Memoir fakers...not again!

Just reading about the latest memoir scandal perpetrated by Herman Rosenblat in his now cancelled Holocaust memoir Angels at the Fence. More here

Poor Oprah. (And poor me. She’s really never going to let memoirists on her show again.) In addition to talking up Angels at the Fence, she was also duped a few years ago by James Frey and his Million Little Pieces memoir about addiction.

You might ask, What’s the big deal? So these books are more fiction than fact? I can’t speak for Angels at the Fence since I haven’t read it, but I can explain why finding out Frey’s Million Little Pieces was a sham was such a big deal. MLP was amazing and raw and gross and inspiring and real. I had never read anything like it before, and I’d imagine most of the public had never either. It was very moving. It also really inspired me while I was writing my memoir because it was so courageous. MPL became a massive bestseller and sold millions of copies. It’s really sad to think of how many people were touched by his story and then let down.

I’ve been asked if my memoir is “real.” Yes. It is real. It all happened and I wrote it as I remembered it (which, of course, can have it’s flaws). I also had help from friends’ memories, medical records, school transcripts, and a whole lot of journals. There isn’t much dialogue in the book, but when it is used I tried to keep it natural to what would have happened—in other words, I know what I would have basically said in situations and I can assume the same for friends, family, etc. Don’t get me wrong, there’s certainly filler in my book to help the flow or create transitions. And maybe those things didn’t quite happen in that exact order or at that exact time, but it all happened.

People have great stories to tell—maybe they are wholly or partially based on real events or maybe they are entirely concocted—but let’s call them what they are. Memoir = real. Fiction = imaginary.

Here's a pic from the reading!



Come hear me do a FREE reading and Q&A in Oxford, CT.

Thursday, December 4, 2008
Time: 5:30pm - 7:00pm
Location: Oxford Public Library
486 Oxford Rd, Oxford, CT
Contact Info Phone: 2038886944
Email: www.oxfordlib.org

I'll be reading from my poetry memoir, I Don't Want to Be Crazy.

This is a true story of growing up, breaking down, and coming to grips with a psychological disorder. When Samantha Schutz first left home for college, she was excited by the possibilities--freedom from parents, freedom from a boyfriend who was reckless with her affections, freedom from the person she was supposed to be. At first, she reveled in the independence--but as pressures increased, she began to suffer anxiety attacks that would leave her mentally shaken and physically incapacitated. Thus began a hard road of discovery and coping, powerfully rendered in this poetry memoir.

Hope to see you there!
Sam

PS: Want me to come to your school or library? Just email me!

Whoo hoo!

I just got some great news...my editor bought my new book! Well, there's no actual book yet. Just a really long outline and some poems.

I think it will be out in Summer 2010. Okay, I know that sounds far, but it's not. It's practically 2009 now.

Check back for more info soon. I'll try to update about the writing process. And maybe even post some early poems.

Prepare yourself...the images below are from a collection of poems that I wrote (and illustrated!!!) in the 6th or 7th grade. I am equal parts amazed and embarrassed at the writing. I was one SERIOUS middle schooler.

Not included is an image of the contents page and dedication page. PS: It was dedicated to my dead dog. Seriously, I am laughing so hard right now I am about to cry.

Here's the cover. Note the spiffy red ribbon binding.


No clue what this was about. Maybe I had just learned about the Holocaust or something.

Hatred like a virus takes a long
time to develop.
Left untreated it can be dangerous
and hard to cure.
It grows bigger and stronger
infecting other victims.
More time passes, it grows
more serious, more powerful.
The final stage is reached it's
hard to be reversed.
The only cure, is time.

This poem is about the girlfriend of the boy I "loved."

She is a beast.
Ripping slowly at my insides,
yet leaving no trace of injury.
Her effects are everlasting
and untreatable.
It hurts to the point where
I want to die.
Yet there is no prescription for
my sickness, no pill, powder or
liquid.
Only her absence makes my
ailment fade.

Oh dear. I am laughing really hard again.

Love is like logic,
it can leave you lost.
But love can also resemble
life,
and leave you lucky.

No clue what this was about...

The window is the gate-
way to the outside world.
It can let in light when
you're sad
or chase the clouds away
when you're happy.
Such a simple pane of
glass has such a hard job.
To change your mood.

Wow. This is about death...pretty dark, but the fish and sun really lighten things up (or not).

I lay on the beach,
the sun beating down
on me.
The tide is slowly
coming in.
At first my feet get
wet, then my legs and
then before I know it
I'm totally submerged.
It is so peaceful
under the water,
with the fish and
coral reefs.
Down here I have no
need for air.
This is where I
belong.
This is where I want
to be.

Feel free to post amazing and embarrassing (or amazingly embarrassing) poems in the comments section below!

Below is a piece that I wrote for the LA Times about living with an anxiety disorder. Check it out!
Sam
------------
http://www.latimes.com/features/health/medicine/la-he-myturn22-2008sep22,0,6812450.story

MY TURN

Anxiety disorder leaves parts of life in limbo for author Samantha Schutz
But her commitment to therapy and willingness to try new medications to stave off panic attacks gives her ever-increasing control.

By Samantha Schutz, Special to The Times
September 22, 2008

In the last few years, whenever I tried to talk about my experiences with an anxiety disorder, I ran into the same problem. I couldn't describe myself as having an anxiety disorder because I'd gone months without having a panic attack. And I couldn't say I used to have an anxiety disorder because I still felt its effects.

Trying to find the right tense was more than just a matter of semantics. For many years, having an anxiety disorder shaped nearly every bit of my life -- where I went, who I went with, how long I stayed. I do not believe that anxiety disorder can be flipped off like a switch and, accordingly, simply using present or past tense did not accurately reflect how I was feeling. The body has an unbelievable capacity to remember pain, and my body was not ready to forget what I had been through.

It was only about a year ago that I settled on saying, "I am in recovery from anxiety disorder."

I was diagnosed with panic disorder a few months into my freshman year of college. My first attacks were scattered and seemingly without pattern. But it wasn't long before the attacks picked up speed and I was having several a day. I often felt nervous, not in control of my body, convinced that I was going to die. As the frequency of attacks increased, it became difficult to do normal things such as go to class, the dining hall or parties.

It was textbook panic disorder. Only I didn't know that. I thought I had gone crazy and that all the things I hoped for in my life -- that my parents hoped for -- were gone.

I am thankful that I possess two qualities: being forthcoming about my feelings and being proactive about my health. I believe these are a big part of the reason that I was able to ask for help. And getting help was surprisingly easy.

One fall afternoon, I went to my college's counseling center and asked for an appointment. Within days, I was seeing a therapist and a psychiatrist and was on medication.

That was more than 10 years ago. Since then, I have seen more than half a dozen therapists and taken as many medications. I have gone months without panic attacks and medication. I have also "relapsed" and nearly checked myself into a hospital.

I have been to yoga and meditation classes, swung tennis rackets at pillows, practiced the art of breathing, tried hypnosis and herbal remedies. And slowly, I've begun to do things that once seemed impossible -- going to crowded concerts or sitting with relative ease in a packed lecture hall.

People want to know why I'm better. They want to know the formula. This is not a simple question with a simple answer. For sure, hormonal changes, growing older, moving out of my parents' house and becoming more confident and secure with myself have all aided my recovery. The only thing I can say with certainty is that my commitment to therapy and my willingness to try new medications have made the most difference.

Samantha Schutz is a children's book editor in New York City and the author of "I Don't Want to Be Crazy," a book about her experiences. You can visit her at www.samanthaschutz.net.

Remember how a few months ago I said I was writing a new book? Well, up until very recently I haven't done very much (you know, aside from going to that dang full-time job I've got). Well, I can finally say that I am actually writing my new book. See? This photo proves it. Sort of, anyway.


Fiction is really challenging. People tell me that it should be easy compared to writing a memoir, but it's not. I didn't have to outline my memoir. I didn't have to come up with a plot or characters. I already knew it all. But writing fiction can be very overwhelming. I need to construct this world, filled with people who have actual lives and feelings... But I'm getting there. I've been working steadily for a few weeks and I pretty much think about the book, its plot, or the characters everyday. That NEVER happened before and I've been toying with the same concept for 2 years.

In short, this new book is about a teenage girl named Annaleah whose sort-of-boyfriend has just died. (They would hook up and hang out, but he was a flake and never called and could never really be depended on. But when they were together, just the two of them, it felt perfect. Special.) The first page of the book takes place the morning of his funeral.

Right now I have about 17 typed pages of poems. The pic above is from my journal. I use it on the subway during my commute, if the mood strikes.

The inspiration for this book came from a lot of different places:
* The first is an experience I had when I was about 19. One of my closest friend's friend died suddenly. While I had only met her a few times, it had a huge imapct on me. (this is in my memoir)
* Another inspiration comes from my general fascination with loss and death and how people deal with each. Okay, let's not mince words . . . what I actually mean is my fear of death.
* The next reason it pretty simple. I've had a few "sort-of-boyfriends" and have plenty of experiences to draw from.
* The last reason (for now anyway) is that there are people who I've dated (or been friends with) who are no longer part of my life. I don't talk to them or see them and that feels like a death to me.

I think I might post some early poems from the book. That, and scanned images of a collection of poems I wrote AND illustrated when I was in 6th grade. There's a good chance it might make you laugh so hard you'll cry.