Writing It Real Contributor Judy Gruen has a second memoir out. I had the lucky experience of interviewing her about how she came to write her memoir, Writing Bylines and Blessings, Overcoming Obstacles, Striving for Excellence and Redefining Success, and what the writing process was like during the months she worked on the book.

The flavor and readability of the book is summed up well by this Amazon review post:

Bylines and Blessings is smart, funny, interesting, deep, charming, honest, brave, and real. It’s the story of an artist struggling for her art, humanity, spiritual life, and doing what’s right for her family. You’ll laugh, cry, and learn the many blessings you may not have known you already possess. I loved it. —-Mark Schiff, author, Why Not? Lessons in Courage, Comedy and Chutzpah

I was eager to learn more about the book and Judy’s take on how it came about.

Sheila
How did the idea for writing Bylines and Blessings, Overcoming Obstacles, Striving for Excellence and Redefining Success come to you and evolve as you started and continued writing?

Judy
Nearly four years ago, I decided it would be fun to write a blog series called “Chasing the Byline,” about my early years as a writer. In the first blog I wrote about my embarrassing overconfidence as a 20-year-old journalism intern in New York, when I fancied myself an up-and-coming hotshot writer. When my editor sat me down to review his alarming number of red-pen edits on my first article, he saw the stricken look on my face and said, “Judy, if you want to become a professional, you can never be jealous of your own words.” That was one of the most valuable lessons of my life.  In each blog entry, I tried to offer a useful takeaway, beyond indulging myself in a romp down memory lane.

I realized that the stories about my varied experiences in journalism—in corporate and university PR, freelancing, and writing and publishing my first books—contained more than just entertainment value. There were universal lessons about persistence, overcoming obstacles, and dedication to professional excellence, written with a light touch. Additionally, an emerging theme was how I tried to resolve the conflicts that sometimes arose between my writing ambitions and my faith values. I hadn’t seen this particular theme explored in any other writers’ memoirs, and it struck me as very relevant and potentially engaging.

For example, on occasion, I got pushback for leaving work early on a Friday before the Jewish Sabbath, even though that had been made clear and agreed to when I was hired. Also, as I perceived our culture becoming more coarsened and hypersexualized—especially media aimed at children—I wrote about how unhealthy I felt this was, an assault on their innocence. Those messages became harder to sell over time. As a mother, this failure to consider spiritual threats on children and only focus on physical threats bothered me greatly. Essays that I had sold to the Chicago Tribune, LA Times, New York Daily News, etc., would not be snapped up today. The entire secular publishing industry seemed to have fallen lock step into groupthink. I felt marginalized as a Sabbath-observant Jew with conservative values, so it seemed rich that when publishers said they were seeking minority and marginalized voices, they were never talking about religious conservatives.

At first, I hadn’t envisioned my blogs as a book, but it seemed to be heading that way. Books can break your heart, given the amount of energy, time, money, and emotion devoted to them, with no certain return on investment, so I was skittish. But I decided to hire a developmental editor who saw the potential in these posts, and with his guidance, I developed the stories into more full-bodied pieces. It truly was a joy to work on, and I was increasingly happy with what was emerging. Truthfully, I had already fallen in love with the concept of finding the blessings in the bylines.

Sheila
Were the surprises along the way as you wrote?

Judy
Yes, two surprises. One was that Bylines and Blessings was much easier to write than my previous memoir, The Skeptic and the Rabbi. Skeptic was about a faith journey, and it was tricky to find the correct balance of explanation about my faith and the personal, relatable humor that my readers expect and would keep the memoir from feeling too heavy. Bylines and Blessings has a more relaxed and personally revealing flavor, and readers are responding to that. The second was how my productivity soared once I began working with a life coach. She helped me tap into my purpose and give myself permission to write this book.

Sheila
What was the most fun about writing the book?

Judy
I really had great fun telling stories about my quirky bosses, workplace situations, and revisiting my own setbacks and even the occasional disaster on my road to finding success. It was fun and cathartic to write about professional jealousy, public speaking disasters, and unexpectedly getting a quote on 5 million Starbucks cups. The most fun chapter was writing about scoring an interview with famed saxophone player Clarence Clemons of Bruce Springsteen’s E Street Band, when I was 22 and had zero qualifications to do so. It’s a great story about pure chutzpah and a weird way to mend a broken heart.

Sheila
What was the most difficult part about writing the book?

Judy
No question about it, the gnawing fear that it would not sell or find its audience. I have a modest and devoted fan base, and substantial respect among other writers, but it’s never easy to navigate the publishing and promotion process.

Sheila
Do you feel the book has reached the audience you imagined?

Judy
It’s slowly getting there, but people are overwhelmed with choices for books and entertainment, so it’s hard to break through, even with wonderful endorsements and excellent reviews. Many of my most stalwart fans haven’t bought the book yet, and some still only have a vague notion that it exists. Book clubs are just starting to schedule it. Fortunately, people tell me that they absolutely love it, which puts a bounce in my step. Honestly, while I know my previous books are also very good, none of them elicited this kind of almost universal enthusiasm.

Sheila
How have you changed as a result of writing the book?

Judy
I can’t really identify change per se, because these stories didn’t involve much new self-exploration. I absolutely feel the satisfaction of knowing that I’m still growing as a writer. That’s what I love most about this work.

Sheila
How did you find your publisher?

Judy
I always keep my eyes peeled for good hybrid and indie houses, not only for my sake but for my clients working on books. After being turned down by two small indie houses, Bylines and Blessings was snapped up by Koehler Books, and was published 10 months after acceptance.

Sheila
What do you think your next project will be?

Judy
I’m busy enough keeping up with my regular column in the Jewish Journal, occasional features for Aish.com, my Substack, working with editing clients, promoting the book, and life! I love sitting down to create something new each day, trying to write in ways that are unexpected, stimulating, and touch the heart. This keeps me in a constant state of growth.

Sheila
And what is your advice for memoir writers these days?

Judy
The million-dollar question! Memoir writing can be wonderfully creative and fulfilling, and lead to invaluable self-discovery. However, the marketplace is gushing like a geyser with memoirs, and unless you are well-known and have a savvy social media plan, the road to commercial success is really tough. Do the book for its own sake and see where it leads. It is valuable for its own sake.

Sheila
Thank you for your answers and for your important reminder in your last answer.

Now, readers, next is the chapter Judy described as the most fun chapter to write because it was about “scoring an interview with famed saxophone player Clarence Clemons of Bruce Springsteen’s E Street Band, when [she] was 22 and had zero qualifications to do so.”

This excerpt from Judy Gruen’s memoir Writing Bylines and Blessings, Overcoming Obstacles, Striving for Excellence and Redefining Success is reprinted with permission of the author.

Interviewing “The Big Man”
by Judy Gruen

The story I have told throughout my work life  
I could not have told as well without Clarence. 

—Bruce Springsteen

In the face of romantic heartbreak, women have been known to cope in a variety of ways. Frequent crying is de rigueur, but you can only cry for so many hours a day before becoming dehydrated. Complementary activities may include overeating, undereating, shopping, gambling, or writing a memoir or novel, such as Cheryl Strayed’s Wild (which requires really good hiking shoes). The less hearty among the sorrowful might slip away for a weekend cruise or spa visit.

Some women choose violence. After her second marriage imploded, my Aunt Eleanor wrenched the huge stuffed marlin that her ex had caught on a fishing expedition from above the fireplace, threw it down in the garage, and repeatedly ran over it with her Mercedes-Benz. This was not completely cathartic, but it was a start.

My teddy bear Harold was not quite enough comfort to heal my broken heart from my fizzled romance with Rob, despite Harold’s quiet, constant affection. Even shedding copious tears on my therapist’s couch didn’t quite cure me of the blues. I needed something else. But what?

One day, I hit upon the insane idea that the best medicine for my achy-breaky heart would be to bag an interview with Clarence Clemons, the sax player with Bruce Springsteen’s E Street Band. What did Clemons have to do with any of this? Just this: my ex, Rob, had been the first to introduce me to Springsteen’s music, and from the first chords of Jungleland, Rosalita, and of course, Born in the USA, I was an instant addict. The themes of many Springsteen songs were far from my reality. I didn’t grow up in an economically struggling town, didn’t know anyone who worked on the highway, blasting through the bedrock, didn’t hang out in bars, and had no ambition to drag race. Many songs were laced with an undercurrent of anger or anxiety; others were about dreams delayed or even deflated. Yet the songs were aspirational, shot through with passionate, irresistible youthful energy and a no-holds-barred determination to fulfill one’s dreams wherever they took you once you escaped the “darkness at the edge of town.”

I also had aspirations for my dream career and was also on fire to achieve them. And I longed to find the comfort of lasting love. Who among us didn’t have a “hungry heart” when we were young? In this way, Springsteen’s music moved me emotionally and injected me with the joy of rock and roll abandon.

Clarence Clemons was a huge part of the magic of the E Street Band literally and figuratively. “The Big Man” was six foot two, wavering between two hundred fifty and three hundred pounds, and darker than a moonless night. Clarence played that saxophone with such passion—emotional highs and lows, playfulness, and lovable showmanship—that no one who ever watched the E Street Band play could ever forget the experience.

During our relationship, Rob had taken me to see Clarence perform in a Hollywood club with his own band, the Red Bank Rockers. The club setting allowed us to see the colossal musician up close in a band of his own creation. The lead singer, J. T. Bowen, belted out gospel-themed, bluesy rock songs in a gravelly timbre that reminded me of Otis Redding. We danced to the soulful rock, doing so as Clarence urged us to “surrender to the rock ’n roll DJ!” No job could have been easier. The music had flowed through me all during that fabulous evening.

Many months later, when I discovered that Clarence was scheduled for a promotional tour in Los Angeles to promote the Red Bank Rockers’ first album, Rescue, I convinced myself that if I got this interview, it would reboot my emotional recovery, or “Jump Start My Heart,” as he sang on his album. What a coup this would be!

However, there were a few trifling problems with this plan. First, it took outrageous chutzpah. My qualifications to write about one of the most famous sax players in the country were zero. I didn’t know the difference between a tenor versus an alto sax, or which one Clarence played. I had no connections with anyone in the music industry. I could think of no magazine that would both be interested in Clarence Clemons yet also trust someone like me to write it. This was in 1983, when Springsteen and his E Street Band were an international phenomenon.

And even if my madcap scheme succeeded, my romance would not rise from the graveyard. True, I was a woman scorned, but I was filled with determination to show the ex that I was going places. I seemed to be going alone at this point, but I’d worry about that later.

I searched Writer’s Digest Marketplace, a doorstop of a book that listed thousands of book and magazine publishers by category and region. Where to even begin? My only specialty was writing about elderly volunteers running the nation’s hospital gift shops. Scrolling through the listings, I hoped to find a magazine needle in a haystack, one that would be eager for a story about Clarence but wouldn’t be too picky about who was doing the writing. Having exhausted middle-brow publications, I began fishing at the lower rungs of the editorial barrel, the mags few had ever heard of and that paid a few pennies a word.

I decided to go about it from the other direction. If I could secure the interview first, the assignment would naturally follow. I called CBS Records and asked for the publicist handling the artist’s press tour. After being connected with Angie, I said, “I’m a local writer and would like to schedule an interview with Mr. Clemons.”

“And who are you writing for?”

“I’ve got some feelers out there, but I don’t have the assignment fully firmed up. Yet,” I added with emphasis.

I heard a sigh on the other end of the receiver. “Call back if you get one,” she said before hanging up.

Close to giving up, I found a listing for a Black men’s magazine called Players. They did not mean gin rummy. By this point, I had no other conceivable options, but could I really debase myself by writing for a magazine like this—even assuming I could get the assignment?

You bet I could. It was my last hope.

I called the office, which happened to be right on Beverly Boulevard in the city, not far from my apartment. Players had a sizable readership and had published many Black writers of note, including Alex Haley and Julian Bond. Still, there was no skirting the issue that women wearing skirts were few and far between in the magazine’s pages. I hoped that up in Heaven, Papa Cohen was too busy studying the Talmud to notice that his granddaughter, former editor of the Jewish student newspaper at UC Berkeley, was scoring a writing assignment for a naughty publication. My heart pounding, I asked to speak to the publisher, who took my call immediately. “This is Emory,” he said in a Southern drawl.

I introduced myself and told him I could get an interview with Clarence Clemons if he wanted the story. “Would you like the story, Emory?”

“Yes, I want the story.” He sounded very interested. “But what have you written? Show me some of your work.” The next day, I brought him my humor essay from the Herald-Examiner and a few features from the magazine, including one on teamwork and another called “What Does Your Uniform Say About You?” That might not have been the best choice. There weren’t many uniforms on the models in Players magazine. Yet Emory reviewed my clips and called to give me the go-ahead. Mazel tov! I had just landed my first X-rated journalism assignment.

I called CBS and tried to hide my smirk when Angie came on the line. “I’ve got the assignment,” I told her, faking nonchalance, as if I interviewed rock stars all the time.

“Yeah? Who for?” I told her the name of the magazine, prepared to hear her say, “Never heard of it” before hanging up on me again. Instead, she repeated the name in a matter-of-fact tone of voice as she jotted it down, then told me the date and time to arrive at the studios for the interview. Barbara, my editor, had been witness to all these personal calls I had been making on company time.

“I did it!” I shouted in a loud whisper, as our office door was open. “You go, girl!” she said, both of us grinning.

I sat there in a daze, not quite believing my pie-in-the-sky scheme was actually working. A week later, CBS called, and my heart sank. They must have discovered my deception of passing myself off as a music writer and had called to cancel my interview. Instead, my interview location had moved from the studios to Mr. Clemons’ hotel room in West Hollywood. This felt vaguely unsettling.

A few days later, I was watching an interview with Clarence on television with my mom and sister. I had been excited for my mom to see “The biggest man you’ve ever seen!” as Springsteen sometimes introduced him on stage, but I hadn’t really thought this through too carefully. As soon as his huge, intimidating-looking presence filled the screen, complete with Panama hat and a suspicious-looking earring, I looked at my mother and watched the color drain from her face.

“You are NOT going to his hotel room!” she thundered. Mom rarely thundered, so this was serious.

“Oh, come on, Mom!” I tried to humor her. “Journalists do interviews with celebrities in hotel rooms all the time!” (Did they? I had no idea. It didn’t seem like a good idea to me, either, less and less so the longer I had to think about it.)

I hated to make my mom worry, but this was my excellent journalism adventure, and nobody was going to deprive me of it. Walking down the carpeted hallway to Clarence’s room I was so jittery

I was afraid my voice would bobble when I spoke to him. Did I have the right questions planned? Would my tape recorder work? Would he possibly try to get frisky if there was enough time between interviews?

I floated down the carpeted hallway, still in a state of disbelief that I was about to interview one of the most famous saxophone players in the country. I knocked on his hotel room door as my heart knocked very loudly in my chest. He greeted me with a sweet smile and was patient when I asked him if he would mind stopping the interview after only one minute while I double- and triple-checked that my recorder was working (it was an ongoing paranoia of mine). He told the famous story about the night he’d first met Bruce Springsteen in a little club in Asbury Park. It was a windy night, and as Clemons opened the door holding his saxophone, he took the door clean off the place. When he asked Springsteen if he could play for him, the answer was a swift yes. No arguing with a man who can pull a door off its hinges when he strides into the room!

He also spoke at length about the racism he had endured throughout his career, including in the early days of performing with Springsteen, and how many producers had told him that his music for his solo album sounded “too Black.” The rock industry “was like a bleached blonde. They don’t want their Black roots to show . . . you don’t hear the rhythm and blues,” he said.

Clarence Clemons made it easy for me to do my job, which was a feel-good story for a Black men’s magazine about a phenomenally talented Black musician man who had succeeded despite the odds. The editor wasn’t hungry for sophisticated questions about the music industry, questions I wasn’t knowledgeable enough to ask anyway. When I rose to thank Clemons and leave, he leaned in just close enough to give me what I’d call “an air hug.”

When the magazine was out on the street, I couldn’t wait to see it yet also dreaded having to find it. At a local newsstand, I asked, shamefaced, if they had Players magazine. He pointed to the section of the newsstand where naughty magazines lived in infamy behind a curtain. Well, the magazine wasn’t going to levitate and fly into my hands, so I tentatively tugged the curtain aside an inch and peeked. The coast was clear. I slipped behind that curtain and quickly spotted the only magazine featuring a Black woman on the cover. I paid for the magazine, which the newsagent sensitively slipped into a brown paper wrapper.

In my apartment, I opened the magazine to discover they had given my story a three-page spread, with a full-page photo of The Big Man. It was real! I was thrilled and mortified in equal measure. I had to cover up an unmentionable cartoon on the third page before making copies of the article and sending it to all my friends—and to Rob. After all, nobody I knew had a subscription.

I tried to imagine the look on Rob’s face when he saw the story. I guessed that he’d think I was slightly nuts and that he was well rid of me. I didn’t care. I enjoyed a delicious sense of satisfaction that through this wild writing escapade, I had regained a sense of self. And when I showed the article to my teddy bear Harold, he was, as always, the picture of admiration.