Click here for info on the Print Journal (and to purchase your copy)!

Memoir of a Memoir Writing Class – Epilogue, Alternate Endings, and Outtakes!

By Harris Bloom

-------------------------------------

Out of the figurative thousands upon thousands of fan emails I receive on a biweekly basis, there are some questions that keep popping up. I figured for my last column, I’d answer them here –

Even though the class was full of, to be kind, “idiots”, and you didn’t learn much, do you miss it?
The answer, believe it or not, is a wholehearted “Yes.” I couldn’t imagine a funnier cast of characters in a classroom-based sitcom if I tried (and neither can TV execs judging by Head of the Class and Dear John), even if most of the humor was unintentional.

Would you take another class at Gotham?
No.

Do you still talk to anyone from the class?
Just Gail. I kept up with Timmy for a while, but as often happens, once we no longer saw each other weekly, the emails became less and less frequent until they stopped.

As a fascinating aside, Gail hated the name I gave her. Her real name is Tiffany. And she hasn’t written a word since the class ended thanks to the harsh criticism she received during her critiques…or maybe it’s because her computer broke.

HEY HARRISBLOOM@YAHOO.COM – DO YOU WANT TO ADD THREE INCHES TO YOUR PENIS?
Yes, but that’s beside the point. Next!

Exactly how “creative” was your non-fiction?
Not nearly as creative as you’d think. Sure, the conversations were not word for word, but I tried to keep true to the “spirit” of the characters. If you don’t believe me, here’s what Gail/Tiffany said when I asked her how far I strayed from the truth:

“I thought you did an incredible job of serializing the classes. You have an amazing knack for writing perceptive dialogue that allows us inside the mind and personality of the individual speaking. To all the readers out there, I implore you, if you read just one online serialized writing class diary, make it Harris’s. Then again, I suppose I’m preaching to the choir.”

So there you go.

What do you think Natalie would say if she saw your memoir online?
Eez no true. He lie leek a bear in zee foreest een zee Russia zuring heez hibernation. My storeez vuz supposed to be funny! He meezez point completely. He eez true eedeeot!

The ending seemed kind of flat.
So?

Just mentioning it.
Well, given that this was a memoir, I was confined to the truth. If this were a big budgeted Hollywood movie, or even a character-driven indie flick, I’m sure the ending would’ve been slightly altered. <Looking upwards thoughtfully> Hmmm, I can see it now…three times no less…

Alternate Ending Number One: Michelle thanked us all for a wonderful semester, once again reiterating our marvelous chances of being published, and wished us well. She picked up a pen from her desk and while staring at me declared, “I have just one last thing to do.” She walked to my desk and placed the pen on it. “Thank you,” she stated, and then she walked out. One by one, my other classmates did the same. Some said Thanks -- others said nothing but patted my on the back. I looked downward during the tribute for the most part, only raising my head in an awkward nod every so often until I was alone.

Alternate Ending Number Two: Michelle thanked us all for a wonderful semester, once again reiterating our marvelous chances of being published, and wished us well. She singled me out for making the class fun and giving her a reason to wake up every day. She added how she now lives for the day when she sees the best-selling hardcover edition of "Tales Told by a True Idiot" gracing the window of every bookstore in New York. She said that, in fact, we ALL owe Harris a great big thanks. At that point, Timmy got up and started clapping in a slow rhythmic cadence. Then Gunjan got up and joined him, and one by one, they all joined in , picking up the beat, and even started chanting my name. Eventually, they all made their way to me, picked up my chair, and carried me out of the room (though not before I hit my head on the door...freakin' idiots).

Alternate Ending Number Three: Michelle thanked us all for a wonderful semester, once again reiterating our marvelous chances of being published, and wished us well. She told us that she has one last assignment for us -- to write and leave on her desk an essay about who we think we were when we started this class versus who we are now. Since everyone in the class had plans (not to mention no idea what she was talking about), they trusted me to write it for all.

After finishing, I read it to myself (with a voiceover) – “Dear Michelle, we accept the fact that we’ve had to sacrifice ten Wednesday evenings for whatever it is we did wrong, but we think you're crazy for making us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us: in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a neurotic Jewish accountant, a Broadway showgirl, a drama queen, a sensitive intellectual, an anorexic, a Rusheen eemmeegrent, and um, gay. Does that answer your question? Sincerely yours, The Gotham Club.

Cue the music…Hey, hey hey, heeeeyyyyy!…

Did any stuff happen during class, funny or otherwise, that didn’t make it to your memoir?
Sure, loads of stuff. Most of the outtakes I’m going to save for the Director’s Cut version since I hear people will pay extra for funny outtakes, but here are a few items…

Week Three: Juanita said, “I thought your story was um, um…” She looked around. “Where was I?” she asked to no one in particular.
“At the very beginning,” I answered.

Week Four: Awww, man, that’s funny, I thought as I started to copy Michelle’s comments. Wait a sec…it’s not that funny. Is it funny? Nah…I erased what I had written.

Week Six: I got to the classroom extra early as I'd taken the train rather than walked. I sat in the classroom and waited for others to show. And I waited. And I waited. And I waited. Jeez, I still got a half-hour, I thought. What the hell am I gonna do for half an hour?

Week Nine: “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” I asked Natalie.
“Ven?”
“Just now? What did you just say?”
“I duunt know. Vhat I say?” she asked, looking around for help.
“Something about it being World War 2?” I helped.
“Ahh, yes, I say, ‘Eet vus Verld Var Du – gans ver shooteeng, vemen ver being raped – people never see movie bevore und eet game vor vurst dime!’”
“Okay, thanks.” I said, jotting it down.

Week Ten: Okay, Michelle didn’t say “idiot” but I…<hmmm…what’s that word I’m looking for? Guessed? Not quite…lemmee use the Word Thesaurus…postulated? Nah, that doesn’t sound like me…Infer. Bingo!> inferred from the sound of her voice ("Too wordy…sound…tone!"  Yeah, that’s it.)

Is there anyone you’d like to thank?
That’s a really weird question for someone to ask, but since you have, yes, there are. First of all, I’d like to thank Florencia and Deeanna for their editing skills (sometimes my writing is frighteningly too similar to those I am mocking). I’d like to thank Bronwen for letting Stewie bite her while I’m trying to write, I’d also like to thank Shirley, Kim, Matt, Adam, Amanda, Mike, Ed, Rob, Christina, Linda and Maria for the encouragement. In addition, my mom for giving birth to me (even if she does ask me, “Tell me again…which parts are supposed to be funny?”), Hershey’s for their Nuggets and Ricky Gervais for making me once again believe in the sitcom. Last but not least, I’d like to thank Sarah for putting it on methree.net.

How has your writing been going?
Okay, slower than I hoped for, but I did recently sell my first magazine piece, "I Was A Middle Aged Zombie," to Surreal Magazine.

Cool.
Yeah.

---------------------------------------

Harris Bloom lives and works in New York City. When he isn’t playing a zombie in a movie or one at his day gig, Harris is hard at work on a short story collection, or maybe it’ll be a full-length memoir. He doesn’t know. Either way, he can be reached at harrisbloom@yahoo.com.

© 2005 Me Three