As I joined the computer generation in the Eighties, I appreciatedthe ease and speed we could communicate with our friends and family. When we were living in Rio de Janeiro (1968-1970) we had to write letters by hand, and our daughter who was at Stanford would receive it a month later. But with the advent of the Internet, suddenly you could receive an email message, and six minutes later, send back an answer, so communication between South America and Europe became instantaneous. What a miracle.
Whenever something triggered a memory, I would write back detailing a little anecdote that related to the message I had received. And often, I would hear, "Janice, you write such funny little stories, you should write a book."
Well, over the years, when we moved from one foreign assignment to the next, the stories of strange things built up and since it was the Sixties, Seventies and Eighties, (no computers, no Skype), I made the decision after my husband passed away in 2005, that I should record some of these memories for my grandchildren, so they would understand what we had encountered in our daily life, while no longer having the safety net of living normally in the States.
I soon discovered that writing a book was clearly not the same as writing an email. There were rules to follow, regulations about grammar and punctuation to observe and Spellcheck became my dictionary.
So I joined the Rillito River Writers Group at my nearest library branch and now I have to discipline myself to follow certain guidelines, as well as develop a very thick skin, as my weekly essays are critiqued by ten or more zealous fellow writers.
In my next Blog I will tell you the most difficult decision a Memoirist has to make: How Far Do You Go?
Whenever something triggered a memory, I would write back detailing a little anecdote that related to the message I had received. And often, I would hear, "Janice, you write such funny little stories, you should write a book."
Well, over the years, when we moved from one foreign assignment to the next, the stories of strange things built up and since it was the Sixties, Seventies and Eighties, (no computers, no Skype), I made the decision after my husband passed away in 2005, that I should record some of these memories for my grandchildren, so they would understand what we had encountered in our daily life, while no longer having the safety net of living normally in the States.
I soon discovered that writing a book was clearly not the same as writing an email. There were rules to follow, regulations about grammar and punctuation to observe and Spellcheck became my dictionary.
So I joined the Rillito River Writers Group at my nearest library branch and now I have to discipline myself to follow certain guidelines, as well as develop a very thick skin, as my weekly essays are critiqued by ten or more zealous fellow writers.
In my next Blog I will tell you the most difficult decision a Memoirist has to make: How Far Do You Go?
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