In essence, I did everything I could to remove my own ego and apprehensions and just be the person who – metaphorically speaking – cooks the food and cleans up afterwards. I also made a commitment to write "hospitably", as I have been trained to be in the kitchen – to do everything I could to take care of and to serve the reader as I would take care of and serve a guest in my restaurant. This gave me the permission to just do my absolute best within my limited skill set. Then I had a frank conversation with myself in which I admitted that I was not as talented as I wish I was. Then I spent another six months savaging what little work I had managed to produce. I spent the first three and a half years resisting, denying that I was writing a memoir and erasing two thirds of what I was writing because in every lit class I've ever taken the category of memoir is dismissed, demeaned, and considered weak, confessional, and "girly". How did you come to write Blood, Bones and Butter?
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