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by Anne Liu Kellor


 The author at Namtso Lake in Tibet in 1999.

The author at Namtso Lake in Tibet in 1999.









Sometimes I feel ashamed when people ask if I’m still working on the same book. Yes, for almost a decade now I’ve been working on a memoir, SEARCHING FOR THE HEART RADICAL, with some periods away from it in between. Most of the chapters originated during my time in grad school from 2004-2006, although many of the seeds of those pieces had already been planted during the years I lived and wrote in China from 1999-2002. And in some respects, you might say I’ve been working on this book since the day I was born.

This book has taught me a ton—about the process of writing and about myself. I have grown so much as a writer over these years that I have felt compelled to go back and rewrite most of the pieces, again and again and again. And because it’s a book about discovering myself during my twenties—and I started writing it while still in my twenties—it’s also a book whose deeper meaning has been elusive and unfolding as I’ve grown as a person.

If I could do it all over again, I’m not sure what, if anything, I would do differently. Initially, I wrote almost every chapter as a piece that could stand alone. They came out that way, and this also made it easier to submit stuff to writing group critiques or literary magazines. Eventually though, and perhaps even from the beginning, I knew I was writing a book. I then spent many years stringing the pieces together, agonizing about whether to call it a “collection of essays” or a “memoir”, submitting it to agents and later small presses, getting sick of it, putting it down for months or years at a time, losing faith in it, and then finally dusting it off, sitting down and becoming obsessed with it all over again.

It’s been a labor of love. Of dogged stubbornness. Of moments filled with doubt (this writing is crappy and self-absorbed), and moments filled with pride (this is a great book that will speak to many!). Yet finally, what’s pushed me on is simply the knowledge that, no matter how many people the book ultimately reaches, I must get it out there, share it, find closure, move on.

In retrospect, it would have been a whole lot easier to have conceived of it as a whole memoir from the get-go, and mapped it out as such, not having to later convert all the original stand-alone pieces. But, that’s not the way my process went. I needed the writing practice, and I needed to let it unfold organically, to just let it become what it would become. I never imagined that it would take me almost ten years to finally get to the point where I feel like the book is cohesive and whole, and where I’ve finally accessed the necessary perspective that I needed in order to infuse the book with a more seasoned perspective.

I never was good at having an elevator speech, and maybe this should have been my clue that I still hadn’t honed what it was about, at core. “My book is about my travels between China and America in my twenties,” I’d say (but it’s not a travel book). “My book is about growing up half-Chinese, and searching for my cultural and spiritual identity,” (true, but kind of vague). “My book is about my longing for language, love, and belonging” (closer, but more vague). Fine, then, my book is about me, I’d say, only sort of kidding. It was all of the above. And then some. Which was it? Was it trying to be too many things? Did I need to lose the threads about Buddhism and Tibet, and focus more on the cultural identity theme, about growing up bilingual, then living in China and entering a relationship with a Chinese man?

Now, anyone who’s taken a course in memoir can tell you that memoir is not autobiography. Memoir is not the entire story of your life; memoir is a story from your life. So pick one theme, one particular thread, and tell that story well. Leave out lots of other important stories and details if they don’t serve the one story at hand. Trust that there will be other books in you; that you can tell the other stories elsewhere. Find your focus.

For a while, I feared I was not heeding this basic advice. I feared I was holding on too tightly to wanting to tell ALL of my story–  my coming of age, self-discovery, spiritual-heart-opening, obsession with language and China, longing for intimacy, and searching for home story. But when I tried to cut out the pieces about my obsession with Tibet and my initial spiritual awakening, it still wasn’t working. Now there were gaps in chronology I was trying to disguise, and, moreover, there were gaps in adequately expressing what was really going on inside of me, on the most intimate level.

My readers/editors wanted it to be a cohesive, linear whole, not a collection of linked pieces, because the blueprint of my story was already there. What was missing was a deeper, seasoned thread of reflection to stitch it all together. Don’t get me wrong, there was plenty of “telling” in the manuscript, maybe too much. But this reflection still belonged to each piece alone and didn’t yet do much in the way of making the pieces speak to each other as a whole. And ironically, the book itself is about wanting to feel whole.

Finally, about a year ago (after taking an awesome workshop with Lydia Yuknavitch on finding your core metaphors), I was inspired to break out the dusty manuscript again (after a mostly motherhood-driven, three-year hiatus), and write a new piece/introduction called “Mirror Face.” In this piece, I went back to one of my original metaphors, first unearthed in a piece I wrote in 1997 for my first college creative writing class. It was a piece about vision, mirrors, reflections, identity and self-consciousness. It’s central metaphor began with me, as a child, looking in a mirror and hating the way my two eyes did not match—the way one of my eyes was creaseless, like a Chinese eye, and the other eye had a fold, like a Westerner’s. It was a piece about how I saw and judged myself, and in turn feared others saw and judged me.

There it was. A new beginning to my book. A new beginning that had existed all along, but that for some reason I’d failed to see belonged. And from this new (old) beginning, I suddenly saw the entire book framed anew. It wasn’t that the theme of cultural identity wasn’t already prominent in almost every chapter, but it had never been introduced in quite the same way. Something about sharing my childhood vulnerability and speaking directly to my desire to overcome my early seeds of self-consciousness, was crucial in informing the linear story at  hand about living in China, and my longing to find a spiritual path and to become fluent in Chinese as an adult. Something about that one central metaphor helped me to tie it all together better, and see and love the book anew. And with a new beginning, I was better able to determine which pieces needed to stay or go, and to write a new ending that helped the book come full circle.

So here I am. Still editing the epilogue and waiting to get feedback from my copyeditor/friend, before we start the process of designing, creating and self-publishing the book. Sometimes I still get hit with pangs of, maybe I should try one last time to get a publisher, after all, the book’s a new and improved animal now, but something about time and motherhood has infused my life with a more urgent perspective. I am ready to get this book out in the world NOW. I do not want to wait again for months to hear back from agents, and even if I got one quickly this time, it could take years more for the agent to place the book, if they even could. And then, after that, another couple years before it would come out. That could be another five years of my life! No, thank you. I have other projects on the backburner, including another book I’ve already started and received funding to work on, and projects that (I hope) will not take me as long to complete as this one.

But you never know. Maybe I am just one of those slow writers who writes long books and takes a long time to understand what she is truly writing. It doesn’t matter. I trust now that these things just have to take their course. You can be as disciplined about your writing and self-imposed deadlines as you want, but you can’t force the process, the timing, or the way in which your book’s core insights choose to be revealed.

Who knows, maybe I had to become a mother first, to shift my life so radically that I could finally see my whole younger searching period with new insight. Maybe it has nothing to do with any given age (e.g. the fact that I’ve been writing about my twenties and now I’m in my late thirties), but more to do with specific changes that happen in a person’s life that suddenly catapult our perspective into a whole new realm.

In any case, I now plan to self-publish. I will proudly join the ranks of the DIY culture, and do everything I can to create a beautiful, professional product and get it into the hands of as many people as I can. Because this book is important to me. And because I believe it is good. And while sometimes the best advice may very well be to let go of something and move on, there are other times when you can’t bear to do this, and you just have to keep trusting that there is more at stake here, something that you need to see all the way through.


Postscript, three weeks later:

Okay, I lied. I have decided to send the manuscript out to a few more places, before committing to the self-publishing route. First off, after doing more research it started to dawn on me just how much work it would be and how much money I’d need to raise to do my memoir justice via self-publishing, and that realistically I probably couldn’t launch my book until the fall. Then, I found out about a memoir publishing contest for first-time authors via SheWrites and Seal Press (with a quick turn-around process), and decided to revamp my book proposal in order to submit to it. Now, my book proposal feels vastly improved, so I feel I may as well send it to a few more places. So, here we go: one more round of submitting and praying. I guess this is just another lesson in staying open and trusting my intuition throughout the process, no matter what I’ve privately or publicly “proclaimed”. I’ll keep you posted. 


Me, before leaving China in 2002, looking out over the monk's quarters at Labarang Monastery in Xiahe, Gansu Province.

Me, before leaving China in 2002, looking out over the monk’s quarters at Labarang Monastery in Xiahe, Gansu Province.












This post was originally published here.


Hedgebrook supports visionary women writers whose stories and ideas shape our culture now and for generations to come. The opinions expressed here are not necessarily representative of the opinions of Hedgebrook, its staff or board members.

Anne Kellor
About Anne Kellor


  • Gretchen Staebler
    8:48 PM - 21 March, 2013

    Thank you SO MUCH for this, Anne. It struck a chord with me. I have only been writing the memoir I’m working on now (about living with my 96-year-old mother this year) for a few months, but I am in the same stuck place. I feel like it’s a book, but it’s coming out in essays and I can’t picture how it will look in the end and I feel like I must know to keep going. You have inspired me to just keep writing; to be patient. The thread to weave it together with will come in its time. I look forward to reading how your DIY vs. publisher turns out. I want to read your book. Blessings.

  • Mary Tang
    9:51 PM - 21 March, 2013

    Dear Anne,

    I read your piece and decided it’s time to return to mine. 🙂 Thank you for sharing your experience; your story inspires.

    Ten years may seem long when you are in your thirties. I am 60 and still trying to get it down. Sigh.

    All the best,


  • Jenny
    2:02 AM - 22 March, 2013

    Thank you! Your piece was just what I needed to hear. I am heading to Hedgebrook next week to return to work on the memoir I have been writing for seven years. I identified with so much you wrote about, from motherhood to elevator pitches, to self-criticism, to arbitrary timelines. I look forward to hearing more from you and reading your memoir when it comes out!

  • Janet Givens
    6:01 PM - 22 March, 2013

    Thank you so much for sharing your 10-year odyssey. You’ve given me welcome validation: I’ve only been at my “two years in the life of” story for seven years. I too juggle between the DIY and the agent route, and trust I’ll know when it is truly “done.”

  • Anne Liu Kellor
    8:36 PM - 22 March, 2013

    Thank you so much, Gretchen, Mary, Jenny, and Janet, for your feedback! I really appreciate hearing from you and am grateful that sharing my experience and process has struck a chord for you, and encouraged you to keep working on your memoirs-in-progress. It can be so easy to hear stories of how others knock out books in a couple years or so, and think that this should be our process too, or otherwise, what’s wrong with us? But ultimately there is so much that is out of our hands. We can only keep writing, keep editing, and keep believing in the pieces/books that for whatever reason call us to return to them, no matter how long they’ve been on the back burner, or continually revised, rewritten, and reborn. Good luck to all of you! Keep writing, Anne

  • Liz Raptis Picco
    8:19 PM - 5 April, 2013

    “Sometimes I still get hit with pangs of, maybe I should try one last time to get a publisher, …, but something about time and motherhood has infused my life with a more urgent perspective. I am ready to get this book out in the world NOW.”

    This truly resonated for me, Anne! It took me almost eight years and numerous rejections before I decided to self-publish with CreateSpace. The key is to put it out there-we all have different paths. I wish you the best of luck, look forward to reading your memoir soon, and hope you will visit my blog-www.stretchmarks.me- where I feature my memoir. Thanks, Liz

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