From Memory Vomit to a Revelation
Plus, the Top Secret tapes
Raver Girl is a '90s time capsule buried inside a coming-of-age memoir set against the neon backdrop of the San Francisco Bay Area's rave scene. Will it be a vicarious read? Will it take you back? If you're interested in reading something that remixes the edge of HBO's Euphoria with the charm of Booksmart and the grit of Party Monster, keep reading.
Hopefully, 2021 is a less sucky year than 2020. My heart goes out to everyone who suffered loss. The deepest thank you goes to the frontline and essential workers (that means you Ms. Hot Pink!) who remind us that our heroes are our neighbors, and also the peaceful protestors who spoke out against racial injustice. I am humbled by your bravery. I choose to look on the bright side of 2020 (and I too suffered loss) and agree 2020 was the year the future was born.
Around the time Covid-19 began changing our lives, I was signing with my publisher, She Writes Press. I was entering both a depression and jumping for joy—a duality I know now is possible after living through a triple pandemic: Covid-19, racial injustice, and climate change. My husband and I eventually surrendered to homebody life, and we ended the year hoping for a less sucky year ahead.
Come January, I was jumping for joy again because this is the year Raver Girl publishes!
I started writing Raver Girl in 2013. I lived in Marina del Rey and had the lightbulb moment when I was tipsy with some friends telling one of my crazy raver stories. Laughing and eyes wide, they wanted to hear more. I realized I had a unique story to tell. I got to work.
My first draft was memory vomit. It took almost two years to write, and I'd sifted through all my rave memorabilia to help me: photos, journals, letters, flyers, kandi bracelets, lists (I was a list-maker even then), and my tapes.
Tapes?
I used to walk around raves with a dictaphone, interviewing people, recording myself and my friends, house music booming in the background. I have about twenty hours of audio, which I couldn't have written my shitty first draft without. Those tapes contain golden dialogue and true sound; they transport me back. And dude, they're hella funny. I hope when you read certain scenes, you'll be transported too because of the authenticity of the words and the sensory experience. I’m converting the tapes to digital files to accompany the book’s drop this year. In the meantime, here’s a sample of some shit I couldn’t have made up:
“This is how I sound when I’m sober, just wait, it gets worse.”
That was Mr. Blue. You’ll love him.
Seven years later, I've lost track of how many drafts my manuscript went through. Some chapters, the fun ones, like when I took ecstasy for the first time, were easy to write. Then there were the procrastinated chapters I knew I had to write because they were essential to my story. Like when I had a bad acid trip or fell into a k-hole. Those were the moments I'm not proud of. I cried while writing those stomach-turning, heart-pounding chapters. Sometimes I broke out in a sweat typing them.
But in the days following my hot mess writing sessions, the cathartic bonus of writing about traumas became clear. I fell lighter, freer. I realized those were the life lessons that made me wiser, stronger. And those chapters were the ones that made me a better writer because I went deep and bled onto the page.
And the more I edited those chapters, the easier it was to talk about the traumas. Eventually, they were no longer loaded with fear. I was healed, and I knew the lessons. It was like seven years of therapy about the most tumultuous years of my life had finally paid off. And the coolest part is that I healed myself through my craft.
My first draft was memory vomit, and my last draft is a revelation. Here we go, 2021. Hang in there, everything will be alright.
PLUR,
Ms. Red