Shameful, isn't it? I realize I'm exceedingly fortunate that Grass Roots allows me to write on their blog. I always wanted to be a writer, though. That hasn't gone so well, but love of words and writing and books and stories has led me to a career in bookstores. Approximately 12 years of my life have been spent behind the counter and on the floor at bookstores. Yes, the books are a powerful temptation when you are surrounded by them everyday. Sometimes you have to look away from their sheer brilliance, and then you discover why you're really there: It's all about the customers! Seriously, I have loved the people I've met while working in bookstores. I love talking about books I've read, some of which I enjoyed and some of which I've abhorred. (Isn't it brilliant that we all like different things? I still refuse to read The DaVinci Code, as a matter of fact.) I love helping customers on a treasure hunt to find just the right book for them or for their loved one. I love the impossible searches, when customers have just a little bit of information about a book, and that may be incorrect. (CHALLENGE!) I especially love when the impossible search becomes the miracle find, and you send away your customer overjoyed and ecstatic, a book in their hands. I also love watching customers as they browse through the store, as they meet people they know or make knew friends, as they discuss the books I've put in their hands. I have worked in stores long enough to watch the kids grow up. It's been an interesting life so far.
When I think about what kind of book I should be writing, or what kind I'll write "someday," a memoir seems like an obvious choice. In a guest blog entry at Powells.com, Wendy Peterson, author of the memoir I Want to Be Left Behind, at one time called the genre "first person narcissist" when she worked at the New Yorker magazine early in her career. She eventually went for the style herself, so I don't feel so bad about leaning in that direction. I have certainly read a few fantastic memoirs that are so entertaining and well-told stories, I would jump at the chance to join the ranks of those narcissists.
One of my favorite authors is Augusten Burroughs. The movie Running With Scissors, based on his first memoir, certainly brought him into the limelight, but I loved him before that. His life has been colorful, and his childhood and early adulthood were the definition of dysfunctional. He could give you a sob story, but instead he writes of his difficulties and the series of unfortunate events in his life with humor. He is hilarious. My favorite book by him is actually his second memoir, Dry. In it he chronicles his alcoholism, drug abuse, and rehab. A reader could sob or be disgusted by the life he led, but I couldn't help but laugh out loud. It is readable and hilarious. If you're a fan of David Sedaris, I would definitely turn you toward Burroughs. I hope someday to recount my own dysfunctional family with the same humor and style.
Still full of unusual "characters" but written with a different style, If You Lived Here I'd Know Your Name: News from Small-Town Alaska by Heather Lende had the power to draw me in emotionally to the little town of Haines, Alaska. Lende is the obituary writer and the social columnist for her newspaper, and she writes of life and death in her first book. I laughed! I cried! It was better than Cats! Well, I never saw Cats, but I was emotionally drawn into this little town, the beauty of the area, and the strength of the people there. I eagerly anticipate the publication of her second book next month, Take Good Care of the Garden and the Dogs: Family, Friendships, and Faith in Small-Town Alaska.
Speaking of whiney, I could sit around all day and complain about not being able to write my "life's work," but instead maybe I'll just start today.
"It was a gray and mild day on the streets of Corvallis outside the bookstore, and the people walking by held infinite promise..."
See you in the bookstore,
Pamela.
