Places I Have Known

I’m working my way toward writing my next memoir.

Unlike with my first memoir, the scope and nature of this one is not crystal clear from the beginning. I knew that there was a lot of good story that did not fit into the storyline of A Long Way From Iowa, which is in part a tribute to my mother and grandmother, and to the role their love of reading, writing, and travel has played in my life. And in part it is the story of how I came to own my life as a writer, while working my way across half of the US and ultimately landing in a little village in the French countryside.

So now I am faced with the task of figuring out what the scope and arc of my next memoir will be.

At first I thought it would be organized around the concept of “home.” What makes a place a home? How do we find our place in the world? And how is it that the three places in the world where I have felt most at home—Minnesota, Brooklyn, and Essoyes, that little village in France where I live now—are so unlike each other? What is it about each of these places has made it “home” for me?

Six months ago I thought I knew at least roughly how this memoir would be shaped. But then the personal belongings I had left in storage in Silver Spring, Maryland for the past eight years arrived here. One day I opened up a trunk that held all of my journals, back to my childhood five-year-diary. I opened one of them and began reading.

I was a prolific diary writer back in my twenties, and reading those diaries can sometimes be interesting and/or funny; occasionally sweet and tender; more often it can be sad, even downright painful and depressing.

It is, in any case, in my opinion, not a good way to spend a huge chunk of my time right now, when there is all this life still unfolding before me.

But I needed to at least dip into that material, to see what was there, and think about how I might use it. So I decided to take just two years from my early adulthood, ten years apart, and read through all the entries for those years. And since I am a very fast typist, I decided to transcribe them as I read—so that at least I would be completing two tasks at once—reading the journals, and also digitizing them.

The exercise was interesting. For example, it was interesting to see how I had remembered only the good parts of some key experiences, and none (or very little) of the bad. Other experiences were just the opposite: I had remembered the worst part, and none (or very little) of the good part of it.

Opening those diaries also suggested new possibilities for what my next memoir would/could/should be, so that I am less sure now than I was six months ago which part of my story I want to focus on telling next.

One thing that is clear is that place is very important to me: as a reader, as a writer, and as a person.

So I thought I would start by writing essays about places I have known and loved, beginning with the three most important ones: Minnesota, Brooklyn, and Essoyes-in-Champagne, those three places where I have felt most at home.

And I’ve decided to do that here, on Substack. I have been taking my time to decide how to use this new (for me) platform, as opposed to the blog I have been keeping on Wordpress since 2009.

And this seems like a good place to start. This is stepping into a new stage in my life as a writer. This book is not like the last one, a book that declared itself to me with a clarion call and yet took 30 years to write. That book is finished now, and in the world; I am very happy that I was able to finally finish it, and that it has been well received.

This next book feels a bit like I am stepping into a misty field in early morning, when you can hardly see one step ahead. But you know you have to just keep walking, putting one foot in front of the other, until the path becomes clear, and the sky opens up.

A sincere thanks to all of you who have subscribed to my Substack even before I have done much with it. I hope you will enjoy my forthcoming reflections on the meaning of home, and on places (and people) I have known and loved…

Janet Hulstrand is an American writer, editor, writing coach, and teacher of writing and of literature who lives in France. She is the author of Demystifying the French: How to Love Them, and Make Them Love You, and A Long Way from Iowa: From the Heartland to the Heart of France; and coauthor of Moving On: A Practical Guide to Downsizing the Family Home.