Humble pie

I listened to an entire hour of Joan Didion last night on Charlie Rose. She wrote a book about the first year of life without her writer husband, John Gregory Dunne. He suddenly collapsed and died in 2003 while she was fixing salad at their apartment. They had just returned home from visiting their daughter who was at a hospital in a coma from pneumonia and septic shock. She died several months after Didion's husband.

The resulting book The Year of Magical Thinking has been nominated for the National Book Award. During last night's hour-long interview, Didion explained her process in writing. She realized early on that her thoughts during this first year would turn into a book.

She purposely kept them raw, fully illuminating truly crazy moments that she experienced while dealing with her grief. Even later, when copy editors tried to "fix" her style of punctuation, she insisted that her original style not be compromised because she wanted to portray her personal emotions in a very natural state.

I was especially interested in Didion's interview last night because of my interest in the book, which I'd read about in a newspaper feature last week, and because I love to listen to authors talk about their writing process. As in the famous vice presidential debate of the '80s when Sen. Lloyd Bentson told Dan Quayle, "You're no Jack Kennedy," I'll quickly report that I'm no Joan Didion.

I am an author of my own kind, though, currently going through the writing process. At this point, the process involves revision of a manuscript I sent away ten months ago. I'm struck, after reviewing one chapter of my first draft, how raw it actually is. It reflects strong, opinionated thoughts, written at a time when I had not yet shed the heavy, somewhat judgmental emotions that classroom teachers encounter on a typical day with kids.

I was early into my retirement from teaching when most chapters were written, still remembering so vividly and so harshly day-to-day frustrations. I told it like it was. Three years away from the classroom, after reviewing what I've written, some of the personal thoughts I revealed seem a bit much.

A few weeks ago, I was cursing the fact that it had taken so long for the publisher to send me feedback. After looking over this first chapter, I think she did me a huge favor by giving me time to develop a calmer perspective which will, no doubt, offer a more palatable view of my years as a teacher.

Unlike Didion who wanted so much to express the raw emotion of losing her life partner of 40 years, I now believe that the tone in some of my stories needs to be softened. In some cases, I just plain don't like what I had to say, even though it may have been painfully true at the time. In other anecdotes, written nearly two years ago, I anticipated humorous reactions at the time. Now, I fear that many readers may just find some of these personal observations downright annoying.

It's definitely a humbling experience, especially for an impatient journalist who wants feedback right now, to view one's writing after such a long period has passed. This situation presents a great opportunity, though. Having several nights to sleep on it has provided me the distance to have more of a reader's perspective as I revise.

Time has become my mirror and friend. The reviewer's comments provide my guide. My Lessons with Love continue. The manuscript is now undergoing a much-needed makeover.