I’m glad I’ve kept the archives of my life - or if I didn’t, my mum did, and I found them in her loft after she died. One benefit of having a mum who was a hoarder.
Thank you. And thank you for subscribing. I've moved umpteen times over the years and have tossed everything from those early days. But as you may have figured out, I never mind the search!
This begs so many questions. How did the label of "gifted child" shape your identity? You didn't seem to flinch when the editor attributed your first publication to your mother? What mother-daughter dynamics came into play there? And what did your essay say that might give readers the sense it was written in the voice of a parent? Fact-checking your own memories is complicated. My sister and I grew up with the oft-repeated story that on a roadtrip to DC in August heat I had a meltdown because I didn't want an orange dreamsicle but a red/white/blue rocket frozen treat. The mythology around my persona in the family as the one who threw the hissy fits was revealed to have come out of thin air when my sister transferred 8 mm film of our childhood vacation to VHS. The film showed my little sister had the meltdown, not me. The messiness of memory necessitates your search for that first publication. And it's why I find therapy so helpful in sorting through my mess of a memory.
I hope you do find the essay, Lisa.
I’m glad I’ve kept the archives of my life - or if I didn’t, my mum did, and I found them in her loft after she died. One benefit of having a mum who was a hoarder.
Good to connect here.
Thank you. And thank you for subscribing. I've moved umpteen times over the years and have tossed everything from those early days. But as you may have figured out, I never mind the search!
This begs so many questions. How did the label of "gifted child" shape your identity? You didn't seem to flinch when the editor attributed your first publication to your mother? What mother-daughter dynamics came into play there? And what did your essay say that might give readers the sense it was written in the voice of a parent? Fact-checking your own memories is complicated. My sister and I grew up with the oft-repeated story that on a roadtrip to DC in August heat I had a meltdown because I didn't want an orange dreamsicle but a red/white/blue rocket frozen treat. The mythology around my persona in the family as the one who threw the hissy fits was revealed to have come out of thin air when my sister transferred 8 mm film of our childhood vacation to VHS. The film showed my little sister had the meltdown, not me. The messiness of memory necessitates your search for that first publication. And it's why I find therapy so helpful in sorting through my mess of a memory.
Ah yes, Jill. I always love the questions you ask! And yes, memory is VERY slippery!