#AmReading Patty Dann’s THE BUTTERFLY HOURS:
transforming memories into memoir

I found THE BUTTERFLY HOURS by chance. I had stopped in at the bookstore one Saturday afternoon for an author event. First thing’s first: I bought the author’s book (KRAZY by Michael Tisserand) and a new pack of stationary. Then, I settled into a plush chair two rows back from the speaker podium. I figured I’d thumb through the book while I waited, but I was twenty minutes early and the author had just arrived and people were still setting things up. So instead, I decided to browse the tables of good reads nearby.

With the store set up for author and audience, furniture had been rearranged. The table of current staff favorites that’s usually parked who knows where sat off to the side but steps in front of me now, with the last copy of Patty Dann’s book directly in my line of sight.

The book’s appearance, meek and thin with a simple cover, drew me in. Its subtitle, transforming memories into memoir, clinched my attention, since I’m in the last stages of editing Family Stories from the Attic with Lisa Rivero and in the midst of my online Flash Nonfiction course. After reading through the first three pages, I didn’t hesitate in my second run at the cashier; having finished the book, I’m eager to recommend it. Dann offers chapter after chapter of advice, encouragement, and examples of how writing prompts work–really, how writing in general works.

You have to do the messy part because even if you write ten pages and you only like one phrase, three weeks later, during lunch or in the middle of the night, you might feel compelled to continue that phrase. If you don’t have that one phrase written down, there will be nowhere to begin.

People sometimes freeze up at prompts, get stuck on the literal meaning of a word or the exact image in a phrase. But Dann suggests that the point of a prompt is to start. Write awkward; write clunky. Prompt or no prompt, just write. Last Sunday I “just wrote” the opening scene to a new story–200 words of awful and 10 words of “this might work” (with those 10 being part of a definition from the dictionary). Still, if nothing was written, I would nothing to revise.

Shut your eyes and listen to the church bell, the train whistle, and the snow falling on the roof. Open your eyes and see how children speak into one another’s mouths rather than their ears. Recall the lilac smell of your grandmother as she bent to kiss your cheek. Touch the dried snakeskin on the ground and imagine the way your throat burned the first time you tried hot peppers.

Paying attention to sensory details like touch, smell, and taste can bring a story to life or a memory back to life, benefitting the writer as well as the reader. For writers, such focus on our surroundings can “open us up,” as Dinty W. Moore says (THE MINDFUL WRITER, another of my favorite reads), “help us to see the story or poem or play or monologue or memoir in everyone and everything.” For readers, intimate specifics make way for greater connections with the work.

There are days, even weeks, or certain months of the year, when you simply cannot write. Don’t bother to feel deflated. Accept the fact that you have time off and fill the well.

Ah, there is my saving grace.

Taste new foods, listen to music from childhood, hike trails you’ve long forgotten, try your hand at watercolors, recite the names of the presidents of the United States, and interview your elders.

Because it’s been several months since I opened the draft of my novel. When anyone asks, How’s the book coming along? I cringe, silently berate myself, dance around my answer, hope they won’t notice the shame in my eyes. I wonder what’s wrong with me, worry about whether or not I will ever finish.

All good questions; all good food for though. But as Dann reminds us, nothing to be ashamed of.

digital sketch of woman looking out of window
self portrait: unfinished sketch

Look at the other creative things you’re doing during those quiet weeks or months. There’s much to be said for how a simple sketch or a twist in the recipe of your favorite meal or a day with the camera may feed your creative side. There are plenty of ways to engage in the work, even with your pen tossed aside. And we need that bounty as much as we need to fill the page.

Every essay I read brings me closer to my idea of how I want ( or don’t want) to write. Every story I edit reminds me of structure, what works and what doesn’t. Every book I find by chance re-energizes and renews my affection for the craft and for the power of story. Some might say this is not writing, but others, like Dann, would suggest that respite from one piece of work or another gives way for a writer to “fill the well” once again.


About THE BUTTERFLY HOURS (from Indiebound.org): Sometimes all it takes is a single word to spark a strong memory. Bicycle. Snowstorm. Washing machine. By presenting one-word prompts and simple phrases, author and writing teacher Patty Dann gives us the keys to unlock our life stories. Organized around her ten rules for writing memoir, Dann’s lyrical vignettes offer glimpses into her own life while, surprisingly, opening us up to our own. This book is a small but powerful guide and companion for anyone wanting to get their own story on the page.

Q&A (& Giveaway): Amy Kurzweil, author of Flying Couch

“I ask myself, Was I born from a stone? Do I still speak Jewish? Does Jewish still exist? I try to say the words to myself. Maybe somebody should hear me. I try to picture a face. My mother’s face. If I could draw, I would draw her. Just to bring her back to my eyes.” ~ Bubbe in Flying Couch


cover image for Flying CouchMemory. Identity. Art. Amy Kurzweil blends all three together in tight unity in her new graphic memoir, Flying Couch (Catapult/Black Ballon, 2016). Using her artist’s hand, she tells of her journey to illustrate the story of her grandmother, who survived the Holocaust by living with gentiles and claiming she was not Jewish. Alongside her grandmother’s memories of the War, Kurzweil depicts the dynamics of mothers and daughters–then and now–in a mix of illustrated heartache and humor.  She proves that while memory is fluid and fades, art brings back its form, returns us to our core, and helps us reconcile what has been lost and gained.

I’m honored to host Amy Kurzweil today, where we dig a little deeper into story and form. And there’s a giveaway (thanks to Catapult!). Enter HERE for a chance to win a copy of Flying Couch (deadline to enter: Tuesday, Dec. 20th, noon).

Now welcome Amy Kurzweil.

Christi Craig (CC): As a writer and teacher of writing, what do you appreciate most about the style and architecture embedded in graphic memoir as form?

Amy KurzweilAmy Kurweil (AK): I love the immediacy of drawing, how it connects to our emotional life so directly. I have to bring a certain quality into my arm when I want to make a line that expresses a certain emotion. My arm has to shake for a shaky line, has to tense for a rigid line. I can’t draw a sad face without frowning myself. And I love how with graphic memoir, the self is split in two: There’s the writing self, the narrator, the self reflecting here and now, and then there’s the figure I just drew on the page, the 2-dimensional me, an embodiment of memory. I think all memoir writing has this kind of splitting of the self, the past and present sharing the page, and I just love how comics makes this literal.

CC: In a post on Jewish storytelling, Erika Dreifus highlights this quote from Avraham Infeld’s “The 5 Legged Table” on Memory: 

While history is about what happened in the past, memory is about how that past drives our present and our future. 

Your book is an exploration of memories pulled from time spent with your grandmother and her stories about surviving the Holocaust. Now that you’ve published Flying Couch, how does memory, this narrative of your grandmother especially, fit within the framework of your life moving forward?

AK: That’s a wonderful quote. It resonates so well with my ideas about memory. Memory is one of the most interesting things in the world, I think. It’s still mysterious to me exactly why we remember what we do or exactly what our memories say about the facts of the past, but it’s certainly true that memories communicate what we once found and continue to find important. I’ve heard every time you remember something you change the story a bit, you rewrite the experience – the roots of the word remember literally mean something close to “rebuild,” or “refill” – but I don’t think this means our memories can’t be trusted, only that they may tell us more about ourselves than about the world. What’s also true about memory is that the more we recall certain events, the more we reinforce the narratives those stories support.

This is all to say that whatever compelled me to write this book has certainly reinforced my connection to my grandmother and her history, and whether that was necessary or inevitable I can’t say. Not everybody in my position wants or needs to do that. But I will say: having now understood my grandmother’s experience in the holocaust as deeply as I feel I can, having reflected on the psychological inheritances of this history, has made a lot of the horrible things that happen to people all over the world, all the time, less abstract and less distant. I don’t think that means anything specifically for my life moving forward other than a possibility that my writing and my art will be infused with a certain authentic empathy, and hopefully, in the best case scenario, this empathy-into-art does it’s tiny infinitesimal drop-in-the-bucket job to ease other people’s pain, and my own.

CC: In this interview on for The New School Writing Program, you say, “The reason Flying Couch was published is because I worked on it a lot for a very long time (eight years) and then I got lucky. I think that’s the only true story that you can tell about a published book.” For writers and artists alike, perseverance is the key. But is there another word, mantra, or even image you turn to that urges you on when “The End” seems eons away?

AK: I suppose I remind myself almost everyday that I actually enjoy writing and drawing. I mean I just viscerally and emotionally relish the act of making marks on paper, seeing the mess of my thoughts and feelings transformed into words or shapes. That seems like a requirement of this work. For me, making marks a basic need first, and an ambition second.

So it’s been important for me to separate career anxiety from writing anxiety. Of course career anxiety is tied to money anxiety, but just about every writer needs another job (publishing a book doesn’t necessarily change that!). Then, just holding all those anxieties apart from one another is helpful. Finishing a project, especially a first project, is important if you want to get on the literary map, if you really want lots of attention. But for most of us, our writing practice is not primarily about getting attention. I write for insight and understanding. What really gets me down is when I lose the private thing, when I’m unable to illuminate or understand.

You asked for images. Ok, let’s say my mind is a landscape: as long as it’s a field in bloom, who cares how long it takes me to collect all those wildflowers – it’s an enjoyable task. It’s when my mind is a barren desert that I really feel awful. So if my mind-field feels razed and empty, I have to go do something else. Reading or traveling usually helps fertilize the field.

CC: What are you reading these days?

AK: I see that what I’m reading now is quite disparate and a lot at once: I’m about to finish – and have been reading for months – Nabakov’s autobiography Speak Memory. It’s slow and to be savored. Next I will read Jonathan Safran’s Foer’s new one, Here I Am. I sometimes foolishly try to read from my boyfriend’s book piles (he’s getting a PhD in Philosophy) so right now it’s Personal Identity (essays by Hume, Locke and others). Comics-wise I’m reading Sarah Glidden’s Blackouts and I just assigned The Arrival (Shaun Tan) and Un Océan D’amour (Lupano and Panccione) two silent graphic novels, for my class at F.I.T. On train rides, I tend to read on my phone, usually essays published online, so right now: George Saunders’ piece on “The Incredible Buddha Boy” about a kid in Nepal who had apparently been meditating and fasting for 7 months (!). Oh and I just read my sister-in-law’s draft of a young adult dystopian novel. (Think: the next Harry Potter). And always: lots of peer and student work-in-progress.

CC: What’s your favorite drawing tool and where’s your favorite place in which to create?

Aamy-kurzweil-author-drawing-web-res-1K: Hands down my Pentel brush-pen, with easy refillable ink cartridges. I think a brush is important for getting that connection I was talking about in the first answer: between mark and body feeling. I know it sounds a little pretentious, I mean, you can draw with anything, but the ink needs to really run or your lines get stunted. So for me a brush is more freeing. But I hate redipping. Thus: brush-pen.

I usually work at the tilted drawing table in my bedroom. It’s not a perfect setup – there are eraser shavings in my bed, but you can’t beat the commute.

If you’re interested, I just wrote/drew this essay about my process, which features a drawing of this table with all my supplies labeled.

Amy Kurzweil is the author of the debut graphic novel Flying Couch (Catapult/Black Balloon, 2016), which received a Kirkus star and is a Junior Library Guild pick. Her comics appear in The New Yorker and other publications. Her short stories have appeared in The Toast, Washington Square Review, Hobart, Shenandoah, and elsewhere. She teaches writing and comics at Parsons School of Design and at the Fashion Institute of Technology. Amy lives in Brooklyn.


Do check out her essay on her process and DON’T FORGET to enter the giveaway for a chance to win Flying Couch!

Q&A (& Giveaway): Jan O’Hara, author of Opposite of Frozen

On the whole, the town of Harmony did its best to live up to its optimistic name. the streets were neatly plowed, the sidewalks free of snow and litter, the storefronts cheerful and labeled with lettered script. The mountain ranges on either side of the valley were snow-peaked and set off by attractive architecture. ~ from Opposite of Frozen


Harmony is a good word to carry around in your front pocket these days. And books are always a great medium with which to promote such good will, whether they provide more information or ways to reason through chaos or if they simply offer reprieve from political dialogue…as in today’s feature, which invites us to indulge in a light-hearted love story.

cover image for Opposite of FrozenJan O’Hara’s debut novel, Opposite of Frozen, weaves humor, love, and light into its pages of mystery and romance with a story that revolves around the lively dynamics of a group of seniors citizens–walkers, canes, and all.

When Oliver Pike takes charge of his brother’s fledgling tour guide business, he anticipates guiding a bus full of aging clients on a easy ride from Edmonton to Los Angeles. But there’s trouble in the luggage compartment, namely Page Maddux, a half-frozen stowaway buried in a pile of discarded clothes. Oliver would have easily passed her on to paramedics, but the group of seniors insists on saving her from imminent death themselves, bringing her into their fold. Then begins a curious tale of stolen backpacks, missing tourists, and two stubborn hearts brought to bay.

I’m thrilled to host Jan today for a Q&A and am offering a free copy of her debut novel for one lucky reader (on Kindle or in paperback). Click HERE to enter the giveaway (deadline is Tuesday, November 22nd at noon).

Now, welcome Jan O’Hara!

Christi Craig (CC): In your novel, you paint a picturesque setting of a tiny town in the Canadian Rockies and–alongside the budding romance of Oliver and Page–slip in a little mystery. Elusive characters, tricky cell phones, and locks that won’t give. While Harmony is a fictional place, is there any truth in the mystique and magic of a small Canadian community?

jan-oharaJan O’Hara (JO): To some degree, I believe mystique and magic are in the eyes of the beholder. We encounter miracles every day, talk to ordinary heroes in the guise of our teachers, our parents, our grocery store clerks. Speaking for myself, I often fail to appreciate those special moments and people.

But as to the qualities of a small Canadian community, I don’t think they are all that different from their American counterparts, with the exception of the number and prominence of flags on display in residential areas, or the accents you’d overhear at the bank. Or the number of concealed-carry permits. Or the emphasis on football.

Okay. There are some significant differences. (I’ve got tongue planted firmly in cheek, in case that’s not obvious.)

Harmony, though, has a mystical quality I’ve never encountered in a real Canadian community: a benevolent and mischievous spirit. The authors in our series make use of him to varying degrees. In my case, because the overall tone of the book is madcap, he plays a significant and helpful role in pushing my hero and heroine together.

CC: Speaking of community, the “oldsters” (as Page calls them) stick together like a band of heroes to save Page from imminent death at the beginning through a little action and a lot of sass talk (who can ignore the pointed stare from a ninety-five year old with a cane?). And, they set Oliver straight near the end. I love that your romance novel includes such fun, atypical characters like this traveling montage of seniors citizens. As you were writing, did you develop a particular fondness for one in the bunch?

JO: That’s a little like asking a mother to choose a favorite from amongst her children! I appreciate different aspects of each of them. Paul Dubois is fun because he resists the stereotype of the rumpled, sexless senior. Mr. Lee is fun because he resists the stereotype of the inactive senior.

I’m partial to Avis. Of all the seniors, she mostly closely resembles my maternal grandmother with a motto which might be described as “give it a try”. Who couldn’t use a little more of that in their life?

If forced to pick one senior, I would choose Mrs. Horton, mostly because she kept her secrets and personality somewhat hidden until the epilogue. I really enjoyed her voice, when it came to me. It was strong and unexpected, and gave a broader perspective to a story told in a lighthearted tone.

CC: Your book is the second in a series of twelve about the Thurston Hotel, a series that incorporates the work of eleven different authors. In your interview with Sophie Masson on Feathers of the Firebird, you say that, “Without a commitment to the other writers in the group, I’m not sure I’d have pushed through to completion…OoF would not exist in its present form if not for the project’s boundaries and invitations.” Beyond deadlines and outlines that come in working on a collaborative project, what’s the greatest gift in being a part of a tight-knit writing collective?

JO: I’ve been blogging for some time and I read a lot about the publishing industry, so you might be forgiven for thinking I’d be prepared for publication. Not so! At least as pertains to me, there’s a vast gap between reading about something and understanding its application.

With a supportive community, though, when I encountered an obstacle or decision quagmire, there was almost always someone available who had already worked it through and was willing to loan their expertise. As a small example, I had help with distribution choices, formatting, cover design, and title selection. It’s enormously helpful to have a place to go where you can have your good instincts validated and bad instincts corrected, especially for your first book. And honestly? The amount of help I required was far too much for any one person to handle.

CC: What are you reading these days?

JO: For non-fiction, The Bestseller Code: Anatomy of the Blockbuster Novel. It’s a fascinating look at the commonalities between New York Times bestsellers as teased out by a text-reading computer program.

For fiction, I’m trying to keep up with my colleagues in the Thurston Hotel Series, which isn’t easy with a new release coming out every week.

That should be enough, but I got sucked into A Man Called Ove. It’s absolutely wonderful. Humorous and profound. It also features one of my favorite types of men: the kind that bristle and shout, but are principled marshmallows on the inside.

CC: Along with publishing Opposite of Frozen, you also have an essay on “The Health and Maintenance of Writers” in the recently released writing guide, Author in Progress (Writer’s Digest Books, 2016). With a debut novel under your belt and several thriving writers’ collectives at your back, what’s next on your docket?

JO: I have five partially completed manuscripts on my hard drive, of which three are a series of linked contemporary romances that revolve around a Texan family. (Don’t ask me why I’m drawn to that part of your wonderful country, but I am.) My daughter, who is an intuitive and helpful beta reader, insists I have to finish the first in that series. She wants to revisit one scene, which she read more than five years ago and still recalls as being “hysterical”. It’s hard to argue with that opinionated opinion, so I won’t, especially since she still lives at home and we get to share a dinner table.

Jan O’Hara lives in Alberta, Canada with her two children and husband (aka the ToolMaster). She writes a regular column for the popular blog, Writer Unboxed. Once obsessed with helping people professionally, she has retired from medicine and now spends her days torturing them on paper. See? Win-win scenarios really do exist. While Opposite of Frozen is Jan’s first published novel, she is hard at work on its successor. Visit her website, follow her on Twitter, like her author page on Facebook.

Don’t forget to enter the giveaway by Nov. 22nd for a chance to win a copy of Opposite of Frozen!