A Conversation with Ken Guidroz

This month features author Ken Guidroz whose debut memoir Letters to My Son in Prison just hit the shelves. Ken was a member of the Unlocking Your Story workshop back in 2019 where he discovered the importance of having a story question to anchor his narrative. Author and editor Lisa Dale Norton wrote an exceptional blog post that defines what a story question is, explaining that:

"Memoir is like any other story; it is the exploration of something unknown—a search through memories and thoughtfulness to find understanding. That unknown answer, and the search for that answer is what propels your story forward."

Ultimately, your story question lies at the heart of why you're writing your memoir NOW; it is captures what it is you are seeking to understand through the writing.

"Ask yourself this," Norton writes. "What is it I need to know?"

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Ken Guidroz is a debut memoirist with a day-job: he designs pension plans for companies. At night he writes.

In his new book, Letters to My Son in Prison: How a Father and Son Found Forgiveness for an Unforgiveable Crime, Guidroz delves into his life, parenting, marriage, and his struggles with his faith.

It's a book that's both heart-breaking and hopeful. His son has recovered and is now out of prison, married, and has a new son of his own. Nevertheless, there was an accident, a man died, and a widow was made. Now these two truths, however inconsolable, must exist, side by side, with grace, in one book. 

To learn more, visit: kenguidroz.com

KARIN GUTMAN:  What is your memoir, Letters to My Son in Prison, about?
 
KEN GUIDROZ:  My book is part parenting story, part marriage story, and part spiritual recovery story. 
 
I returned to the ministry as a pastor (after having served for ten years out of college) when my three sons were knocking on the door of adolescence. This went well for a while but then one by one, over the course of five years, they each fell into substance abuse. One ended his run with heroin when he killed a cyclist by rear-ending him on a country road in our town. He then served a prison term for vehicular manslaughter. How could this happen to my family after all we did to try and parent correctly? I wrote this book to answer that question.
 
Through it all, my wife and I managed to stay together, and I found God again outside the walls of religion. 
 
KARIN GUTMAN:  How far along were you with the book when you joined the Unlocking Your Story workshop?

KEN GUIDROZ:  I joined UYS in the fall of 2019 and had written a very rough first draft. I knew my idea, Letters to My Son, was a good one. It had great themes and was an incredible tale, but I didn’t know how to make it into a compelling story. It was only a series of scenes and letters at the time, and I needed to learn the craft of writing and the art of story. That is why I joined your group. 
 
KARIN GUTMAN:  How did the workshop help the book along?
 
KEN GUIDROZ:  In one class, I read a piece about an argument that my wife and I had about parenting. It ended with, “For years I thought I was a great dad, I thought I had the ‘dad gene’. I did pretty well when they were boys. But when they became teens—I sucked. I was no good at handling rebellion. I was no good at handling raging hormones. The longer I was a dad, the less I felt like I had the dad gene and the more I became a dad meme.” 
 
You responded with something like, “You’ve painted a good picture of what happened to your family. But how did this happen? Why did not just one, but all three of your sons go off the rails?”
 
I vividly remember telling you, "I don’t know. It all kinda spun out of control and everything went to hell.” 
 
I know that was the worst answer a memoirist could possibly give. I had ignored one of the most foundational questions of the book: What did you learn about parenting? I had a pit in my stomach. I knew I needed to answer that.
 
So, I started writing scenes about my boys’ teen years and their early to mid-twenties… what they did and how my wife, Joyce, and I reacted. Then I started to share these scenes with my sons and their wives while sitting in the jacuzzi on Sunday afternoons after playing pickleball. They would add details, telling me how they felt and what they were thinking. I shared about the pressure I felt as the pastor. They told me about the pressure they felt as the pastor’s sons. Back and forth we went, my wife and I rehashing the discussions, and the picture became clearer and clearer.
 
What did I think the book would be without that answer? I don’t know. A story of what happened perhaps, but it never would have become a book.
 
KARIN GUTMAN:  So, what is the answer to that question? What did you learn about parenting?

KEN GUIDROZ:  Go with your gut. Lean into your own individual instinct. Don’t let outside pressures sway you in how you handle your kid. Not an in-law, not your own parents, not a pastor, and certainly not what you think is a best practice. I’m not even sure if there are any best practices. There are only the practices that make sense to you and practices that will work with your unique kid and practices that you can live with and sleep well with at night.
 
Yes, educate your gut. Read books, listen to podcasts, get advice from wise people. But when all the inputs are internalized, do what you believe you should with your own unique kid.
 
I didn’t listen to my gut. I let the senior pastor sway me. I let other parents in the church influence me to parent outside of my comfort zone. And my boys sensed it. They smelled a rat. They rebelled when they saw me change and become the type of dad they did not recognize.
 
For us, that resulted in ten years of family trauma.
 
You also have to listen to your collective gut… by that I mean the gut of the other parent, whether that be an ex or a spouse. As my family imploded, I started to lean more into my wife’s gut than mine. I just didn’t trust myself anymore.
 
This process changed the book. It gave it a narrative thread; it brought in tension. It illustrated the influence of the church and the pressure of leadership on me and my marriage and my sons. It broadened the book from just a father and son story, to include all of my life… my marriage, my parenting and my spiritual life.
 
So, Karin, thank you for asking that question.
 
KARIN GUTMAN:  How did writing a memoir change you and your family? 
 
KEN GUIDROZ:  Writing this book changed my life. Dramatically. I’ve processed much of my grief and see the past more clearly. I feel like I’ve lived life twice… once actually living it, and a second time in writing about it.

My wife and I are together and happy and both deeply involved in sharing this story with others. Last night, as we were leaving a restaurant, a couple stopped us to share the impact the book is having on their marriage and their parenting. We were beaming.
 
I’m super close to all three of my boys and their wives—and writing this book has only deepened that. We all live in LA and play pickleball and jacuzzi together and eat great food on Sundays. Lucas and I are tight as a drum. He has a son now—a surreal experience that tightens my throat as I hold him. He supports the book. While he isn’t able to speak publicly about it yet and is pained that the worst moment of his life is now in the public eye, the bigger part of him is glad that others are being helped.

Family time in the jacuzzi.

KARIN GUTMAN:  What did you learn about the writing and editing process?
 
KEN GUIDROZ:  I learned that writing is hard. Good writing is learned. Finding your voice takes time and a lot of writing. Discovering the style that feels good to you takes practice. Finding critique partners that you respect takes diligence and careful listening and trial and error. Writing a memoir may take years or decades.
 
Finding the right editor takes kissing a lot of frogs. I kissed a half-dozen before I found mine. I cut things I wish I hadn’t, but most of her input (Nan Wiener) was great. I used Nan for probably 40-50 hours of editing and don’t regret any of it.
 
KARIN GUTMAN:  How have you grown spiritually?
 
KEN GUIDROZ:  Losing my family as I did was not only a parenting crisis, but also a spiritual crisis. I had always believed God would bless us; he would give us a strong family. Especially after all of that church and sacrifice and spiritual upbringing. So, to have it all sitting in a big old pile of failure was stunningly discouraging.
 
I had resigned the ministry. I couldn’t even open a Bible without a flood of bad memories swarming me, and I couldn’t darken the door of a church for years. I was beginning to think that I would turn out to be a spiritual has-been.
 
But then I found a church in Hollywood with an amazing band and a dark auditorium. They dropped the lights to almost black during the singing, and I was able to let myself go and cry and pour out my heart in this cocoon of darkness in such a way that touched a part of my soul that I didn’t know was there. I was able to process my disappointment with God. I needed anonymity (I knew no one) and darkness and music and lyrics to reconnect with God. 
 
I learned that even though my life didn’t look very Christian or exemplary, and even though my heart was numb and my spiritual pulse was undetectable, I was still a son of God.
 
Even now, after everything in my family has come full circle, organized religion is still a little out there for me. I love sharing the spiritual message of this book and being close to other Christian men and reading the Bible and thinking about God and writing about faith. But I haven’t found my place in the organization of it all.

KARIN GUTMAN:  What do you hope people will take away from your story?
 
KEN GUIDROZ:  My story is about one man kicking, scratching, and clawing his way to sanity and back to God. I hope my story will inspire others to do the same, in their own way, with renewed confidence in their gut, with a flicker of hope in their heart, and with a fresh belief that God can be found in the darkness.
 
KARIN GUTMAN:  So, how is the book doing and what is next for you?
 
KEN GUIDROZ:  The response to the book has been incredible—more than we ever expected. People are coming out of the woodwork with their story—with their own trauma or son in prison. I never imagined it, but this book may find a real place in this world.
 
Most of my marketing has been done with 500 people in our network. I’ve done a half-dozen podcasts and really like that forum. I hope to do more.
 
I’m also still writing. I have a weekly newsletter hosted on Substack. I’ve written a couple pieces, “3 Ways I’m Trying NOT to be and Asshole in my 60s” and “How NOT to fight with your Spouse on Vacation.” Next is a monthly segment featuring a question from one of my three sons: “Dear Pops, how do I raise my boy to be a real man?”

Everything can be found at kenguidroz.com.



Purchase the book!

To learn more about Ken Guidroz, visit his site.

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A Conversation with Lisa Dale Norton

I have the great pleasure of introducing you to someone whom I've long admired. Lisa Dale Norton is an author and memoir coach who wrote the fantastic guide to writing memoir, Shimmering Images—a book I highly recommend to anyone embarking on this journey of writing personal stories.

She talks about the most important requirement for a memoir to be publishable, and also shares her heartening take on what is being born in this unusual time we're experiencing. She calls it “an opening” available to all of us to step through, provided that we recognize the opportunity.

There is something about what she says that deeply resonates based on what I'm feeling personally and noticing around me. What are you noticing? If you have a moment, I'd love to hear from you.

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Lisa Dale Norton is an author, developmental book editor, and a dynamic public speaker. She is passionate about layered writing structures in narrative nonfiction that reflect the complexity of life experience, and about the transformative power of writing a memoir. 

For many years she taught in the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program. Currently, Lisa works privately as a developmental editor with writers completing book manuscripts. She earned degrees from Reed College and the University of Iowa, and lives in Santa Fe.

She is the author of Shimmering Images: A Handy Little Guide to Writing Memoir (Griffin/St. Martin’s Press), America’s go-to guide for writing memoir, and Hawk Flies Above: Journey to the Heart of the Sandhills (Picador USA/St. Martin’s Press), a book of literary nonfiction—part memoir, part natural history writing—that won comparisons to the work of Annie Dillard. Her new book of literary nonfiction has just been completed.

KARIN GUTMAN: Where did your journey begin as a writer?

LISA DALE NORTON: I've always been a writer of some sort. When I was very little, I loved writing letters. I'm not sure where that came from, but there was this natural interest in expressing myself on the page. I wrote to everybody and anybody and my mother, I loved it so much. She even helped me find pen pals all over the place whom I would write these letters to.

So early on, I loved the written word. I remember one other story that I've never forgotten. I was in grade school, and we were writing book reports. For some reason I chose a very mundane semi-adult book. I have no idea why I chose that book. But I remember while writing the report for school, I had an absolute, clear image inside me of exactly where I was headed with what I was going to say and the point I was going to make.

I never forgot it, because I thought it was kind of cool and weird. And I think that those kinds of little experiences led me forward, always writing. It’s been what I've always done. Eventually there developed, as with most young writers, the obsession and deep desire to write a book and to be published.

We all know that as writers there becomes this moment where you really are committed to this life; for me, it was the only thing that I could see in front of me. I had to have it, it was an obsession. And so, I went off on that journey and it was a long journey, but I actually got there.

KARIN: When you eventually focused your attention on writing a book, did you know what story you wanted to tell?

LISA: I knew there were things that I cared about, and I had written vast quantities of that wandering journal-esque. I suppose in the midst of that, I was defining that which resonated on the deepest level for me. But no, I did not set out to say, "Hmm, I'm going to write a mystery novel or..." No, it wasn't like that. It was very organic. I came to it slowly. I knew what bothered me, so I knew what the problem was, although I couldn't have spoken of it that way then. And I knew what I loved and I just followed that.

KARIN: Was it personal narrative?

LISA: The first book I published was, yes.

KARIN: Was it about a certain period of your life?

LISA: It was, but it was about much more than that. This turned out to be a story set over a certain set of years and based in the Sandhills region of Nebraska—and my relationship with that place, a little cabin that's there and the family history. But it was really in large part about environmental issues of that region, and that involved not only water, but looking at soils and talking to ranchers. So it was deeply journalistic. I traveled and interviewed for many, many months. It was a weaving together of what grew to be my adult concerns about the landscape and my childhood concerns about this story that was in my heart.

I use the word heart. The Ogallala Aquifer is this huge aquifer that fills the porous soils beneath the sands of the Sandhills and is the throbbing heart of that whole region. It's drying up. That was the whole thrust of the environmental concern.

KARIN: How did you end up publishing it?

LISA: I wrote and wrote and wrote and had developed a certain set of chapters that seemed to be getting at something. I was doing the best I could at the time, but I was passionate and young. I also remember that summer getting ready and saying to myself in my young 20-something mode, “I'm going to make something happen.”

I went to a conference at which I was speaking and teaching. At that conference, I met an agent and she was interested, and having zip knowledge about how it all worked, I was thrilled and I gave her my chapters. Before the conference was over, she said, “I'd like to represent you.” This is the little magic story from the sky.

Over the course of months, she helped me craft these chapters and helped me put together a package, which included what I realize now is a cover letter. She went out to 50 agents and 50 editors. No one took it. And so, she came back to me with the feedback she was getting, and we looked at the feedback together. It's hard discerning what they're really saying, because everyone's very careful, but we did decide that they were saying something vaguely similar.

And so, I rewrote the entire book based on what I thought they might be saying to me. And when that product was ready, I sent it back to the agent and she went out again. I did then get two responses, one from Knopf and one from Picador St. Martin's. There was a little bit of a battle, it was all very exciting. And I went with Picador.

KARIN: Nice. Do you remember what you changed when you rewrote it?

LISA: Gosh, it's been so long. I think it was something like ‘more of me’ in it.

KARIN: You eventually became a teacher of writing and a memoir coach. Did you study writing or did teaching simply emerge from your own background as a writer?

LISA: My second degree was in journalism. So that was a form of writing. When I went to the University of Iowa to study journalism, there was no nonfiction program in the writer's workshop. They didn't exist. At that time, there were no nonfiction programs in America. It was a club. There was fiction and poetry.

KARIN: What year was this?

LISA: I was at Iowa in the eighties. If you wanted to study nonfiction writing, you basically had two tracks. You could get a degree in English and focus on the essay. But you couldn't major in that. And then, in the journalism program, there were two people who were innovative and open, and one of them was a writer and she was writing what we would have called narrative nonfiction. That was her field. I gravitated to her. Patricia Westfall was her name. She was willing to be inventive with me. So along with her and John Bennett, another member of the journalism program, I basically invented a creative thesis in the journalism program to write narrative nonfiction.

I wrote my thesis as a narrative nonfiction product. It was not what the program normally did, but I realize now I was really on the beginning of a wave of people who wanted to study that, but there was no path to study that—no official path. So I had studied writing, but in a kind of a nontraditional way.

KARIN: Were you surprised when personal narrative took hold?

LISA: No. I saw it coming.

KARIN: Do you have a sense of why memoir has emerged in the way it has?

LISA: Well, I can give you my experience of that history.

I was interested in it already, but I was approaching it with this journalistic backbone, or reportage. You had the essay voice going on, but you also had reportage, which I think is important. I think it's important also in memoir today, having something more to say than your own personal thing. So I had been reading a lot of essays and environmental essays because I was crazy about the natural world.
 
Then along came Terry Tempest Williams's book, Refuge. Terry was huge. She was doing exactly what I was already leaning toward. She wrote this very deeply personal story about her mother dying from cancer, which was very related to the land because she grew up in Utah which had been influenced by the nuclear bombs that were being tested. They were downwind and she did die. The book was all about the environment and her mother.

This happened at about exactly the same time I was moving in my own circle of expression. She deeply influenced an entire generation of women writing about a personal experience and that melding with the natural world. So there was a whole movement that happened in the early nineties of women writing about the land, and inside that were these deeply personal, feminine stories.

What then happened was those deeply feminine, personal stories began breaking away from the relationship with natural history issues and they became their own thing.

Then along came Mary Karr and she wrote The Liars Club. I remember when I read about that book and that it was coming out, I said, "That's going to be a huge hit." And indeed, it was. That then signaled women speaking and unhinged from the natural world and in some ways unhinged from really anything else, but the personal story itself. That was the beginning of where the personal story felt no need to attach itself to reportage of any other topic, and the subject itself—me, my life—became the whole thing. If you're a stylist like Mary Karr, you can get away with that. If you're not, here we are today.

KARIN: What do you mean, “If you're not, here we are today”?

LISA: What that means to me is, you have lots and lots of women writing deeply personal intimate stories about their lives, but those stories aren't necessarily attached to any other topic that can add depth for publishing and a good portion of them are not a stylist like Mary Karr. And you have a saturated memoir market, which when Mary Karr came on the scene, you did not have.

KARIN: How do you talk about publishing with a writer?

LISA: Well, I always do clarify because sometimes clients do not have that as their first goal, but I would say 95 to 99% of people say I want to get this published. Or how do I get this published? They may not have actually even written it. So that looms as this myth about what it means and will mean to be a published writer. So right away, I determine whether the writer is interested in that.

Then I have a general conversation about publishing and the various forms available for one to pursue publishing. Then I talk about the kinds of writerly necessities of a story to find a home in the big publishers. And then I let all that rest. And then we try to turn our attention back to producing the best product that that particular writer can produce without ghostwriting.

KARIN: What do you emphasize for a memoir to be publishable?

LISA: I have come to the conclusion that one of the smartest things any memoirist can do is to broaden their story so that it is about more than just their own personal experience. I'm going to give you a simple example. You're writing about a loved one dying with cancer, and half of the story is about cancer or some research or something about science. It's not just about the traumatic journey that the narrator has gone on. It is in part about that, but it's also about this other topic. And when I find memoirists who are willing and able—because it's a different skill when they are willing and able to step up to that and actually produce market-worthy material—they have a hell of a lot better chance of making it in the door.

So that's number one on the list. I would say that 90% or more of people don't want to do that. Beyond that, I basically say, “Your writing has to be stellar, knock my socks off. Wow me,” and 90% of people can't do that. I know I'm sounding horribly jaded and there's nothing wrong with the writing that they are doing, but to get into this elite club, there are certain things that have to be done to play that game.

KARIN: What do you think about the self-publishing and hybrid publishing options that are emerging?

LISA: I think it's great and horrible. It depends on each particular case. It has certainly opened up publishing and that's wonderful. It has also segregated publishing and that's not so wonderful. It has also contributed to the whole redefinition of publishing, at least in our country. And that's sad.

KARIN: Sad because...?

LISA: I used to think of publishing as this well-intentioned marketplace of broad ideas in which many publishers really were committed—deeply, ethically and morally committed—to the dissemination of differing ideas and voices. That is not where we're at right now. I mean, the most recent upsets all rising out of George Floyd and his death point directly at the ongoing and even more deeply embedded inequities in opportunities for publishing and for voices. It's not what it was. One could argue, “Oh, in the good old days, it was just a bunch of old white guys who got published.” Maybe that's a good argument, but still it has narrowed the field and many of those voices are then sent off into the hinterlands of self-publishing, which has a long and potholed-filled journey ahead of it.

KARIN: What has happened?

LISA: Once upon a time, it didn't matter if a publishing house made money, and hence they were more free to publish books they felt were good or important, but which they knew they might lose money on. That was part of what publishing did.

And now it is not like that, or a whole heck of a lot less like that. Because the publishing houses—at least all the imprints at the big 5 in New York—are owned by conglomerates, the bottom line is just exactly what it is for any other arm of a business: It must turn a profit.

When you apply that capitalistic requirement to art, well, you have the situation we now have today, which is: Many books that once upon a time might have made it into a publishing house, will not today, and not because of their merit or worth for society, but rather simply because they will not turn a profit.

KARIN: Now during this time of Covid and George Floyd, I think we’re all experiencing a kind of disorientation. But at the same time, I’m noticing that people are moved to write the stories they haven’t yet voiced. What are you noticing?

LISA: I do think there is a great deal of disorientation that I am picking up on personally and also among colleagues and clients. And yet there's this other thing happening, which I find it very heartening and exciting. It is a place where I have always believed personally that openings come. And one's ability to take advantage of those openings in one's life depends on being aware. Do you see them? Do you recognize them as openings? Are you open to the openings? If we are closed off and tight and inflexible and frightened, we often don't see those openings and they pass us by. The universe delivers them and they dissolve into space-time if we don't grab them.

There's some kind of opening—a black hole, a space-time opening in the universe—and large quantities of people are seeing it. Maybe they're just feeling it; maybe no one can name it. There's nothing we can all call it. I'm calling it an opening. There is this opening for people to step through and what is on the other side we don't know, but what people are coming to the opening with is art and stories and ideas. They're stepping through this opening. They're walking into the unknown, and out of that will come new voices and new stories and new art forms and things we can't even imagine.

It's all very unknown and wonderful and scary. Now there's a lot of people still saying, "I don't know what to do!" And that's okay. That's where they are. But what I'm seeing are all these other people taking the door, walking through the opening and they're making art and they're writing stories and they're doing TED talks or talking to people in their community, on the street corner. They're voicing their stories. And I think there's going to be an incredible blossoming, the likes of which we cannot yet get our hands on.
 
KARIN: That is so heartening and exciting.




To learn more about Lisa Dale Norton, visit her website.

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