Carrie Snyder | Writer

Memoir Research

Thursday, Sep 10, 2009 | Reading, Writing | 0 Comments

I’ve been reading memoirs.

First, I re-read an old favourite: James Herriot’s All Creatures Great and Small, which is not, strictly speaking, a memoir, but a fictionalized account of the author’s experiences as a country vet in the Yorkshire Dales before World War Two. I’ve loved Herriot’s books since childhood; they’re funny, poignant, a bit sentimental, and the writing is what I’d call hard-working. It does the job. Sometimes that’s really all that’s required, and anything more would seem out of place.

Next, I read The Way of a Boy, by Ernest Hillen, a memoir about the three years he spent as a child in a Japanese work camp in Dutch Indonesia, during World War Two. This is an entirely and remarkably unsentimental memoir; it seems like the author re-entered his boy self in order to tell this very pure and moving story. Inherent in his telling is complete trust in the reader. I liked this book a great deal. There were many loose threads, as the boy and his brother and mother were moved from camp to camp, losing contact along the way with many of the characters, and there was no attempt to tie up these threads; true to life. The portrayal of the author’s mother was humbling: she was unselfish, stoical, expressed and seemed to feel no pity for herself and their situation. She was also strong, brave, loving, and most impressively, eschewed martyrdom–rather than giving her share of food to her children, as other mothers did, she unapologetically ate it in order to stay strong for her family; she stayed up late reading, if books and light were available; and on occasion, she swore like a sailor. Ernest Hillen came to Canada after his family was released from the camps (he was then about ten or eleven), and grew up to work as an editor. According to the foreword, by Charlotte Gray, he never spoke of his experiences in the camps or even thought much about them until he began work on the memoir, some forty years later. Remarkable is the detail he was able to bring to the surface.

Finally, I’m thoroughly enjoying another memoir recommended to me by a friend: Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight, written by Alexandra Fuller, who grew up in Africa as the daughter of white African farmers. This story is skillfully told within a non-linear frame, and is so far extremely entertaining. The character of the mother is (again) drawn with particular brilliance (what is it about us mothers??), though in this case much less flatteringly.

All of this is “research.” Pleasant, easy research, I must add. Next week marks the return to some regular writing hours. My sense is that I’m going to dive into my own attempt at memoir; with a couple of caveats. Should the work seem like a slog, should it not come naturally, I’m not going to push it. And I really only have to write a chapter or two and an outline before running it by my agent, who will take it further, if that seems the right direction.

Those stories, on the same subject, still feel very present and vital. There may even be more of them yet to write.

An acquaintance who reads this blog emailed to remind me of the value of fiction (that wasn’t necessarily what she was trying to do, but that’s where I went with her thoughts): that as human beings we need–we long for–the purpose and order created by the artistic act of reimagining the human experience. Fiction isn’t made-up life, it’s life re-made.

What’s memoir? I’m not sure I know. But at this point, it feels possible to frame this story I’d like to tell in two vastly different ways. I’m going to try, anyway.

:::

For those of you interested in reading a couple of the aforementioned stories, I will let you know when they become available in the fall edition of The New Quarterly.

Yes!

Wednesday, Sep 9, 2009 | Music | 1 Comment

“This is my first day of school in my whole life!”
She has, in fact, been dragged back and forth to school since she was five weeks old, but finally finally her own time has come. This morning, she met her teacher and explored her classroom. She looked confident and prepared, identified the “F” in her name (afterward she confided rather dismissively, “That was easy!”), and she and her little brother played together contentedly while the proud parents discussed the ins and outs of full-day kindergarten with her teacher. (I love how in kindergarten the grownups are required to squat on teeny-tiny chairs around teeny-tiny tables). She will attend her first full day on Monday. Her inside shoes are already there, waiting for her in her shoe cubby (there is also a bin with her name on it, a hook for coat and backpack, and a lunchbox cubby; all labelled and waiting to welcome her).
:::
Yesterday we tried out racing from school to piano lessons to City Cafe Bakery for take-out pizza to home again, all the while thinking: next week we’ll add choir in, too, after supper. Well, maybe not. Choir might just have to take one for the team, because the kids were in states of fine fury and exhaustion by 6pm. Albus kept stalking around glaring at everyone and saying, “I’m so angry!” “Why are you so angry?” “Because you’re not … because Fooey is … because !!!! roar!” Clearly, he was in the frame of mind that in adulthood calls for swear words mumbled under breath, or a nice restorative after-dinner beverage on the porch. We figured he was angry because he was exhausted beyond all repair, and we let the children veg after supper with a movie, then brush teeth, and fall into bed. But Apple-Apple in particular was too wired to relax, and had fits in her bunk, insisting that she must read herself off to sleep. This argument proved particularly effective on her mother, who feels exactly the same way most nights.
:::
Want to make note somewhere (baby book not available): CJ is speaking words! Putting them together in twos! “Dada ball,” he told me last night, coming inside after kicking a soccer ball around the back yard with his dad. Seriously, he did! He also announced, clear as a bell, and at exactly the right moment: “Nap.” Yup, it was naptime. What was that you say? Naptime. Oh, “naptime, naptime!” “Didi” continues to stand in for animals of all kinds. If he’s not kissing his favourite “didis” (animal crackers included), he’s having them kiss each other, or demanding we kiss them. And he’s got a great big head nod he uses to indicate “yes.” I like when a kid says yes rather than no. Shows a positive outlook in life, doesn’t it?

First Day of School

Tuesday, Sep 8, 2009 | Uncategorized | 0 Comments

Meant to get in one more post before school started, to commemorate our last summer adventure; but too late. School started this morning. First day of school photos duly taken. The big kids found their lines and classrooms without difficulty this morning, and it certainly didn’t hold the drama of years past. Albus suffered a goodbye kiss (barely); Apple-Apple waited patiently in her line saying not a word. CJ ran wild, climbed the kindergarten play equipment and soaked his pants coming down the slide. Otherwise, the trip to and from school was uneventful. It is Albus’s FIFTH year in school, so we’re pretty accustomed to it now; he’s been in school now longer than not. Weird. Those quiet, blurry, half-asleep preschool years have become ancient history.

I am currently babysitting an extra little guy (apologies to his parents; but rest assured, he is within sight as I type this, eating a snack at the counter with his fellow snacking companions; all were famished after a morning of difficult “instruction” work. Wish I’d gotten pictures of that).

What-ho, here we are. A return to routines not invented by me. A return to a more rigid flow of hours and days, with, one hopes and imagines, the increased productivity routine creates.

We’re headed outside, now. Snacktime has come to an abrupt end.

The Real New Year

Wednesday, Sep 2, 2009 | House | 4 Comments

As a friend recently commented, the start-up of the school year always feels like the real New Year. Here at our house, we’re going out of our way to prove this to be true. We’ve got a tentative weekly schedule mapped out on pink construction paper and filled almost to bursting (with room made, it must be said, for each of the parents to pursue extracurricular interests, aka sanity; Kev’s got hockey and soccer; I’ve got sibs night, girls’ night, and an evening class). We’ve also spent several of Kevin’s holiday days rearranging the house. Top photo: the boys’ room. Note crib nuzzling bunk bed. The next two photos depict CJ’s former bedroom / my office / playroom. It is now excessively, almost disturbingly, clean and empty-feeling. The plan is to expand the purposes of said room over time: it will remain a playroom, and my office (yay! I can now work after the kids go to bed!), and we’re also calling it the study, where children seeking quiet can sit and read or work at the disturbingly empty table that currently has no chairs. It’s a start. Eventually, I’m envisioning several tall bookshelves and another communal computer. I love imagining our house evolving as our children grow and change. Which child will mine out a room in the basement? Or perhaps the attic?

While I reorganized the office, Kevin flipped piles of blueberry pancakes. By the time I’d ventured downstairs, none remained. See that last one? CJ did. He wanted it. He is now sleeping the sleep of the contented blueberry belly.

A Grand Debauch

Monday, Aug 31, 2009 | Holidays, Music, Summer | 0 Comments

To celebrate their recent wedding, my brother and brand-new sister-in-law hosted a party at their farm, complete with festively blue-and-white striped tent (yuh-huh, it rained off and on, and somehow that just added to the experience), pig roast, bonfire, sparklers, marshmallows, kegs, music, mud, and a device that shot potatoes into the netherworld. Let’s just say it was exactly the wild time that was called for, fun for all ages, complete with a few necessary sparks of danger. Just add fire. A moment that returns to me now: lying in our tent, trying to get CJ back to sleep, listening to the younger/child-less crowd scream out the lyrics to “Sabotage.” Apparently (I can actually picture this) my middle brother somehow managed to get his feet well above his head in a display of dancing virtuosity. How late was this? I have no idea. As soon as we arrived, I lost all track of time, and that was sweet, too. A day and night out of time.

And this week Kevin’s on holiday, and we are getting organized, hanging out, moving at our own pace for a few more blissful days before we return to routine. Let the good times roll.

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About me

My name is Carrie Snyder. I work in an elementary school library. I’m a fiction writer, reader, editor, dreamer, arts organizer, workshop leader, forever curious. Currently pursuing a certificate in conflict management and mediation. I believe words are powerful, storytelling is healing, and art is for everyone.

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