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Trucking and Memory
By Stephanie Kemp

April 4, 2023

A Tuesday.
7:58am.
Sunny.
49 Degrees.

I am at a Starbuck’s killing time while my 18 year old daughter has an interview for a “Trucking Position” (with a dose of “Potential Sales Associate”) at the Container Store. (She triple confirmed that they were contacting her off of the right resume. She does not, and cannot, drive trucks.)

I love when life does this.

I love that my daughter got to skip school and see a glimpse of the world on a work day, before stores open and restaurants flip their signs, before the shoppers and tourists show up, when the people who keep it all spinning and possible wash their windows and sweep their stoops.  

While they are still just neighbors,
before their day goes public.

It makes me remember all the jobs I ever had/lost/quit/tried/loved/hated/took to make my world bigger (and make me some money, even though the boys made more).

It also makes me think about all the jobs I might still have/lose/quit/try/love/hate/ take to make my world bigger (and make me some money, especially now that I could call out the boys, or at least, the boys’ employers).

These thoughts bring me to some Thoughts From Yesterday’s Professional Zoom with a Professional Literary Agent:

“I’m never going to tell you to tweet or post or do anything you don’t want to.”
(Yes!!)

“…But you do have to tell me why you are an expert in this space.”
(Shit.)

“Do you want to Print It or Publish It?”
(………um)

“Piggyback on your contacts  - use their platforms.  Despite what the (social media algorithm) world wants you to think….PEOPLE - especially your people - want to Help.”
(Makes sense/Ew……..even though I do have the world’s best people in my very lucky life.)

“PULL YOUR COMPS!”
(Comps are a list of the Already Published Books that might be comparable to my/your Someday May Be Published Book…)

“I would rather see you publish an essay in a journal than self publish a concept book as a calling card.”
(But doesn’t the world need Sesame Street for Grown Ups and/or Pictures and Poems for their coffee table, office party and/or stocking stuffers?)

“Look at the Submission guidelines. SUBMIT!”
(Ok. Yes. I will. Do this. Finally………………..I really WILL!)

“The marketplace is much more accessible today but is also massively overcrowded and over saturated. OWN your shit. And Ship.”
(YES!!!)

“I would’ve bought Prince Harry’s book even without the detail about his frost bitten penis.”
(I would not have - with or without - but have always rooted for him.)

“You are not beggars - find the right fit and don’t take silence as a rejection.  IT. IS. NOT!  Everyone is insanely busy and overwhelmed and trying to hold on!”
(YES! This is important! In the publishing world and/or any other world!)

“Be targeted with your Comps. (And recent.) Do the work for the people who want to help you get your book into people’s hands.”
(Ooh……I like this.  It is like my old job as a researcher. Plus I do like reading books that might be like mine, some day!)

“Get ready to get out there and kick ass in the partnership part. No-one will do this for you and no-one will or should love your book more than you.”
(Did you hear that, Stephanie?  Remember it.)

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…And now I am thinking about memory, as I need to remember how to kick ass.

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Memory Loss (Not that kind 🤞🏼)


When you are in elementary school and have a good memory you are celebrated in every way, except on the playground (you have to be athletic for that, if you are a girl in 1970s America).

Teachers will marvel that you remember who the 8th President was (Martin Van Buren), every word to every poem in Where the Sidewalk Ends (or at least every word in Sick on pages 58 and 59) and what to do when there is a fire drill on the first day back after summer vacation (single file, fingers to lips, line up on the right side of the door next to the art supply cabinet until the teacher is ready and gives the go ahead).

When you are in middle school you will be celebrated for remembering all the tricks your older cousins and former babysitters told you about sneaking out at night successfully (unlock and crack the window before bedtime to avoid squeaks, don’t be afraid to jump off the roof), pool hopping without getting caught (absolutely no splashing) and/or how to get a grown up to buy beer for you (note: this was definitely 8th grade only).

When you are in high school you will be celebrating yourself because you don’t have to study as hard as some of your friends for finals. Your memory will guarantee you a string of mostly Bs, except for Chemistry, which you never learned in the first place. You will get a C here though, because you will remember that your friend Chris lets you cheat a little bit if/when/as needed.

When you are in your twenties and thirties, the celebration will continue as you remember every name of every person you ever met socially or professionally and are able to visualize the street layout of every city you ever visited because you were there once and looked at a map or took the subway. You will also remember every detail of every meeting your boss(es) ever had, with or without notes. This will get you lots of promotions and travel opportunities, both domestically and abroad.

In your forties, when your most important grown ups start to need you and/or leave you, you will be celebrated (but mostly loved and appreciated) for remembering all the stories they ever told you and helping them to fill in the details, names and places that crumble from their edges in,  just as these important grown ups desperately want and need to hold on to their memories the most.

Your memory has always been a superpower.
A safety net.
A constant companion.

But when you hit your 50s (still female, but now in 2020’s America) and pull that memory out on people, it can scare them:

Who is this person who remembers every detail from when we worked together 32 years ago? (Gay G)

Who is this person who still knows my childhood phone number, every detail of my bedroom and the entire contents of our kitchen pantry (including spices)?
(Susan, Karen, Eileen, Anne, Mary, Jimmy)

Who is this person who remembers the WHOLE party that night?
(Steven’s House)

What happened in the bushes?
(before No meant No)

Who is this person who remembers everything that I don’t/can’t/don’t want to/might be embarrassed by/want to forget/am too sad to remember?
(I probably don’t want to remember it either.)

This person who looks a little off kilter on a Tuesday morning at Starbucks because her resting face is smiling even though she is on the other side of young (sorry, but this is still a sad truth in 2020’s America), she is wearing Monday’s sweater, rain boots in the sun and is clearly no longer getting professional haircuts?

Who is this person who is...............writing everything down?

It’s just me.  

Still sipping a now cold coffee and hoping the trucking interview is going well, even though I know my daughter really wants to work at Sephora or Blick, or scoop ice cream at a place called 21 Choices (or another place called Wanderlust...I am obviously rooting for that one with Choices in the title).

I promise I won’t hurt you.

Especially because now I am remembering all the good times my friends (Susan, Karen, Eileen, Anne, Mary, the other Jimmy) had at 31 Flavors.

But, no matter what, I promise I will remember the promise about not hurting you (and that I still only ever order vanilla chocolate chip), even when the algorithms get mad at me.

Or worse - (is it worse?) - if and when (and they will) the algorithms ignore me.



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