Half-Publishing to Respect My Fathers Privacy | Talking Writing

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Half-Publishing to Respect My Fathers Privacy

Apr 27th, 2011 by Talking Writing Edit
Posted in Theme this Month
Tags: ethical quandaries for writers, self-publishing

By Ashley Taylor
Its Not Simple When Family Stories Turn into Books

My first and only attempt at traditional book publishing was made in second grade. I submitted my first story
Jennas Surpriseto Scholastic, accompanying it with illustrations by my friend Heather. In response, I received a letter
that said Scholastic was reviewing its policy on unsolicited manuscripts.
When I wrote a biography of my father twenty years later, I knew better than to submit it to Scholastic. Instead, I
published it myself. Called The Bucko Bio, it tells the story of a man who was born on a family farm in Kentucky, had two
families and a scientific career in Maine, and retired to his old Kentucky home, where he still raises beef cattle.
I didnt think a traditional publisher would ever publish it. For all my fathers renown as a geneticist and the interest his
life holds for me, his biography is not something the general public would have any reason to read.
My initial intent was to record everything I knew about him. In writing The Bucko Bio, I opted for detail and stark truth.
While the decision led to a thorough biography, it also complicated my role as distributor of what eventually became a
booka role authors dont assume in traditional publishing. I had to decide who would be allowed to read it.

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"Kentucky State Route 36" Doug Kerr

I didnt start out planning to publish a book. I imagined my fathers biography would be more like a long essay or
journalistic profile. For six months, Id been bloggingmy first foray into self-publishingand Id grown accustomed to
posting short essays online.
The Taylor family is obsessed with its genealogy, and my dad had already written a family history and collection of family
anecdotes. He was 68 at the time, and I didnt think he would find my project unusual. But I had to get up my courage to
ask if I could interview him. I knew hed experienced some hardships that we had never discussed before. I didnt know if
hed be willing to talk about touchy subjects like his first marriage.
My father doesnt volunteer a lot of information. But he does answer questions with honesty and depth, and I discovered
that the difference between knowing a little about him and knowing him well lay in the questions I dared to ask.
Hes the one who first referred to my project as The Bucko Bio. It has the cadence of a saloon or ranch name, and I never
came up with a better title. Bucko is short for buckaroo, which is a tall-tale descriptor of my dad. When I was little, I
thought of him as a cowboy, because he raised cattle, wore hats, and rode horses. Way back then, I started calling him
Bucko.
As I asked more questions, and he gave more answers, the story grew. Within a few months, Id fixed on the idea of having
his biography printed as a book. An acquaintance who had self-published volumes of poetry suggested I try the printon-demand site Lulu.
I knew there was a chance that Id finish The Bucko Bio, and my father would tell me he didnt feel comfortable sharing it
with anyone. It would be nave to write a book about a family members personal life, ask if it would be all right to publish
it widelyhey, we can sell it on Amazon!then pout when they say no.
I reminded myself that I was mostly writing the book for him, me, and other close family members. Any other readers
would be a bonus.

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My father read drafts of the biography as it went along. I sent him the penultimate draft and asked for his final comments,
including notations on details he wanted kept private. But I didnt tell him that the next copy he saw would be printed and
bound.
From the time I submitted the manuscript files to Lulu, it took only a few weeks before I had the hard copy Id envisioned.
I surprised him with the book on Christmas morning in 2010, 16 months after Id started writing it.

The Bucko Bio is a 106-page hardcover with a glossy dust jacket. The front cover features a black-and-white boyhood
photo of my dad with a lamb he raised on the farm. His bangs are cut in a V, with the point in the middle of his forehead,
between his eyes. The lamb has a bushy forelock in the same V shape. They are both young and determined creatures, with
parallel haircuts.

I love the photograph. I know that the V-shaped haircut is a coincidence, but it made me feel as though the book was really
my own, as though I had posed my dad with the lamb just the way I wanted him.
As self-publishing evolves, many writers have turned what used to be typewritten genealogies and family histories into
professionally bound books. Yet for me, the process has challenged my expectations of what I should achieve as a writer.
I now want to write what I care about. I want readers wholl appreciate my work as more than a quick post that can be
recycled in 24 hours. My goals arent just instantaneous comments or the hypothetical advertising revenue a blog is
supposed to generate.
I think of the tattered copy of Great Expectations on my dads bookcase, a book read many times and that we would never
want to throw away. Im certainly not Dickens. Yet I do wish that The Bucko Bio would pass through many hands and
outlive the people it portrays.

After Christmas, my father read the book againstill amazed, he told me. Then I brought out the five extra copies
Id ordered and asked if it would be okay to send them to family members. He agreed. They mostly knew the story,
anyway. But when I asked if my friends could read the book, he said no.
I didnt protest. I didnt want him to feel like I had assumed the answer would be yes. And later he did relent, agreeing that
close family and friends as well as people he will never meet could read The Bucko Bio. His acquaintances are the ones he
doesnt want to read it.
My father and I probably didnt need to worry about random people grabbing the book off store shelves or ordering it on

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Amazon. I had hoped my friends and family would order it once I gave them the Lulu link. But Im the only one who has.
The people who have read it have done so because I gave or lent them a copy.
The Bucko Bio isnt half-baked, but I would call it half-published. As it turned out, my writing quest was really about
creating a lasting memory of my parents. Unlike with my blogs, Im not after feedback from total strangers. But I did want
some kind of response, and Ive gotten it.
A friend of my fathers, a literary man, read the book and sent me a letter written on a typewriter: an old-fashioned,
hard-copy response to my hard-copy tribute to my dad. My fathers sister, who features in the biography, sent me a letter
responding to the book not as literature but as part of her life story.
And in our interviews, my dad answered every question I asked, even the ones that might make a man blush. A barrier
between us fell down. He did demur about one question, initially saying he didnt remember. Later, though, he e-mailed
me the answer.
What was the questionand answer? Im not telling. But its in The Bucko Bio.

Before we eat, Ben walks around the table and kisses us before he sits down. If I have a friend to dinner, he
might pat her on the shoulder to include her in the ritual. What a good supper, he always comments, after
trying the food. After dinner, Ben asks us if anyone would be interested in going to see the cows. We all get in
the pickup truck: Ben drives, Im in the middle, and Sandi is on the right. We go down the driveway but turn
toward the pasture instead of the road.
We survey the fields, the cows, the calves, and the pecan trees. We check the water levels in the cow ponds
and any watering hole Ben may be perfecting. Then we drive back toward the house, a two-story white
clapboard farmhouse with chimneys on each end, a front porch, and a green, metal roof that amplifies the
patter of raindrops.
When I am home, I always kiss my parents goodnight. If I am in bed first, my dad will stop outside my door
and wish me goodnight. I love you, and See you in the morning, we tell each other before we sleep.
From the prologue of The Bucko Bio

Ashley Taylor
Ashley Taylor grew up in Maine and Kentucky, majored in biology at Oberlin College, and now lives in Medford,

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Massachusetts, where she writes for the Somerville News.

She has always liked writing and language, especially French, but she has focused on other disciplinesbiology, music,
and balletduring different periods of her life. She hopes that writing will be the glue that binds her disparate interests.
(She does plan to write about one topic at a time.) In the fall of 2011, she will enter a masters program in science
journalism at New York University.
Ashleys blogs are The Bach Season and Crenshaw Seeds. As she notes, Crenshaw is a family surname and also a melon
similar to a cantaloupe. I thought of crenshaw seeds as ideas produced by me; I started writing as Katie Crenshaw. But
the only stranger whos commented on Crenshaw Seeds is Anonymous, wondering if Id be interested in some
high-interest investments.

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