My Memoir Motivation

Over the years, I’ve attended writing workshops, seminars, classes, courses, lectures, TED talks, conferences, panels, virtual writing groups, as well as reading countless author interviews. After each one, I’d drive, walk, or bus it home, inspired, motivated, and thinking that I had something substantive to say. It would usually last until the following day when all I felt was overwhelmed, and in need of a nap. 

Talking about writing always sounds so severe to me — too literary and academic for my taste. I don’t know; maybe it’s because I don’t feel comfortable in the author/writing community — or maybe I’m still searching for a place where I fit in. 

I started writing professionally as a screenwriter. That segued into writing for a short-lived stand-up career, which then turned into writing two stage shows and a short film. I probably would’ve stopped there and found something else to do with my time, as I didn’t grow up wanting to be a writer — I was more of a song and dance gal. But after a horrendous romantic breakup, I thought that if I wrote about the experience, it would help me heal. Why not share my agony and heartbreak with the world — I hate suffering alone. 

Five years ago — to the day, I committed to writing a book. Since this was my first attempt at authorship, I had no idea how the process would look. There’s a lot of advice out there on the world wide web and most of it (I found) to be contradictory — which, again, only managed to overwhelm me. Keep yourself in the chair, no matter what. Inspiration needs to know where to find you. Inspiration is everywhere, get up, and go for a walk in the woods. 

Before I wrote the first word, I read the standards, Bird by Bird, The Artist’s Way, Mary Karr’s The Art of Memoir, but it was Do The Work and Turning Pro by Steven Pressfield that resonated, and convinced me that I could write a book. 

The experience was an education: story structure, the necessary parts of a sentence, the best online thesaurus, how I like to work. It was like attending graduate school, and I was profoundly ill-prepared. Most days, I’d question whether I should’ve been allowed to pass high school English. My answer was always a resounding no. 

The only two constants during this process was an early morning start and coffee. Where I sat, what I said, ate, used to write, and how I dressed, was all up for grabs. I’d use dry erase boards, index cards, legal pads and longhand, Scrivener, Word, or I’d act out scenes in my living room. I’d redecorate — the desk over here, there or I got a new desk. I’d face a wall, the Empire State building, or my microwave. I’d stand at a counter or sit in a bungee chair, on a physioball or stool. Sometimes I meditated — most of the time, I did not. I’d write in my apartment, noisy cafes, homes of various friends and family members, my building’s lounge, trains, planes, and in the lobby of the gym where I worked. 

Some days I could write for six or seven hours; other times, one hour seemed like an eternity, and I’d download applications to nursing schools near me. There were times when I felt compelled to write, jolted out of bed, and sashayed over to my computer with the excitement that comes just before the first drop on a roller-coaster ride. Exercising came in fits and spurts — seven days straight for months or I’d take months off — which explains the 10-pound weight gain. 

I’d put blinders on — shutting out the world, submerging myself in a singular and isolated headspace, to guard against all distractions. As it turns out, I’d been living the COVID-19 lifestyle for years. 

Each phase of writing, including research, outline, first draft, eighth revision, and final typeset, required a different approach and skill set. Depending on where I was in the story, subject matter, or technical issue, I had to learn to address each one with an open mind and heart. Judgments, criticisms, and second-guessing why I wasn’t in nursing school would’ve derailed me. I had to remain on high alert. 

It took time — years perhaps, before letting myself off the hook, shutting out the mental chatter, opinions of other writers, and whatever (and whomever) I’d accepted as the only way. Midway through the book, I’d found my style, my personality, and my way. The only job I had was to follow my impulses and listen to the physical underpinnings that were pulling and pushing me when I wrote. After five grueling years, I was able to finally write, “The End” —or more accurately, “To Be Continued,” which is how my memoir ends. 

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Dani Alpert’s first headshot was her mugshot taken after getting arrested for tagging in the New York suburban town where she grew up. She’s been trying to reclaim those glory days ever since. After attending NYU Film School and the American Film Institute, Dani spent 25 plus years working as a screenwriter, stage performer, producer, and director.

Her Lifetime Television film parody “A Really Intimate Portrait . . . of a Complete Unknown” was a festival breakout, lauded by both critics and audiences. Her writing has appeared in publications including Medium, theWoolfer, HuffPost, Babble, Pilates Style Magazine, Stepmom Magazine, and the Hollywood Journal. She’s spoken at lifestyle conferences and been interviewed on nationally syndicated radio shows for being the Girlfriend Mom. Dani boasts placing second (in the mature category) in the 2014 U.S. National Pole Championships. Pictures provided upon request. “The Girlfriend Mom,” is her first book and is available everywhere May 5,2020.

Find out more about her on her website https://danialpert.com/

THE GIRLFRIEND MOM

After thirty years tap-dancing through life as a childfree woman, Dani fell in love with a divorced dad of two and stepped into the amorphous role of a parent’s live-in significant other—or, babysitter without compensation. She was presented with a Whitman’s Sampler of motherhood while making rookie mistakes like leaving the eleven-year-old alone in the house while running to CVS for raisins and donating t

o the Alzheimer’s Foundation as the kids’ Christmas gifts.

Seven years in, Dani got her bearings, sinking deeper into a longing for the kids and semi-parenting, surprising herself and those around her. She kept Nicole’s teenage secrets and whistled while she laundered Tyler’s athletic supporter and had anointed herself “the Girlfriend Mom.”

And then she was dumped for a natural blond.

It wasn’t a traditional divorce, and Dani had no visitation rights. But she and the kids didn’t break up. Intent on creating a life of her choosing, Dani went from keeping a guardedly warm distance towards the kids to fighting for a place in their lives—DIY’ing a family that now included her ex-boyfriend’s ex-wife.

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