Killed Darlings #3
Some stories just don't belong
The Cut
When I first decided to write a memoir, I thought I’d write about where I came from versus where I am now. A Cinderella story of sorts. Modern day. No castles. Just universities and palm trees that whisked me away from my Appalachian and southwest desert upbringing.
So, in 2016, when I got started, I dumped my earliest memories down on the page. The sort of detail that conveyed the type of family I grew up in. Loving, but dysfunctional. I swear, all my favorite stories have a loving but dysfunctional family of origin that, in the end, must be surmounted and are still ultimately appreciated.
This cut showcases my dad’s side of the family in Ohio. I only lived there for about a year, but it made an impression on me.
Why was this cut?
Ultimately, though, my memoir morphed into one about my divorce. It wasn’t about where I came from anymore. Along with so many other passages about my family and my heritage, this had to go.
Another darling killed.
I’ve changed or eliminated the names of the characters below because I don’t have their permission to write about them. I do this simply out of respect. Unless they have passed away. In that case, their name remains.
