I long ago figured out my style in dress. It’s preppy meets art, traditional basics with a dash of color and play added in. My basics tend to the clerical black, to be sure, but the art is important.
I just figured out the style of this blog. It’s Instant Memoir.
Just take the literary structure of Karr or Didion or Angelou and mix it with the host chat of Regis. I always knew he had a great story when he started to draw a map, and could never miss days when he and Joy had just come back from holiday somewhere. Those were whoppers, those stories.
I grew up as a TV kid, ending up hosting my own daily studio magazine format talkshow, with interviews and demonstrations. I venerated broadcasters like Jean Shepherd who would tell stories into the night. I loved the intimacy that comes from ephemeral and evanescent stories, told fresh and fast.
Instant Memoir should be a contradiction in terms, because who the hell takes the time to consider their life all that quickly? But then, shouldn’t my whole damn life be a contradiction in terms, ol’ transperson I?
In the past people have told me that if they read my writing in a book they would probably enjoy it, but in their inbox it feels rather raw and intrusive. Too much to process when they are just trying to get through a pile of notes. It’s the first draft of history, but as polished as my experience lets it be.
This is my chat show and this is my story, episodic and well threaded, fresh and considered. Some may consider me an essayist, and that’s not bad.
But to me, it’s Instant Memoir.
Callan 