I'm Writing A Memoir...

THE ONE THING Arnold Schwarzenegger & I have in common

hand stitched by Kate Wanenmacher

I’m writing a memoir.

I’ve said that, that “I’m writing a memoir,” since my first year of graduate school. Back in 2016, I wasn’t especially clear on what that meant. I knew I had a story to tell, but I didn’t know how to tell it. Or, even what I was trying to say. But I knew that I was in graduate school for writing.

But I could see it: I knew that I would write a memoir. It was the light at the end of the dark, long tunnel. I didn’t know when the tunnel would end, but I started trudging towards my MEM-wahr.

image from cinematic randomness

Even though I call myself an artist, I have really shitty taste in movies— mostly because I’ve hardly seen any. Which is why, for years— and still— I have said that “Pumping Iron” is my favorite movie.

I saw it for the first time during graduate school, around the first time I could see my vision clearly, in the far distance. For those who don’t know, “Pumping Iron” is a documentary about body building in the 1970’s starring a largely unknown (at the time) Arnold Schwarzenegger. It follows him, as well as Lou Ferrigno and other, as they compete on the Mr. Universe stage in South Africa.

As a MFA student aspiring to write memoir, I was transported to my childhood spent figure skating— the cut-throat competition, the mind games, the endless fixation on body and being the best. And there he stood, sexy and young Mr. Arnold Schwarzenegger, so clearly the best— and he knew it. His confidence was baffling to me. As a competitor figure skater, I could never so blatantly play mind-games with my competition. If memory serves, as they oiled each other up for the Mr. Universe stage, Schwarzenegger asks Lou Ferigno, “Who is going to win?” And Lou says, “You, Arnold.”

I could NEVER. I didn’t recognize it as anxiety, just thought my stomach was “excited.” But I was paralyzed with nerves. For to name it what it was— debilitating fear— was to crumble in the face of reality. Instead, I’d scream at my mother to re-do my bun seven times until it was *just* right.

As soon as I entered the rink on competition day, I had my first-gen iPod playing a specific playlist as I went through my specific hour-long warm up routine without making eye contact with anyone except my coaches— not even my mother. I would not dare watch my competitors before or after my performance.

Meanwhile, Arnie’s oiling up the back of his competitors, making wise-cracks and smiling; embodying ease.

So. What does any of this have to do with memoir?

NETFLIX

When I was back home this past November, I finally got to watch the 3-part documentary series “ARNOLD” (because I refuse to pay for a Netflix subscription, and my parents do) Sitting in his Sun Valley mansion, Arnold takes us through each phase of his career. Even though I was a child when he was Governor of California, it felt like a joke that the Terminator was our State’s politician (now I wish he could run for the White House— when my boyfriend reminded me he can’t because he’s foreign born, I was genuinely bummed ).

HOWEVER, What struck me most was the clarity of his visions.

I am going to be Mr. Universe.

I am going to *the* movie star.

I am going to be The Governor.

And he makes it clear: it is that clarity of vision that allowed him to achieve each and every insurmountable goal.

It struck me because I have felt that— the vision. I know what it feels like to have a vision, and the ups-and-downs required to make that vision a reality.

It’s certainly strange to feel like I have something in common with this man, whose bare chest and wide arms are centered right above my couch.

But it’s not solely his insane competitive edge and mentality, it’s the way he moves towards what he knows he must accomplish.'

Which is why I am going to keep saying, “I am writing a memoir.”

What my memoir was ten years ago is so different than what it looks like today. After finally signing with new representation, I may be the closest I have ever been, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be twists and turns, trials and tribulations.

Just because I have an agent doesn’t mean I will sell a book.

Hell, I had an agent for 8 years and it yielded nada.

But as I set out to work on a book proposal with a team of people who believe in my vision, I know what I am working towards.

As long as I am clear on the vision, I will get there. I can’t predict how it will happen, but I take it day-by-day. I do reps in the gym; I write words on my laptop. I just keep building until you can say, “I wrote a memoir” or “I am Mr. Universe.

What do you see for yourself? What will you build towards next?

Comment with what you are working towards. I would LOVE to hear about your goals and creative process. Can you see your goal clearly? Or is it more shakey? Are you trying to figure what you are going to work towards next or are you clear in your vision?

Speaking it out loud (or typing it) has power, and it helps it feel more real if you speak it into existence. The more you say it, the more real it becomes.

What is “process/product”?

photo by Joy Newell

process over product is a newsletter dedicated to the daily practice of creativity. Around these parts, we are less concerned with the final product— the final product is great, and we will never stop striving towards a finish line. But what happens here and “There!” is the focus of this newsletter. Plus, what happens when you there “there'“? The beauty of the process is that if you’re dedicated to the daily practice of being an artist (or a body builder or a movie star or the Governor), you will take the next right indicated action. You will do what needs to be done today.

There will always be another mountain to climb. So why not start climbing the one in front of you today?

This newsletter woke me up in the middle of the night and demanded to be created. I have been writing about my sobriety on Substack since I had about 70 days sober, and I am so thankful for that. However, I find myself feeling itchy to branch out. newly sober will continue on, but I am hungry for a space to talk about my creative process, not just my sobriety.

Of course, my sobriety has facilitated the life I am now living— I will never forget that nor will my sobriety fail to be important.

But I am ready to say: I am an artist, and you are too. So let’s talk about what it means to be an artist, what it requires, and how we can best support each other through the daily practice of making our art.

“I’m writing a memoir”

I’ve had the good fortune to study with Chloe Caldwell more than once, and one of the things she suggests is pulling your Totem Texts and letting them sit with you on your desk ( I don’t remember if she calls them Totem Texts, but I love how it sounds and it encapsulates the idea nicely). These are the books that you want your book to be like or that you admire or have something you want.

And so, in the latest iteration of my memoir writing journey, I have pulled my Totem Texts for my forthcoming memoir.

from top to bottom, I wanted to take you through why each of these books are on my desk.

1. Nabokov’s, “Speak Memory”

2. Jeanette Winterson’s, “Written on the Body”

3. Lucy Grealey’s, “Autobiography of a Face”

4. Jill Louise Busby’s, “Unfollow Me”

5. Mary Karr’s, “The Art of the Memoir” (every single one of her memoirs should be in this pile but I like them sitting on my shelf, together)

6. Natasha Tretheway’s, “Memorial Drive”

7. T. Kira Madden’s, “Long Live The Tribe of Fatherless Girls”

I’d like to get into these books in a future newsletter, but for now, I want to know:

What are the pieces of art in the world that inspire you? What are the books you read or the movies you watched where you thought, “Fuck. They did it first.”

Why not let them guide you, inspire you?

There’s room for us all.

So why not start now?

XOXO,

PAULINA