How to use this Page

Caitlyn Jenner has signed a deal with the Hachette Book Group division, Grand Central Publishing. She (pictured, via) plans to write a memoir about her transition as a transgender woman.

Entertainment Weekly reports that Buzz Bissinger, the journalist who wrote a Vanity Fair story on Jenner back in June 2015, has agreed to collaborate with Jenner to write this book. The publisher has set the release date for Spring 2017.

Here’s more from The New York Times: “The book will cover Ms. Jenner’s childhood as Bruce Jenner and rise to fame as a gold- medal-winning Olympic decathlete; her first two marriages and her troubled relationship with her children; her marriage to Kris Kardashian, the matriarch of the Kardashian brood; her transition and her experience as the world’s most famous transgender woman. In a statement released by Grand Central, Ms. Jenner said she hoped the book would help her to process all that’s happened to her in the past year, and in the decades leading up to her transition.” (via USA Today)

Add a Comment

On Homecoming Saturday, in the Kelly Writers House on the Penn campus, I spent 75 minutes in conversation with Buzz Bissinger. It was a dialogue of many dimensions and much quiet—and authentic—self reflection.

That conversation can now be watched in its entirety here.

Add a Comment

Look for me behind stacks of books. That's where I'm living lately.

Assembling the content for a traveling multi-day memoir workshop. Preparing to teach the personal essay during a morning/afternoon at a Frenchtown high school. Knitting together ideas for a four-hour Sunday memoir workshop, next weekend, at the Rat (also in Frenchtown; places still available). Conjuring poem-engendering exercises for the fourth and fifth graders of North Philly. Building the syllabus for my next semester of teaching at Penn. Putting more touches onto the Beltran Family Teaching Award event at Penn next spring (featuring Rahna Reiko Rizzuto, Margo Rabb, and A.S. King). Re-reading Buzz Bissinger so that I can introduce and then publicly converse with him at the Kelly Writers House this Saturday, for Penn's Homecoming. Talking to Jennie Nash about an online memoir workshop. Writing the talk I'll give this evening to kick off the LOVE event (featuring film students and Philadelphians) at the Ambler theater.

My writing (my novels) sit in a corner over there, where they have sat for most of this year. I'm sunk deep into the pages of other people's work. Their stories, their sentences, their churn: a thrilling habitation.

Every time I feel frustrated by a sense of career stall or perpetual overlook, I remember this: There are writers—truly great writers—who have gone before me, who have written more wisely, who have seen more clearly. I may want to be noticed, I may hope to be seen, I may wish to be important, a priority, first on a list, but honestly? Why waste time worrying all that when there is so much to be learned—about literature, about life—from the writers who have gone before—and ahead—of me.

James Agee. Annie Dillard. Eudora Welty. We could stop right there. Read all they've written. Make the study of them the year we live and it would be enough. It would be time well spent, time spent growing, time during which we learn again that aspiration must, in the end, be contextual. We can't hope to stand on a mountain's top if we don't acknowledge all the boulders and the trees and the ascent and the views that rumble beneath the peak.

My cure for my own sometimes literary heartbreak: Sink deep inside the work of others. Recall what greatness is.

Add a Comment

Among the many memoirs nested into Handling the Truth is Buzz Bissinger's own extraordinary fatherhood story, Father's Day. I wrote about it because I love it. I teach it because it matters.

Buzz's kindness to me through the years has been remarkable—his support of my work, his faith in my small books, his encouragement about my sentences. Buzz wrote the beautiful words on the jacket of Flow: The Life and Times of Philadelphia's Schuylkill River. And today he has these words for Handling the Truth:

Beth Kephart has done something extraordinary with this huge and messy thing called memoir—roping it into submission with her typically beautifully writing. There is authority here, scholarship, challenge. In this well-organized book, every example is a precious stone to turn over and to learn from, particularly in terms of crafting a voice and finding one's way in. Too many students think memoir just happens. Nothing ever just happens. Memoir is an academic field. This should become the seminal text.

Buzz Bissinger, author of Father's Day, A Prayer for the City, and Friday Night Lights

For more about Handling the Truth, please visit this page.

Display Comments Add a Comment

Late yesterday afternoon, I took a quick dance lesson then hurried to the train to see my kid, city side.  I have been down there untold times of late—checking out apartments, moving boxes in, arriving, breathless, to help with something, and of course, this young man (not a kid) needs no help at all.  I'm just drumming up excuses to spend an hour here or there with him.

So that I have seen the city under sun and the city swollen with rain, the city just after dawn, the city late at night.  And I have felt more energized and alive than I have felt for a long time.  Philadelphia does that to me.  And so do snatches of conversation with my guy.

This morning a text comes in, six a.m.ish.  I'm working on my story, it said.  Because my son shares this with me, this love of words.  This pleasure taken in filling the silent hours with vivid fictions.  By now, he's off to work, first day.  And my happiness for him is giant.

Meanwhile, Ryan Richards of Main Line Media News interviewed me yesterday morning at 8:15 a.m. (not-ish) and, 13 hours later, this Springsteen-infused story (which is also about the making of Small Damages for Philomel) had been posted.  Tuesday is day-before-pub day there at Main Line Media News and Ryan plays a central role in getting all stories out and prettied up for show.  I have no idea, therefore, how he wrote such a nice story in the midst of all that, but I thank him.  I hope he got some sleep last night.

Finally, tucked into the day was this formal announcement from Penn about the Homecoming Weekend Panel I'll be sharing with my friends Buzz Bissinger, John Prendergast, and Cynthia Kaplan, as well as James Martin, whom I am eager to meet.  Join us if you can.

October 27, 2012/Saturday 4:30 PM - 6:30 PM  

  
Memoir: Methods and Meanings
 Kelly Writers House
Arts Cafe
 3805 Locust Walk
 
Join alumni authors at Kelly Writers House as they read from and talk about their work in memoir.  Panelists include Pulitzer Prize-winner Buzz Bissinger C'76, whose latest book is Father's Day: A Journey Into the Mind and Heart of My Extraordinary Son; essayist and performer Cynthia Kaplan C'85, whose 'true stories' are collected in Why I'm Like This and Leave the Building Quickly; Beth Kephart C'82, author of multiple memoirs and young-adult novels, and of the forthcoming Handling the Truth; and James Martin W'82, author of In Good Company, which tells the story of his conversion from GE executive to Jesuit priest, and eight other books. Pennsylvania Gazette Editor John Prendergast C'80 will moderate the discussion. Advance registration is not required, but seating is limited. RSVP to [email protected] or call (215) 746-POEM.  

Display Comments Add a Comment

Last Thursday evening, I hopped a train and made my way to Philadelphia's 12th and Market Streets, then rode the elevator all the way up to the top floor of what was once known as The PSFS Building.  (I will always think of this building that way.)  We were there to celebrate Buzz Bissinger's new book, Father's Day (I wrote about how much I loved this book here), and to support the Spells Writing Lab, a non-profit organization that (in its words) "develops the creative and expository writing abilities of school-age children through free, fun, and imaginative writing programs and teacher development opportunities."

It was good to see Buzz after too many years, to at long last meet his big-hearted son, Zach, and to make a new friend in a young social media whiz named Staci Bender, who created Slice Communications. It was good, too, to watch the sun set over the city I love. To the east, the Delaware River and New Jersey.  To the west, William Penn and the Schuylkill River. These photographs were taken through the bend of window glass just a minute apart.  How full of character the skies were.  How lovely the occasion.

Display Comments Add a Comment

Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Buzz Bissinger has published a sequel to his classic book about high school football, Friday Night Lights. Published through Byliner, the After Friday Night Lights eBook looks at the lives of the characters in a book that spawned a movie and a television show.

The book focuses on the journalist’s relationship with Boobie Miles, a promising football star in the original book. The $2.99 eBook is available through Apple, Amazon and Kobo. Check it out:

Heading into the 1988 season, Miles looked like a star-in-the-making, a sure bet to ascend to college and the NFL. Abandoned by his mother, beaten by his dad, he had scraped through a rough upbringing, but it appeared that success on the field was soon to redeem his pain. Then, in a meaningless preseason scrimmage, Boobie blew out his knee. By midseason he was off the team, no longer needed by his coaches, who had found themselves a new running back. After Friday Night Lights follows Boobie through the dark years he suffered after his injury right up to a hopeful present. It is the indelible portrait of the oddest of enduring friendships: that of a writer and his subject, a “neurotic Jew” and a West Texas oil-field worker, a white man raised in privilege and a black man brought up in poverty and violence, and a father and his “fourth son.”

New Career Opportunities Daily: The best jobs in media.

Add a Comment

Readers of this blog know just how much I adored Buzz Bissinger's forthcoming memoir Father's Day.  I wrote about it here not once, but twice.  I read passages out loud to my students.  I told a seatmate on a train.  I just kinda—well, did my thing.

There goes Miss Crazy Effusive again.

Philadelphia-area readers and thinkers and hearts (that's all of us, right?) now have a chance not just to meet Buzz and hear him talk about the making of the memoir, the glories and heartbreak of fatherhood, and the art of the rave (don't you want to hear Buzz talk about the art of the rave?), but to support a really important cause—the Spells Writing Lab, a literacy-focused organization that offers after-school tutoring, weekend writing workshops, in-school assistance with student publications, and professional development opportunities for teachers.  If that's not enough to persuade you, consider the composition of its advisory board, which is rocked by Stephen Fried, Elizabeth Gilbert, Carol Saline, Lisa Scottoline, Lori Tharps, and Caroline Tiger, among others.

The event is taking place at the Loews Hotel on 1200 Market Street, Philadelphia, on May 10, 2012. It begins at 6:15, and Anyone Who is Anyone will be there.  (I hope to make it, too.)  More information can be found right here.

Display Comments Add a Comment

My friend Buzz Bissinger has been at work on an important book for a long time.  It's a memoir called Father's Day: A Journey Into the Mind & Heart of My Extraordinary Son.  It will appear in mid-May from Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, and for Buzz—the Pulitzer Prize winner, the New York Times bestseller, the Friday Night Lights guy, the Vanity Fair contributing editor, the man so often in the spotlight—it's more than a book.  It's a reckoning.

My galley copy just arrived.  I'm eager to settle in.  Between now and the time I report back to you, I share this flap copy with you. 

This story, I think, argues to be read.

Buzz Bissinger's twin sons were born three and a half months premature in 1983. Gerry weighed one pound and fourteen ounces, Zachary one pound and eleven ounces. They were the youngest male twins ever to survive at that time at Pennsylvania Hospital in Philadelphia, the nation's oldest. They were a medical miracle, but there are no medical miracles without eternal scars.

They entered life three minutes--and a world--apart. Gerry, the older one, is a graduate student at Penn, preparing to become a teacher. His brother Zach has spent his life attending special schools and self-contained classrooms. He is able to work menial jobs such as stocking supplies. But he'll never drive a car, or kiss a girl, or live by himself. He is a savant, challenged by serious intellectual deficits but also blessed with rare talents: an astonishing memory, a dazzling knack for navigation, and a reflexive honesty which can make him both socially awkward and surprisingly wise.

One summer night, Buzz and Zach hit the road to revisit all the places they have lived together during Zach's 24 years. Zach revels in his memories, and Buzz hopes this journey into their shared past will bring them closer and reveal to him the mysterious workings of his son's mind and heart. He also hopes it will help him to better come to grips with the radical differences in his beloved twin boys, inverted mirrors of one another when defined by the usual barometers of what we think it means to be successful.

As father and son follow a pinball's path from Philadelphia to LA, they see the best and worst of America and each other. Ultimately, their trip bestows a new and uplifting wisdom on Buzz, as he comes to realize that Zach's worldview, as exotic as it is, has a sturdy logic of its own, a logic that deserves the greatest respect. And with the help of Zach's twin, Gerry, Buzz learns an even more vital lesson about Zach: character transcends intellect. We come to see Zach as he truly is—patient, fearless, perceptive, kind, a sixth sense for sincerity. It takes 3,500 miles, but Buzz learns the most valuable lesson he has ever learned.

His son Zach is not a man-child as he so often thought, but the man he admires most in his life.

Display Comments Add a Comment

The University of Pennsylvania has been extraordinarily good to me—inviting me to contribute to the pages of The Pennsylvania Gazette and Peregrine; trusting me to teach a small class of brilliant undergrads; putting me at the helm of an online book group; asking me to read with Alice Elliott Dark, or to sit on panels with Buzz Bissinger, or to join David Remnick for a Kelly Writers House dinner; and to come to know, even better, the likes of fellow teachers Jay Kirk and Karen Rile. 

Earlier this summer, John Prendergast, the editor of The Pennsylvania Gazette, wrote to say that he'd read Dangerous Neighbors and that he looked forward to having a conversation.  We had that conversation on a sunny day sitting on a row of skinny benches while a tennis match played out before us.  I was my breathless, enthused, and sleep-starved self (as you'll read) and John was the thoughtful man he is.  Several weeks later, the photographer Chris Crisman and his team met me at Memorial Hall and put up with me long enough to take my picture.

It is an extraordinarily generous story, accompanied by one of my favorite scenes from the book.  It will always be cherished.  And Chris, thanks for pulling your camera lens back.  You know what that means to me.

Display Comments Add a Comment

Probably no one who knows me and knows Buzz Bissinger would imagine us to be friends.  I worry, obsessively, over unintended hurts, small provocations, unfinished thoughts.  I dance because movement is mostly granted immunity and words (often) are not.  I defer when I can, step back when I should, am intimate with shadows.  In the books I write, I lean hard on language when many of my critics wonder why I cannot figure out how to lean just as hard on conflict.

Buzz Bissinger isn't like that.  He's famous for many things—Friday Night Lights, A Prayer for the City, Three Nights in August, Vanity Fair epics, his reliably enraged Philadelphia Inquirer column, his being vivid in each and every moment.  You never lose Buzz in a room; you wouldn't want to.

We're both Penn alum.  We've sat together on a panel.  He chose an essay I wrote for a Best American Sports Writing, as if I actually know anything about sports writing (this was clearly my special lucky break).  We're both parents who care a lot about our kids. We both wonder what's next; we both hope for a better next; we take solace in gardens and cameras; we love our city; we disagree on the power and role of blogs.  Some of the best e-mails I've ever received have come from Buzz—the most honest, and the most searing.

I'm saying all this right now, today, because I just finished reading the Buzz Bissinger profile in this month's issue of Philadelphia magazine, a piece penned by staff writer Sandy Hingston.  I'm guessing there are parts of this story Buzz likes, parts he might hope off the page, parts that ring truer to him than to others.  But reading a profile like this puts Buzz, in large part, back in perspective—as a hugely busy guy with a celebrity agenda who still takes time to be friends with the quiet lit girl.  I think that says something about who Buzz is at heart.  Something that is true, that matters.

Display Comments Add a Comment

It was my friend Buzz Bissinger who got me onto Facebook—a series of notes from him that could not be read unless I went ahead and plugged myself in. I'm not what anyone would call Facebook adept; I still can't figure out which notes are private, which are public, what the world sees and what gets sent to just one friend. And don't even ask me about that wall, and to be honest: the photos that I've posted are just the ones that have stuck; who knows where the rest of them have gone to.

Still and nonetheless (and yet!): Facebook has brought me back into touch with former high school track teamers (Donna and Donna) and with a Bread Loaf alum (Leslie Pietrzyk). It has introduced me to editors and readers. It has kept me up-to-date with the infamous personalities of the ballroom dance world (the famous ones, too), and it has presented me with a number, an actual number, of friends. Counted them up for me on the off-chance that I need to quantify my life. (According to the stats, I have far fewer "friends" than the average Facebooker.)

This week, I received a message, and then a brief series of notes, from a writer named Kathy Briccetti. Ultimately I received from her an attachment. It was an essay she'd written for an anthology called A Cup of Comfort for Writers. The piece is called "The Drowning Girl." It recounts a moment several years ago in the Tiburon bookstore, Book Passages, where I'd gone to read from my Chanticleer memoir, Ghosts in the Garden, and where I talked about the writing life. Kathy had been in the audience that night. She captured that moment in time.

I am no celebrity writer. I rarely read from my own books. I've only ever once been invited to the BEA, and this is what happened then: They put my signing "line" directly beside Jodi Picoult's signing line. Guess which line was longest (by about ten miles)? And so it touched me more deeply than I can say to read Kathy's account of an evening four years ago, to realize that I'd been listened to that carefully, that I'd been transcribed onto another's page. I don't believe I've ever read another's account of me; it's one thing to be interviewed and it's another to be described. My wild hair is there. My deep set eyes, lost entirely to shadow. My way of speaking, pausing, thinking.

What is the punch line? What is there to say? Nothing, but that I found myself in tears by the essay's end. That was me then. I existed.

Display Comments Add a Comment

Sometimes things just hit you—obvious aspects of yourself, known territories, that suddenly swoon large in your own self-opinion. Last night, watching the crowd gather at the bookstore, watching that community of authors engender and inspire that community of listeners, I was smacked about inside my head with this commonplace observation: I really am an outsider. I really do live on margins. The center of things eludes me.

Genetics? Circumstance? I do not know. I know only that my life as a writer is fueled almost entirely by correspondence (the essential literary back and forth with Jay Kirk, Buzz Bissinger, Reiko Rizzuto, Ivy Goodman, Kate Moses, Anna Lefler, Alyson Hagy) and the very rare phone call, not by gathering. That I write my books alone, extraordinarily so. That I miss the trends because I haven't been out among those trading news about them. That the few times that I have been out in person doing book-related things over these past many years is primarily because of one person, Elizabeth Mosier, who made it possible for me to join Patricia Hampl (one of my favorite memoirists) for dinner one evening, who drove me to Swarthmore to see Elizabeth Strout (another heroine), and who was the reason I ventured out last night to see writers who were very much worth the effort.

I have squeezed this writing life into the dark. I have made certain that it didn't interfere with the family dinner hour or the client expectation. I have gone off writing these books in my head without stopping to consider: Will they sell? Are they of the now? Will they find their readers? I have bludgeoned out this path for books, but it's a small path—whacked away and narrow.

Is that the way? Is this the way? Last night I had my doubts.

Display Comments Add a Comment