Awww! Brian Liked It!

In March, I wrote a memoir about growing up in Corrales in the 60s and early 70s. A friend (Brian Cowlishaw, an English professor at Northeastern State University in Oklahoma) recently read it - and liked it! So, maybe some folks here might too.

Brian writes:

Full disclosure: Marc is a friend, so I'm not an objective reviewer of his work.
One of the greatest tests of memoir, I think, is how urgently it makes you want to get writing your own. By this standard, A New Mexico Childhood is pure gold! Marc writes scenes from childhood in brief, laconic micro-snapshot-style vignettes. Once in a great while, I found this just a tiny bit unsatisfying; I wanted him to go on with the story, tell more about the aftermath and/or his responses. Overall, though, the style works effectively. I got a whole lot of pleasure from reading this book, and I expect you will too, especially if you're, say, over 40!

The book is available here:

Kindle
Paperback

Here's a selection from the book - On The "Women's Report":

I was ten years old and it was Christmas time in Albuquerque, 1966. One of my classmates' mothers hosted a show every weekday afternoon on KOAT TV-7 called "The Women's Report,” a 15-minute daily segment filled with society news from an arid town that had hardly any society. Our 5th-grade teacher, Mr. Chavez, got our entire class invited to stage a Nativity Play. The entire 3:45-4:00 p.m. time slot was handed to us 10-year-old children. Because of my smooth delivery, I was chosen to narrate the story.

It's disorienting enough to enter a TV studio for the first time, but we were flummoxed by the appearance of Uncle Roy, KOAT TV-7’s kiddie-show clown. Uncle Roy already ruled our inner fantasy lives with his cartoons, jokes, natty plaid jacket, bowler hat, and zesty manic edge, but in person he seemed expressionless and inscrutable. It was worrisome; first, that Uncle Roy was a real human being with a real physical existence, and second, that he was there to watch everything we did. What would Uncle Roy’s trained eye see, or not see, in us kids?

The Nativity Play itself was a blur of stuttering, muffled voices. My classmates were petrified at the idea of being on TV. Byron Shealy vowed that he would never let a camera see his face, and he tried to keep his word. Clad as a shepherd, he never stood still, wandering hither and yon, veering away every time the camera's red light pointed his way, hiding behind the foliage and the stuffed sheep. My friend David, one of the Three Kings, forgot his lines and had to be prompted by a girl shepherd wearing a beard.

As Narrator, I gamely struggled on, with the camera relentlessly staring me in the face and impassive Uncle Roy visible in the distance. Towards the end of the play my eyes veered away from the prepared text. Suddenly, I lost my place in the script. I was on the verge of panic! All was not lost, however. Through obsessive over-preparation I had managed to memorize the entire text, and was able to save myself.

And then it was all over. The lights went dark. Uncle Roy disappeared, his judgment unknown. Uncle Roy's studio audience of excitable kids began arriving for his approaching show. Our 15-minutes of fame had expired. We hit the cold pavement outside just as it began snowing....