Reflections from Modern Memoirs Client James A. Heffernan

James A. Heffernan is a repeat client of Modern Memoirs. His first book, entitled The Reality of Hunter-Gatherers, was published in 2016, and came out as an eBook in 2018. His most recent project, Many Worlds: A Collection of Poems, was published with Modern Memoirs in 2019 with eBook conversion, POD (print-on-demand) service, and global distribution through online retailers. This book took just two months from the day he first contacted us to the day books arrived on his doorstep. In honor of April as National Poetry Month, we asked Heffernan to reflect on the second book: what the publication process was like for him, and what it has meant to share his poetry with others.

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1. You studied physics and anthropology at the University of Utah, and your first book with Modern Memoirs was a narrative examination of state and class through the lens of hunter-gatherer societies. Many Worlds is a poetic philosophical exploration of such concepts as time, freedom, truth, and nature. How did you come to choose poetry as your means of expression for the second project?

James Heffernan: Well, I had never released a book of poems before then, and I had been writing poetry for years. It was simply a matter of finding my favorite pieces on the computer, taking a few weeks to edit, and then delivering the file to you guys. As you point out, the process was swift and painless. I worked primarily with Ali, and her help was professional, excellent, and indispensable. My first foray into poetry could not have been more positive.

2. Describe your writing process as a poet.

James Heffernan: I’m not sure how others do it, but this is how I do it. Typically, I start with a subject. I either think one up, or pick up some clue somewhere, or whatever—I get the idea for a subject. And then I decide upon a rhyme scheme, unless I intend to write a free-verse poem. And once these choices are made, I write the poem. Doing it in reverse order generally doesn’t work for me; I have to have a subject in mind at the outset.

3. Who is your intended reader of the poems? What feedback have you received?

James Heffernan: I’ve received all sorts of positive feedback over the years, and very little negative. I’m what you might call a peculiar person, so my poems often reflect this. They can be rather abstract or abstruse, but I would rather have people interpret the poems as they like and not put myself in the way of that by explaining too much. Therefore, they can sometimes be challenging. I will say that all of my poetry is G-rated, so just about anyone who wants to can approach it.

4. Why did you choose to self-publish instead of publishing your book commercially?

James Heffernan: Well, I’m reminded of the comment in Dr. Zhivago that writing poetry as a profession is like being a botanist as a profession. Some make it work, but it’s rather awkward. My poetry, as I have said, can be abstruse and challenging, and full of supernatural stuff, and whatnot. So I figured there was no point in trying to find a publisher looking to make some money. My books have done pretty well, so there are no regrets.

5. What was it about your first experience with Modern Memoirs that you chose to work with us again?

James Heffernan: The professionalism and competence. The product delivered is flawless. I could not have had a more effective and enjoyable experience than working with Ali and the entire team at Modern Memoirs. Y’all definitely know what you are doing, and I wish you continued success in the future!

Interested in reading more? You can purchase Many Worlds: A Collection Of Poems in the Modern Memoirs online shop, Memory Lane Books & Gifts.

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Titles Are Born

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Our clients, as authors, often come to us saying, “I’m not sure about my book title… what do you think of this title? Or that title?” Or “Can you help me with the title?”

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I could give many tips on how to come up with a title, but you could also look online and find all manner of helpful info.

“I believe titles don’t need to be forced; they are born.”

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What I really want to say here is that I believe titles don’t need to be forced; they are born. And like most babies, they will emerge at the time that is right for them, and you don’t always know when that’s going to be.

It is important to leave time and space to let the title come to you, and it will. 

You probably already know the obvious—a title should reflect the tone of the book (serious, poetic, whimsical, scientific, literary, etc.). Naturally titles are often derived from a theme or a scene in the book. If the title is more obscure or poetic, it’s good to add a subtitle that explains and clarifies the content. Some titles have more punch because they’re commercially published and must jump out at you. 

It’s OK to collaborate on choosing a title, but don’t start asking EVERYone for title suggestions or feedback on your title options. This opens a can of worms and causes confusion and delays. Sit with your own thoughts; go with your gut instinct; maybe even call the midwife, an editor. 

Then, once you’ve chosen it, “google” your title and check that it hasn’t been coined anywhere else (book, video, poem, song, etc.). 

If you’re selling the book, you might ask a commercial editor or publisher their opinions. If you’re not selling the book, I’d say just listen to your intuition.

Some of my favorite (commercial) titles simply say it as it is:

Accordion Crimes

A Grief Observed

Crime and Punishment

No One Can Pronounce My Name

Others are more mysterious:

Ballad of the Sad Café

To Kill a Mockingbird 

100 Years of Solitude

Last Night at the Lobster

Length? A longer title or subtitle might affect the front-cover design (fitting of the words), but that’s another topic. There are plenty of intriguing long titles:

 One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius

No Matter How Much You Promise to Cook or Pay the Rent You Blew It Cauze Bill Bailey Ain’t Never Coming Home Again

And short ones:

Passing

Plainsong 

Snow Country

Beloved 

Hopscotch 

Some of my favorite Modern Memoirs (non-commercial) book titles: 

There’s a Book in Here Somewhere

I Dunno

A Narrative of Certain Events in the Life of Russell B. Newton, Jr. 

Don’t Believe a Word of It

I Said I’d Retire…

For my part, the title that was born to the tribute book I wrote for my late mother is Learning to Speak. How did it come to me? When I was almost done with the writing and happened to be on a 3-hour car trip, I said to myself,  “I need a title!” Drive, drive, drive. The title came to me as I crested the Bourne Bridge on Cape Cod, close to my arrival point. I said it out loud: “Learning to Speak.” For me, it came at the perfect time. Trust yourself. 

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Papa Bob's House

A blog post by Publishing Intern Charlie Mark

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Modern Memoirs Publishing Intern Charlie Mark, 2023

I didn’t know my paternal grandfather, whom my siblings and I called “Papa Bob,” very well. We didn’t see him much beyond Christmas and an annual visit to help him rake the leaves from his lawn. From those visits I knew that my grandpa had a horse he never rode, a dog he never trained, and a house full of all manner of things. After he passed away in the summer of 2021, I helped my dad clear out Papa Bob’s house. Sorting through his belongings and packing them all away made me think about all I didn’t know about Papa Bob, everything I would never get to ask him. It was a strange way to get to know a person and a last step in our relationship that I am now grateful to have had.

His entire house, including the breezeway leading from the house to the garage, had an unmistakable smell of old cigarettes and musty dog. It was also incredibly cluttered. To put it lightly, my grandfather was a great collector of little things. I can understand the appeal, as I am prone to building nests of little objects, arranging them about me like some brooding magpie. Yet some of the things Papa Bob clung onto seemed bizarre, even to me. For one, he had the most astonishing collection of broken-down boxes I had ever seen. The stairwell up to the second floor was completely filled to the point that attempting to climb over them was a futile endeavor. One bay of his garage was also filled to bursting, the cardboard set in precarious stacks that leaked out around the corners.

Indoor windchimes from Papa Bob’s house, now hanging in my home

Under the cardboard were the trappings of his later life: his beloved books about magical gardens, his crystals on windowsills, and the windchimes he hung inside the house. There were pictures of the horses and dogs he had over the years, and of his second wife, Carol, who passed away when I was only a little kid. Hitting me hardest of all were his dishes still in the sink. All of it his, and everything covered in a film of dust. It felt strange to decide what was worth keeping, strange to open up his closet and empty it of his perfectly folded and perfectly hung clothing. His house was full of things he loved and took care of. My sister and I stood over the crystals on his windowsill and wondered if they were for some sort of spell, and if we broke them or moved them they might disturb the restful dead. In the end we got rid of many of Papa Bob’s things, but we kept some, too. I took his indoor windchimes.

The house is emptied of Papa Bob’s things now, and someone else lives there with their own things. I wish I could go back and look around those rooms again, even just one more time. As I packed up their contents, I somehow didn’t really consider that I would never see those rooms again.

We didn’t have a funeral for Papa Bob until months after we’d cleaned out his house. Once we did, it was not your run-of-the-mill somber affair, but a celebration of life held at the local soup kitchen he had donated to and volunteered at for years. There, I got to know my grandfather even more as the people who had known him best spoke about him. Listening to them made me think of my own earliest memories of him:

I remember once staying at his house overnight and eating pancakes in the morning, Carol leaning over to ask if I wanted syrup.

I remember he used to take me to visit his horse, Marbles. He would unwrap a mint candy, the kind you see in the doorway to restaurants, and place it in my palm. “Now keep your fingers open,” he’d say as he picked me up and walked over to the stall. I remember thinking it was funny that the horse liked the exact same candy that I did.

I remember a time when I was young enough to think that sitting under the table was still an excellent place to be, though I hadn’t counted on sharing the space with my grandpa’s new dog. “A service dog,” Papa Bob said of his black lab, Morgan. “I’m training her to be a service dog.” I remember thinking that this idea was a bit of a stretch as I silently watched Morgan chew through her leash and then go rooting through the trash.

I remember the stones he used to give me and my siblings. He used to say that if we felt bad we could close our eyes. “Breathe in,” he would say, “and breathe out. When you do, let all the bad go away into that stone. That way you can be full of everything else.” Even all these years later, I never let anybody else touch those stones, for a reason I can’t quite articulate.

Growing up in an age where cellphones are a staple of any outfit, whether you are old or young, I’ve had my fair share of pictures taken of me, and I’ve taken many, too. It’s easy to swipe to your camera and take a selfie or a picture of a stunning view. It’s such an easy thing to do, in fact, that it seems there is no reason not to. But, recently, every time I pull out my phone to take a picture, I ask myself, Why? Why do I need to remember this exact moment? A simple picture, held in static pixels on the cracked screen of my phone isn’t enough to capture what I see, what I feel, what I think. I’m not saying that pictures aren’t wonderful, but sometimes I find myself getting so caught up at looking at everything through the lens of my camera that I forget to just look.

The decorated mantlepiece at Papa Bob’s house

I do have a few pictures of Papa Bob’s house from the day we cleaned it out, but I more strongly cherish the memories I have, undocumented but fixed in my mind like those from my earlier childhood. In looking at my photos from Papa Bob’s house, I know they don't transmit exactly the way rain caught in my eyelashes, or the way the shade in Papa Bob’s backyard fell upon the grass and the little birdbath in the yard. Perhaps it is the writer in me that feels the only way to truly capture a moment is to write it down, to spend as much or as little time as I like teasing out the details of the memory.

Though Papa Bob is gone and much of his life remains a mystery to me, I do remember him fondly. Paradoxically, as I learn more about him, I feel closer to him than I did when he was alive. Each new story I hear of his life adds to the collection of things I know about him, filling up my heart with memories and stories, like a magpie’s nest or an old house filled with one man’s treasures.

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The Goldilocks Effect on a Writer: Sometimes “Just Write” Is “Just Right”

A blog post by Publishing Intern Cori Garrett-Goodyear

Publishing Intern Cori Garrett-Goodyear’s “Writer’s Path” vision board, created for her studies in the Bay Path University MFA in Creative Nonfiction program, fall 2022

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Recently my MFA program tasked me with creating a writer’s self-contract. The goal: to stay invested in, and accountable to, myself and my writing once the externally imposed expectations and deadlines of the program are no longer in place. As the end of my final semester draws ever nearer, I find myself hurtling towards the realm of self-accountability—terrain where I’ve historically stumbled. The familiar tug of being pulled in too many directions all at once looms large. My roles as a wife and mother working a full-time day job on top of caring for two small children and an elderly father with dementia presents the perfect scenario for setting up the safety net of a writer’s contract.

Though still a work in progress as of this writing, much of this contract will be based on a past exercise of developing what my program calls a “Writer’s Path.” This is a vision board of sorts, with sticky notes and images culled from websites and good old-fashioned magazines. When I created it this past fall, I surprised myself by firmly gluing the pieces down on a large, white posterboard to create a tentative map of writing waystations and destinations. Although I knew I could always buy a new posterboard and reprint the images, the process of making this Writer’s Path still felt like a bigger psychological commitment than I expected to make at the time. I found the result visually pleasing, and the project left me with a feeling of accomplishment, but somehow it still felt more like a playful creative activity than a promise to honor.

I’m hopeful that the writer’s self-contract will provide me with a more formal “performance agreement.” Performance agreements are often used to get the best out of people working for us (or for others to get the best out of us), so why not apply the same method to get the best out of ourselves? The elements are straightforward enough: identify goal(s), write out the steps to achieve the goals, set deadlines, build in milestones along with associated rewards or penalties, and include a clause for revisiting/reworking the terms of the contract itself as you move forward.

“You can always edit a bad page. You can’t edit a blank page.”

— Jodi Picoult

Of course, the devil is in the details. My Writer’s Path board prompts me to wrangle with lots of lofty wish-list components: logistics for a trip to Ireland for a writing workshop; investing time and emotional energy in finding a new community of writing and reading partners; the heavy work of revisiting my thesis; pursuing publication possibilities; and taking the big leap of faith both to state and to believe “I am a writer.” Without a doubt, though they shift between waystation or destination status depending on the day, all of these are authentic aspirations. But in the interest of keeping things simple, my initial contract will be this: just write—every day. Something. Anything. Long run-on sentences. Short, choppy free-association thoughts. Gibberish. Favorite song lyrics. Retyped inspirational quotes.

With a nod to Goldilocks trying to find the perfect porridge, chair, and bed, I admit I’ve often faltered upon setting the unrealistic expectation that the words on the page should only land when they present themselves as the “just right” words from outset. Rather than try and fail, it sometimes becomes habit simply not to try at all. But in the words of American novelist Jodi Picoult, “You can always edit a bad page. You can’t edit a blank page.”

I take inspiration from Modern Memoirs’ clients who have clearly already contracted with themselves to “just write,” and who have then entrusted the staff here to help them publish the beautiful books they’ve envisioned. The range of projects in the company’s library is truly impressive, and I have enjoyed learning about current projects underway during my internship. I hope that readers of this post will be inspired to join these writers, and me, in continuing on the Writer’s Path, wherever it may lead.

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Reflections from Modern Memoirs Client Adam Lutynski

Adam Lutynski published Founding Mothers: Greenwood Methodist Church, Greenwood, South Carolina, 1858 with Modern Memoirs at the end of 2022. In Lutynski’s words, the book was an “unvarnished draft, a work interrupted,” written by his late wife, Joyce Bowden, who passed away unexpectedly in June 2022. Bowden had published a previous book, her maternal grandfather’s genealogy entitled Four Connor Generations in South Carolina, 1790–1920, with Modern Memoirs in 2014. We asked Lutynski to reflect on what the publication process was like for him, and what it has meant to share Bowden’s books with others.

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Joyce Bowden

1. As the title states, your wife’s recent book is about the eight women founders of the Greenwood Methodist Church in Greenwood, South Carolina in 1858. In it she wrote, “This book presents a different picture of a Methodist church than the customary one in which male itinerant and local preachers built the church. It shows that women had an entirely different view of the mission of the church. To them, the central question was, ‘What does faith mean for parents, husbands and children?’” Besides the fact that some of Joyce’s ancestors were members of the Greenwood church, what do you think it was about this project that resonated so strongly with Joyce that she was motivated to research each founder’s life so extensively?

Adam Lutynski: As many of us do, Joyce kept her own counsel on many issues. She staunchly supported women’s causes, but rarely wore a supporter badge. During 2020, the 100th anniversary year of women’s suffrage, Joyce read many of the histories of the movement and internalized the intellectual and physical grit demonstrated by the movement’s leaders. She believed she would discover similar qualities among the eight Founding Mothers as they challenged the Methodist hierarchy in establishing Greenwood Methodist Church.

2. In your foreword you acknowledge that Joyce faced some challenges in her research. What can you share about those obstacles and how she grappled with them?

Adam Lutynski: Joyce made numerous requests to the Methodist Church for documentary materials related to the interactions of the Founding Mothers and the church hierarchy about the establishment of Greenwood Methodist Church. She received no response. Joyce interpreted that as dismissive, unworthy of consideration. After Joyce’s death, a surrogate of some stature volunteered to request the materials. Her request also was ignored. Without those materials there is no factual story of the church’s founding. Joyce found no diaries, no ongoing reports in contemporaneous journalism. Joyce could not even find one single image of any one of the Founding Mothers. The records, if any, are in private hands and there is no mechanism for obtaining them. A private individual or institution need not respond or justify the lack of response. The only possible defense I can offer for the church’s conduct is the profound distraction caused by internal turmoil over the issues of same-sex marriage and the status of members of the LGBTQ community within the church.

3. In your foreword, you also say that Joyce’s wish would be either for other researchers to pick up the project and make new factual discoveries, or “to see an imaginative writer, having the highest regard for the indisputable historical facts, tell the enriched story” of how the eight women achieved their goal. Joyce was such a meticulous genealogist—conducting exhaustive research, analyzing evidence, citing all sources—what makes you feel she would like to have the story of the founders told by, say, a historical novelist? Did she ever share this vision with you? Was she a reader of historical fiction?

Adam Lutynski: Joyce and I never discussed her extensive research as a foundation for a work of historical fiction. I would not and could not presume to unilaterally invite authors to move in that direction. I contacted a small group of Joyce’s women friends (including both of Joyce’s research assistants) to ask how they thought Joyce would react to the Founding Mothers story ending as a work of historical fiction. To a woman, they concurred that Joyce would welcome a work of historical fiction because she believed so strongly in having the Founding Mothers’ story told.

4. How did Joyce’s experience publishing her first book with Modern Memoirs influence your decision to publish with us again for the second?

Adam Lutynski: As was often the case, Joyce was many steps ahead of me. She already had a retainer in place with Modern Memoirs for her work on this book. I learned of that only when I notified Megan and Ali of Joyce’s death, and they encouraged me to publish Joyce’s unfinished manuscript as a means of preserving her research and allowing me to share it with others. I’m simply following in Joyce’s footsteps while learning in my many contacts with Megan and Ali what a talented, creative, and insightful team they have assembled.

5. Who are the readers you hope to reach, and how do you plan to distribute the book?

Adam Lutynski: If I may put a slight spin on your question, I hope to interest writers, not readers. The book is not yet ready for readers. It is a draft. It has many rough edges. It needs editing and re-work. My fondest hope is that Joyce’s enthusiasm for this story will spread to one or more creative writers who will then present an enriched story to the audience it deserves. Many copies of the book will go to the archive that accepts Joyce’s research materials. I will also be sending individual copies to graduate schools with creative writing programs and to graduate schools of theology and religious studies. I will also distribute copies to established authors of historical fiction with a request to refer it to a fledgling writer who might work with it.

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RED: A V-Day Writing Exercise

On my way to work on Valentine’s Day I tried to notice everything red. It became a solo game of “I Spy.” I made a list and then thought about each red thing and how it relates to me. Yes, it is possible to see one’s self in everything, even those inanimate relatives. Here is a 15-minute stream of consciousness, roughly the time it takes me to drive to work. I hope readers will be inspired to share their own red reflections in the comments.

The red things I saw: cactus, barn, mailbox flag, bird, sunrise, hat, cord.

Red cactus—Keep away. I need my space. Just let me be. Walk on by. Take a hike. Get lost. Walk the plank…. Notice how, only after you step back and glance sidelong, I reach out to you in my own spiny way.

Red barn, with windows gutted—I am old. I am hollow. Although they abandoned me long ago, I still stand. I didn’t give up when others did. I am quiet and await the sound of the swallows returning to my creaking eaves. I know they will come. Springtime. Patience is a red barn.

Red metal flag on a mailbox—How I love when my flag is up! I hold a letter, an outgoing letter, a love letter to someone special, or a sweet correspondence to an old friend. A heartfelt letter in a uniquely slanted handwriting. How I love my task, to make sure this letter gets from here to there, no matter how far. I can feel the weight of the thoughts on the page. The love and the pain. From me to you and back to me. Connected.

Red bird—I fly and fly and fly. I try and try and try. I go here and there, doing all my dailies. Eat, peck, work, eat, peck, sleep. How far can I fly? How far would I fly? How I love my nest, its tangled braids of grasses woven bit by bit, over time, with messiness, broken twigs, and songs.

Red sunrise—“Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.” What colors can I bring to today that will allay the fears, worries, pains? Clouds painted pink and gold, a ball of fire that lights the way, day after day. I hold a prism of endless inspiration.

Red hat—Wool hat is warm like a womb or a whim. Protection from winter or boredom. Red woolen hat holds the head together, keeps all the thoughts percolating, safe and sound, or soundless and boundless.

Red cord of necklace from the Camino de Santiago on my dashboard—I remind you of a pilgrimage, the walk, the camino. I am the soul that walks on, even as you sleep or even after you die. I am the center of gravity as, footstep after dogged footstep, you plod. I hold you to the Earth, yet in your walking, connect you to the Ether. A white shell with a red sword, stabbing, carving the dirt with your hopes and dreams. Will you ever walk that walk? Some day you may.