On the ever-changing nature of our stories: In conversation with Rachael Cerrotti

“It’s the best part of storytelling for me, that it’s never going to stay the same.”
—Rachael Cerrotti

Memoirist and host of the podcast “We Share the Same Sky,” Rachael Cerrotti

Rachael Cerrotti knew her grandmother Hana’s story when she was growing up. Hana, or Mutti, as she was called by her loved ones, was a Holocaust survivor. She visited schools to share her testimony with young students. She spoke with Rachael about her past.

But stories have chapters, and they are received differently by different people at different times in their lives. Stories can be told one way to a group of students, and another to a young, devoted granddaughter. Those same stories may take on an entirely new mien when handwritten in a private journal, captured in the moment with no distance for reflection.

What is Hana Dubová’s story, then?

Well, of course, there isn’t just one.

Rachael—a granddaughter, photojournalist, podcast host, and author—has explored her grandmother’s story faithfully. During her college years, cognizant of the fact that Hana was getting older, Rachael began getting together regularly with her grandmother, recording their conversations along the way. After Hana passed away in 2010, Rachael says she spent the first half of her twenties on her bedroom floor in Boston, going through Hana’s diaries and the rich archive she left behind. She would eventually retrace her grandmother’s footsteps, traveling through Europe and getting to know, intimately, those who knew Hana and her story. As Stephen D. Smith, executive director of the USC Shoah Foundation, writes in the foreword to Rachael’s book, We Share the Same Sky, “She made her grandmother’s homes and hiding places her homes, her places to hide.”

I have recommended We Share the Same Sky in a formal review and gifted the book to friends; I have extolled the podcast—a must-listen for anyone who values stories and family; and recently I was fortunate enough to chat with Rachael about the (inevitable, frustrating, and beautiful) flexibility of memory.

The same stories may hold different meaning for us at different times in our life.

“The story has grown up as I have grown up,” Rachael writes in the preface to We Share the Same Sky.

While Rachael gradually reveals Hana’s story to us, she also weaves in her own perspective and life changes, making for a poignant and powerful meditation on the meaning of inherited trauma and the elasticity of memory. She writes to her grandmother: “Your diaries and letters are the literature of your past, and each tells a slightly different story. I read and reread your stories as if they were fables, modern-day fairy tales that are constantly changing meaning. Every time I open to a familiar page, I read the words in a new way.” And isn’t that the nature of all family stories?

Often I talk about the enduring value of our stories: When we hear stories from family members about their experiences, we usually ruminate longest over the ones that feel the most familiar to us. Rachael echoes this during our conversation, admitting that if she is one day blessed with being a mother and a grandmother, she will most certainly see her grandmother’s stories in a new light again with each milestone.

When Rachael revisited her grandmother’s testimony after her husband’s death, she found new meaning, new depth there: “It was guidance and it was permission and it was warmth, and the words just carried everything within it,” she said.

“I think we're all drawn to stories that impact us in some ways and that feel relevant,” she said.

“We all kind of hold onto the stories that we need to hear, and I think a lot of us dig into our past trying to reckon with something or to try to understand ourselves better,” Rachael said. “Realizing that our memories are malleable gives us some ownership over them, different than just being resigned to them.”

Beyond fact-checking: Our narratives hold truths, even when they are contradictory.

While We Share the Same Sky is based on Rachel’s own experiences and research during her immersive travels as well as her grandmother’s personal writing, she did not turn to libraries or historical records to fact-check her grandmother’s stories (except for instances when an occasional age or date did not cohere).

“What I was always drawn to was the stories we tell ourselves and the stories we tell our kin, and those have nothing to do with the archives,” she told me.

In the book, she writes: “There are cracks in all our memories; sometimes they are exposed by our own inconsistencies, sometimes they are challenged by other people’s perspectives, and sometimes they change with time.”

Indeed, have you ever reread an old diary entry only to wonder, Did I really write that? Or even, Did I really feel that? Has the way you have told a single important story—say, coming out of the closet as a teen, or emigrating to a new country—changed over time? With time comes perspective, and with perspective comes a new way of regarding our experiences. Each telling of our stories reveals new truths.

“Stories do not have to be stuck in time,” Rachael said. “There are so many versions of stories that can all contradict each other and still all be truthful.”

Our ancestors’ stories become our stories.

One of the things that drew me to Rachael’s body of work, I told her, was how she deftly wove Hana’s story into the fabric of her own. Stephen Smith recognized this, too, writing: “What Rachael seemed to know is that her jumbled identity was not a godforsaken hand-me-down but a tapestry of individual stitches that needed to be understood to appreciate the whole. As you read this book, you will see each of those colorful stitches painfully embroidered into her life one by one.”

“Originally this was a story of people that had passed away,” Rachael told me. “This was a story of history. And then getting to meet all these people and having them meet my curiosity where it was at—that was this invitation to keep coming back.”

“These relationships don’t stop because you’ve stopped writing the story,” she said. “The story doesn’t end because you send it in to the publisher. That’s that chapter, and that’s okay.”

Hana’s life has informed and shaped her granddaughter’s. And Rachael has honored Hana’s legacy by revealing the nuances and truths in her diaries, and by encountering—and re-integrating—her stories again and again. In the epilogue, she writes directly to Mutti:

“I have completely lost myself in your story, creating for myself an experience out of each of your retellings. What started as a simple family history project has become this web of community. When I pull a thread in one part of the world, the story in another place changes. Your memories have become my landmarks, the symbols of my own past.”

Each of us is writing our own narrative, transitioning from one chapter to the next, weaving our ancestors’ stories into our own. I hope you will read We Share the Same Sky with this in mind, and—as Rachel hopes, as well—inspire conversation and story sharing between not just grandmothers and granddaughters, but among generations of your own family.

Discover Rachael Cerrotti’s work

• Read her memoir, We Share the Same Sky.

• Listen to her podcast of the same name.

• Follow her on Instagram for updates on her life, upcoming appearances, and future endeavors.

• And perhaps most exciting, Rachael is launching a new podcast this week, called The Memory Generation, subtitled “Conversations about our memories.”

Affiliate disclosure: As an Amazon Associate, we may earn commissions from qualifying purchases from Amazon.com.

What’s it like to create an heirloom book together? Let some folks with experience tell you...

When I’m not interviewing clients or working directly with families to curate their photos and mementos, I can usually be found at my computer editing and designing your heirloom books.

I get goosebumps when I open a letter or an email from a grateful client. It’s rare that they just say “thanks” and leave it at that. Many wax poetic about the experience and their awe upon receiving the finished book. They almost always express surprise at just how much they actually enjoyed the process of making their book (I try to convey that to prospective clients, but it’s hard to put into words—and why should they trust me, after all, who is trying to sell them a product…?).

Well, let me say that sales is not my thing. I founded Modern Heirloom Books to help people preserve their stories, and sure, it is my livelihood, but it’s my passion first and foremost. So if we’re not a good fit, or you don’t want to move forward, or simply can’t afford to—well, I am not going to give you the hard sell. I may feel bad, I may wish we could have worked together, but it’s got to be a good fit (and timing is so important!).

When I do work with someone, we form a bond—honestly, it’s inevitable. Once trust is established and the stories begin flowing, the bond is initiated. When editing and deeper questions ensue, the bond deepens. And by the end of the process, when a book is almost finished and the excitement is palpable, the bond is even more firmly cemented. How blessed I feel to have a “job” that provides such a sense of connection and meaning.

I’ve been told that I don’t share testimonials from my clients enough. Maybe it’s due partly to a humble nature, perhaps it’s a discomfort with being bold…but I am taking a page from some special fellow creative entrepreneurs and sharing some of the gratitude that’s come my way. It is my hope that you’ll feel comfortable with me, and gain an understanding of what it’s like to work together.

Thank you to ALL of my clients—for trusting me with your stories, and for sharing the love once your project has been completed!

xoxo,
Dawn

Testimonials from past clients: What it’s like to make a Modern Heirloom Book

creating heirlooms to treasure forever

Here’s one I received recently that warmed my heart:

Dear Dawn,

I have just looked through your book again, as I have many times before. As always, I am amazed and gratified by your presentation, layout, and descriptions. THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH. It is all I could have hoped for—even more! From the Table of Contents through the final comment—I loved it all! (All!!)

I started a list of things I wanted to mention to you but it became so lengthy, I had to give it up!

It is a book to treasure—which I do—and I will always be grateful for the beautiful job you have done. IT IS PERFECT!!

I plan to have a splurge and send a copy to all of my family and friends! Once again, I can’t thank you enough!

Fondly,
Judy D.

a process that involves collaboration & care

Here’s a snippet of a review, speaking especially to the twists and turns a project can take:

Throughout the process, Dawn was a joy to work with. She listened carefully. She was diligent in working up drafts and gathering feedback. She was unfailingly patient. She brought her own ideas and didn’t hesitate to make suggestions. She even went above and beyond to supplement our research and to deal with administrative hassles with printers due to our last-minute requirements. She delivered on time and within budget.

In every interaction, Dawn conveyed that she cared as much about the book as we did.

Dawn is a special bookmaker. If you are looking for someone to create that special story or tribute to someone you care deeply about, look no further.
—Jenny P.

…and another about vision and collaboration:

We didn’t even really know what we wanted in the beginning and Dawn produced an amazing result. It is a pleasure working through the creative process with her.
—Amy H.

…plus one about process:

Dawn was always ready to make the changes that were inevitable when putting a book together, with good cheer. She is quite well organized and intuitively understood order, placement, emphasis vs. less. I was extremely happy with Dawn’s finished product and wholeheartedly recommend her.
—Gahl B.

…and one about writing, editing, and curating:

Dawn is a therapist, a storyteller, a magician, and an artist with words—how she took what we said and wove it into a story. It truly blew us away!

The process of sorting through 27 years of pictures and mementos was joyfully reflective, but what brought it all together was Dawn’s vision.
—Susan M.

…ah, and then there are the interviews!

Dawn is a warm and engaging person who makes it easy to open up during interviews—even for me, a pretty reserved girl!
—Samantha D.

finished products that awe & inspire

Dawn is a consummate interviewer, a terrific storyteller, and understands how to combine the graphic elements. She took the cream and really brought it to the top.
—Vern O.

My book was simply stunning! And Dawn was a joy to collaborate with.
—Lily R.

words that hold meaning—and bring joy, comfort

We all hope we can pass something of value on to family and friends. The tribute book did just that for Ann. She was ecstatic and we all had to fight back tears watching her flip through the book. She shows it off to whoever comes in the house.
—Terry C.

I still tear up when I look at this book, almost a year later. It is my most cherished possession.
—Maria C.

Thank you, Dawn, for sharing your gifts with us, and for becoming a part of our family story.
—Joe M.

The book was like a bear hug from my dad. I can’t wait to share it with my future children some day!
—Kayla V.

Would you like to see firsthand what it’s like to work together to bring your dream book to life? Reach out if your’e interested in sharing your own memories in a life story book; or honoring a loved one through stories in a tribute book. I can’t wait to hear from you!

**Because privacy of my clients is of utmost concern, I have not disclosed last names for these testimonials.

3 lessons I re-learned during the pandemic

We are living through history as this pandemic continues to ebb and flow and wreak havoc on what we consider normal. Some of my long-held beliefs have been challenged, particularly around my personal history work.

I am a hugger.

I’ve been elated when at the close of a book project a client reaches in for a hug—usually, they pull back, considering the potential impropriety of hugging someone they are paying for a project, before realizing that I quickly leaned in to accept that hug, propriety be damned.

The kind of work I do with my clients is personal, often intimate. We develop a mutual trust and affinity during the interview process. A hug often seems like a natural development, especially at such a celebratory moment as finishing a book.

During this pandemic, though, hugs have been in short supply beyond my immediate family. I made an exception over the summer of 2020 to hug a friend who had lost her husband, and another when I was tackled by my young, adorable, equally hug-addicted niece when I was delivering Christmas presents to her home. Those exceptions fortified me, even if they were a calculated risk.

With more people getting vaccinated, we have perhaps restored our comfort level for hugs and mask-less gatherings, but news of variants and Covid continuing to spread in pockets of our country has me wondering if (when?) we may be going back to social distancing.

Two years ago, like at the beginning of this pandemic, I would have been worried for both my business and our collective well-being. Now, though, I know we can not only survive, but thrive—if we are careful, and if we tap into this wisdom:

1 - Human connection transcends technology.

Before Covid, I thought doing in-person interviews was essential. Since then I have realized that people want to connect in any form, and with everyone getting more comfortable with technology, remote interviews CAN indeed work.

I learned that as an interviewer, I simply need to be more intentional about setting the stage for trust—maybe a little more chitchat at the outset to establish my subject's comfort level before diving right into deep questions, for example. That's something that happens naturally during in-person interviews—when I enter someone's home, and during setup of my recorders and other equipment. On Zoom or FaceTime, though, that easing-in period may take a bit longer, an effort that's well worth it for promoting real, intimate exchange during the interview.

Any parent knows that there's a reason talking to your kid (especially your tween or teenager) in a car can be a smart approach: When no eye contact is needed, someone may feel more free to share difficult things—and feel less judged. This carries forth during phone interviews or even video chats, where even though we can see one another direct eye contact is almost impossible. It's amazing what we can feel comfortable enough to share with our interviewer, essentially a stranger, when not looking directly into each other's eyes.

2 - Sometimes it takes tragedy to make us realize what's really important.

We all think we want to get meaningful gifts for our loved ones’ birthdays, but somehow we default to the cool new thing we saw at the store (random), or the thing that's easy and quick to ship from Amazon (lazy), or maybe the gift card to the place we know they frequent (unoriginal). During the pandemic, people FELT what it was like to be kept from our loved ones; we began to take our relationships a little less for granted—and dug deep to come up with gifts that really expressed our love.

Before I had my business I always encouraged experiential gifts: Please, take my son to the zoo! Please, arrange an escape room outing for me and you together! And while I still think shared experiences make incredible gifts, I also root for legacy books of one kind or another—these combine an experience (yes, getting interviewed about your life is an AMAZING experience!) with a cherished heirloom. Our most popular offering during the past year and a half has been a celebratory tribute book for milestone birthdays—a book filled with heartfelt stories about the subject, a book that never fails to bring an exclamation of, “This is the best thing I've ever gotten!” I hope beyond measure that this trend toward expressive gift giving continues long after social distancing ends.

3 - No matter what, I will always want hugs.

Yep, I re-learned during this time that I will forever be a hugger. I also saw anew how some of my family members were glad to not have to hug their greetings—and I have been respecting their wish for distance ever since, waving from across the room or patting them on the back as a form of hello. It's all about paying attention, really—a great approach to life that helps us live in the moment, catalog memories for future writing or recollection, and better honor those in our lives. That's a pandemic lesson I am grateful for.

What have you learned during this strangest of times?

Let’s be kind to ourselves

My news and social media feeds are filled with articles on how to maximize my time at home. How to make the most of home-schooling. How to revive old hobbies, finish abandoned projects, take part in viral video challenges and bake bread and educate myself more and more and more. Zoom calls and Google Hangouts and radical self care (huh?).

I’m feeling a sense of overwhelm. There are days I ride the waves of productivity and move forward with ease, and others where I walk around the house unfocused and feeling a sense of unidentified dread.

Can you relate?

These are strange times, indeed, and there is no precedent in our lives for how things “should” be, how we “should” feel.

Press pause

I just wanted to say: Let’s be gentle with ourselves.

• Let’s allow for days where not “enough” gets done.

• Let’s allow for days when, rather than organizing our photo archives (a project on my list, for example), we browse our old photos and get lost in the memories they stir.

• Let’s skip the journaling for a day to escape into the pages of a long-favorite novel.

• Let’s take time to honor our feelings, and to allow ourselves to just be—no judgment, no expectations.

Personally, I will continue to jot down ideas on my own to-do list, and professionally, to offer up family history activities and memoir writing tips on this site, just in case you’re ready for them.

Just remember: It’s okay for some items to remain on our to-do lists indefinitely, and to bookmark activities for later.

I’m here as a personal historian to listen to your stories when you feel ready to share, to move forward with a legacy project that’s been on your mind for ages, and to offer wisdom for your DIY projects, too. And I’m here as a fellow human navigating this new normal with vulnerability and good intentions—let’s do our best, together.

❤️❤️❤️

A gift to myself on my 50th birthday

A look back at birthdays past…

I am turning 50 tomorrow. I don’t feel any of the pangs of “ugh” or “oh no!” that some of my friends have told me about upon hitting the half-century mark. On the contrary, I feel at peace and quite content to have reached this milestone, and excited about what’s to come in the decades ahead.

I don’t want much in the way of physical gifts (a box of chocolates would be nice ; ). One day recently, though, when I was on the massage table (where some of my most productive thinking happens!) I did hit upon something I truly want: to feel a connection to my mom.

Of course, I do feel incredibly connected to my mother, who has now been deceased for more than 10 years and who I think about with love every day. But I am missing her more viscerally than usual; I feel the hollow within so deeply, and crave…her glance, her hug, her presence.

My birthday wish: stories of mom

So I decided to ask for this on my birthday:

For anyone who knew my mother, could you please take a few minutes to share a remembrance of her with me? It could be a tiny moment or a big one, a faint glimmer of a memory or one you hold dear… Honestly, hearing stories of her through your eyes is a gift unlike any other, and one for which I would be most grateful.

For those who did not know my mom, please take the time to share memories of a lost friend or family member with another loved one! I have goosebumps thinking of the unanticipated joy you may bring to another, and the generous act of sharing your story will be rewarding for you, as well—I promise.

Whether the person you are remembering passed away a day ago or 50 years hence, the remembrance will be welcomed as a gift. It is my sincere belief that stories heal, that memories shared feed our souls, and that the legacies of those we have loved and lost are written upon our hearts.

With love and gratitude,

xo, Dawn

…and more recent ; ) I am grateful for my blessings on the eve of turning 50, and reflective on the past.

“It is my sincere belief that stories heal, that memories shared feed our souls, and that the legacies of those we have loved and lost are written upon our hearts.”

Are my memories of my mother gone?

Me and my mom in the front yard of our Putnam Lake, New York, home, June 1971

Lately I have been having a recurring dream. It’s not a good dream, and it haunts me throughout my days. Have I lost all memories of my mother?, I wonder. I awake not knowing, searching, afraid. Of course I haven’t lost them all…but my fears are real, grounded in my reality that I have no one in my life to talk to regularly—deeply—about this most special person in my life.

Usually I share advice-driven stories on this blog. I decided, instead, to share some recent writing I did about my mom, and my experience of grief, here. Why? Because I think personal stories connect us. Because I think the grieving process, while unique to each of us, is also universal in many ways.

And because too often I hear the words, “What stories do I have to tell that matter?”

And while everyone—truly, everyone—has stories to tell, sometimes it’s the stories we can’t tell that may resonate; the ones we have to search for, feel rather than see, that come forth. Just because I am not relating specific details of memories of my mother in this passage, it was worthwhile for me to write—cathartic, yes, but helpful too on my path to remembering yet more, and honoring my experience as it is being lived, right now.

Soon I will share a post about ways to access and trigger our memories in an effort to write meaningful memoir. But for now, as the tenth anniversary of my mother’s death approaches, I offer up this most personal (and brief) piece as an example of what may result when we focus on our experience of, well, not remembering.

Losing Her, Again

It is not reconstructed memory or exaggerated legacy to say that there are no superlatives great enough to convey my love for my mother. She was my role model, best friend, hero, and champion. My daily phone call. My witness.

Lately, I can’t remember her.

I want movie reels.

I want to see my mom lunging toward me for a hug, leaning back into a belly laugh that could go on for minutes. Pulling groceries out of the trunk of her brown Mazda, closing her eyes as I drive across a bridge. Smelling daisies in the kitchen, back-to-school shopping at Petrie’s five-and-ten. Playing kickball in the front yard in Brewster, making quiche in my galley kitchen in Brooklyn. I want to see Lillian Roode, here. Somewhere.

If my memories are silent films, that’s okay. Hearing her voice would bring me to tears, joyful tears; but seeing her in motion—well, maybe I could touch her, if I just reached far enough.

After she passed away I was feverish with intent.

I wrote her eulogy over the course of a fews hours in the middle of the night, between sessions breastfeeding my three-month-old son, in a nondescript motel room lit only by the glow of my laptop. I was hungry for stories of her—stories I had not yet heard that would shine a light on her soul, stories I had heard so many times they had become lore. The new kept her alive, the old brought comfort amidst the knowledge that she was, indeed, not alive.

At her wake, I listened to all that friends and families offered up, though I heard very little; I was present that day in body, not spirit.

Months later I would surrender to my insomnia and reach for the ornate journal I never wrote in for fear my musings would not live up to the grandeur of the leather-bound book, and I would write and write and write, hardly pausing for breath: bulleted lists in barely legible handwriting enumerating every single little memory I had of her. I wanted them all. When I would pause to think and memories did not wash over me immediately, I felt unworthy. Of my grief, of my happiness, of her belief in me.

Some nights I wrote the same memories I had scratched out the previous evening. No matter; I was desperate to not forget. My neat, deliberate script turned into sprawl as I raced to recover my dreams, convinced as I was that they held secrets of her in the beyond, glimpses of the memories I couldn’t access on demand.

Where did they go, my memories?

I have no one in my life who shares my familial grief, no one who knew my mother for the length of time that I have and who misses her the way I do. No one in my life with whom to reminisce, swap stories, or get lost in laughter.

I want to cry.

I want to occasionally swim in my grief. To allow myself to fill that hole inside me with buoyant water and float amidst my memories. To invite another in to see my mother’s reflection alongside me, to recognize her in me, and to find her somewhere in the void.

If not occasionally, perhaps once.

But.

The hole is there. The memories, the tears, are not.

Where did they go?

Conjuring epiphanies

Every Modern Heirloom Book tells a story. Biographical, but not a biography; memoir-like, but not a memoir. Rather, a poetic narrative and photo arc that hones in on experiences and emotions, beauty, and memory. A story that makes you feel, and that invites your loved ones to remember with you.

Before deciding to call this company by the descriptive name Modern Heirloom, I strongly considered Epiphany Books. While I clearly left that name in the dust, the background behind it is telling, and encapsulates my approach to creating personalized treasures especially for you. So for our blog today, a little #ThrowbackThursday look at how my affinity for epiphanies led me to become the founder of Modern Heirloom Books.

noun    epiph·a·ny    \i-ˈpi-fə-nē\

a (1) :  a usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something (2) :  an intuitive grasp of reality through something (as an event) usually simple and striking (3) :  an illuminating discovery, realization, or disclosure

b :  a revealing scene or moment [Merriam Webster]

c : “moments of being” [Virginia Woolf]

How “Moments of Being” Transform our Books

I have had little epiphanies my whole life—moments when something profound has seemed crystalline. A glimpse of the meaning of life while rounding the corner in downtown Manhattan. A whisper of some long-forgotten truth while showering.

But by their very nature epiphanies are fleeting. I could never fully grasp what I had known in those moments, no less articulate it for another. Yet I was better for having experienced them.

Memories can come to us in similar ways—conjured by a smell, the glance of a stranger on the street. And they can disappear as quickly.

The books we create from your own life material, like poetry, give physical form to memory. In the hopes that you—and those who come after you—may continue to have “moments of being.”

My Own Personal Epiphany

I relished working in the magazine industry for more than 20 years. My experience at some of the world’s top fashion and lifestyle titles helped me cultivate a keen eye for beautiful detail, an ear for an exquisite phrase. I honed my ability to edit and curate. I told stories to the masses.

As the publishing landscape evolved, so did our way of consuming our own personal media.

More than 200,000 photos are uploaded to Facebook every minute. We shoot everything from what we eat to makeup-free selfies daily. Our pictures are everywhere; and they are nowhere. Never have we needed editors more than now.

And, somewhere along the line, I had a personal epiphany: I wanted to help tell stories, but no longer on a mass scale—I wanted to help you tell your story. Beautifully, professionally, meaningfully. Uniquely.

Related Reading

The Next Chapter in Our Story

I recount my journey from national magazines to bespoke life story books, and introduce a new signature product line of books.

a tendency towards nostalgia

Rediscovering an old family photo album in my closet prompted me to reflect on the lasting appeal & transformative power of nostalgia.

The next chapter in our story

My Journey from Magazines to Books

Me, running a business…who knew? For more than two decades I was invigorated and fulfilled by climbing the proverbial ladder in the NYC media world. I loved magazines—the talented and smart journalists with whom I worked, the satisfaction of creating something from scratch every month, the creative process of making words and pictures sing. I learned and thrived and evolved as the industry reinvented itself again and again.

And then rather than reinvent myself within that industry, I took a leap of faith and began to explore using my professional experience in an entirely new way—specifically, helping you tell your stories in bespoke coffee table books.

I had a vision for the company, a high bar of exacting standards I aspired to uphold, and pages and pages of brainstormed ideas. I had a name, and incorporated. I had a dear friend with much more business acumen than me who offered sage advice and encouragement from the sidelines. I had a supportive husband who had faith in me even when I did not. I wanted a partner, but went it alone. And then, I worked.

And, well, I am still working. Hard, and with passion. But now my vision has been refined and reworked based on almost two years of experience, trial-and-error, market research, and invaluable input from clients and a network of professional women with whom I have been fortunate to connect.

I am grateful and blessed, and beyond excited to share the next phase of my business, Modern Heirloom Books.

Refined Vision, New Signature Books

Today I am proud to share with you a new website that highlights Modern Heirloom Books’ three new signature product lines!

By narrowing down the choices for creating a book from scratch, I hope to make the process of thinking about—and starting—your Modern Heirloom Book easier.

Life Story Books

If you are interested in creating an autobiographical book, telling your own stories in your own words, consider our Life Story Books. (There’s even an option to tell a much shorter story in our One-Hour Heirloom.)

Tribute Books

For those wanting to celebrate a family member for a special occasion such as a milestone birthday or anniversary, to honor a loved one after a death, or to tell the stories of ancestors who came before, our Tribute Books are the right choice.

“Dear Daughter...”

And our newest addition: Dear Daughter, on Your Wedding Day, a once-in-a-lifetime gift for your engaged daughter. I interview the parents of the bride-to-be and together we craft an extended letter in an heirloom book that is as stunningly elegant as it is heartfelt, including family photos, cherished memories, and wisdom and dreams for her future. It is, truly, the gift guaranteed to make your daughter cry tears of joy on her wedding day.

What’s Next?

I hope you will take the time to browse the site.

Perhaps you want to read why I think everyone should preserve their memories, or see what makes a Modern Heirloom Book different from other personal history books.

Mostly, though, I hope you will be inspired!

• Inspired to share your stories with those you love, whether in an heirloom book when the time is right, or around the dinner table (often!).

• Inspired to revisit your memories, and to cherish the experiences that make up your life story.

• Inspired to listen to the stories of those you love—with curiosity and love.
  

A Huge Thank You!

Thank you for inspiring me to keep doing what I do at Modern Heirloom Books, to keep growing and getting better, and to walk through life with an open heart and an insatiable desire to hear—and do justice to—YOUR stories.