Tag: reading
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on detours
From Charleston, it’s about two and half hours to Tybee Island. Day 2 of my round-country road trip, and I’m already off course. Instead of driving to see my sister in Atlanta, like I’d planned, I’ve come here, entirely because yesterday someone said, “You haven’t been to Tybee? You’d love it!” I am gluttonous for…
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on arriving
And one cold day in January 2020, I arrive in Charleston. * It’s my first stop on a solo road trip around the U.S.—my circuitous search for where I belong. I’m instantly enthralled. Walking through downtown, I start picking out where I’d live if I lived here. I see the sparkling nights, the easy friendships,…
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on being interesting enough
“My sister might be the only person I know who’s interesting enough to write a memoir,” my friend Cayla told me recently, when I mentioned The Memoir Circle. I laughed out loud. “You know it’s not about being interesting!” I said. Then I paused.Maybe she didn’t know that. Writing a memoir isn’t about being interesting.It’s…
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on leaving
It is January 2020. I am driving around the country, starting in New York. From there, I’ll drive south, then west, then up and back east, possibly through Canada. Several people have told me that this trip is adventurous, and that I’m brave. I don’t feel that way. To me it just feels necessary. It is…
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on writing a memoir
“Want to join a memoir-writing group with me?” my friend S. asked me one day in 2019. This was pretty random. We’d never talked about writing memoirs before, and I wasn’t ghostwriting them yet. I liked reading them, but my specialty was fiction. “Yes!” I said right away. “When do we start?” Shoot, I thought…
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on moving
Moving day. Everything’s moved in, so now it’s a matter of organizing. This is my favorite part. Deciding what goes where, that glimmer of satisfaction when I put something its new home. I don’t have much stuff (and thank God the apartment’s furnished). Each object I own tells a story of where or who it…
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on being ghosted
Years ago, I met a prospective client, a renowned clothing designer, in her NYC studio. We discussed the book she wanted to write — her timeline, her goals, her hopes and fears. I thought we bonded… …and then she ghosted me. Weeks passed. I wondered: Was it something I said?I should NOT have worn that…
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on connecting the dots
My first night in Peru, I sat on my patio and opened a notebook to write. I’d come here to find peace. My life had been upended recently—a 6-year relationship ended; the house I’d wanted to buy had fallen through. The future I’d imagined had dissolved, and I felt lost and uncertain. Here, though, listening…
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on drawing a finish line
You live in Peru? You must be bilingual.” Well…sometimes. It depends on the day. On my mood. On the lighting. I used to think being bilingual was a finish line I would one day cross. But now I see it as more as a moving target. It’s more like being “happy” or “healthy.” Are you…
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mediocre jazz
The other day, I came upon some songs I’d recorded back in 2013. A couple I had written, some covers, some classical and some mediocre jazz.* I hadn’t thought about them in years. When I listened to them now…I was shocked. They’re WAY better than I remembered. At the time, I was 25 and living…
Kimberly Bunker, MFA 