to get through it. I’m afraid I want my soul exploration with a side of humor.

Little Heathens: Hard Times and High Spirits on an Iowa Farm in during the Great Depression by Mildred Armstrong Kalish is much more my speed. Kalish and her siblings antics growing up on a farm are fun to read. Plus is really makes you appreciate the ease with which we can have a chicken dinner in this day and age.

I’m partial to stories of spiritual searches outside of a particular religion. Barbara Brown Taylor’s memoir Leaving Church, the story of her giving up her work as a Episcopal priest, is a favorite of mine. She continues the story of living spiritually outside of a church in An Altar in the World: a Geography of Faith. Sue Monk Kidd’s feminist awakening in Dance of the Dissident Daughter was me a life changing read for me. Her follow-up, Traveling with Pomegranates, a joint tale by her and her daughter, may not be quite as earth shaking as Dance, but as a reader it was great to be able to tag along on their journey. Mystery author, Nevada Barr’s spiritual autobiography, Seeking Enlightenment Hat by Hat is told through the hats she wore to different churches.

I love memoirs by writers about how they became writers, or stayed writers, or try to write, or pull their hair out writing. They’re usually inspiring, funny, and well written. Stephen King’s On Writing is one of the best. I can still picture him writing over a hot dryer as he worked in a laundromat. His realization that he wrote more when he had a menial job than when he had a professional one, still sticks with me. Lisa Scottoline’s and Anne Lamott’s reflections on life, including their early writing careers, were great reads for someone who wants to write. You can read about that in Scottoline’s Why My Third Husband will be a Dog or Lamott’s Traveling Mercies.

I’m always looking for new memoirs to read and I have to admit I do judge books by their covers, or at least their titles. Why else would I be reading Naked, Drunk, and Writing? It’s the funny ones that catch my fancy. That’s why the following are all on my to-read list: I’m Sorry you Feel that Way: The Astonishing but True Story of a Daughter, Sister, Slut, Wife, Mother, and Friend to Man and Dog by Diana Joseph; Animal Magnetism by Rita Mae Brown; Seeking Peace: Chronicles of the Worst Buddhist in the World by Mary Pipher; Confession of a Counterfeit Farm Girl by Susan McCorkindale; Hit by a Farm: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Barn by Catherine Friend; and I Loved, I Lost, I made Spaghetti by Guilia Melucci. Unfortunately the list grows longer and longer and time, alas, grows shorter. So I better get reading!