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Writing Memoir: the Side Effects of Telling the Truth

“There is a ripple effect each time a memoir is published, and while the memoirist cannot fully prepare for it, he or she should expect it.” ~ Anthony D’Aries in Writing Lessons: Memoir’s Truth and Consequences

file0001997823143Several years ago, I was pushing my daughter in the stroller while on a walk, and I came upon a story. Near my house, I passed a young girl sitting on her front steps. She was skinny, maybe thirteen. She looked bored. Then, I heard people I can only assume were her parents yelling at each other inside the house, their voices loud enough so that every word resounded as clear as the intonation behind it. I slowed my pace and gave a tentative wave. When the girl glanced up at me, I thought I saw the faint trace of a black eye.

At first, I kept on walking, doubting myself but wondering. Then, I turned around and asked if everything was okay. She looked at me like I was crazy. Like everything going on around her, behind her, and in spite of her, was just another day in Normal. Parents argue, they yell. This young girl waits it out.

Impressed by the image and by her indifference (and maybe by a little of my own guilt in walking away), I wrote “Red Velvet Sunday.”

Later, I had the opportunity to read that story on the radio, and I shared the link to the episode with family and friends. Even though the story was fiction, someone close to me said they hoped the story wasn’t born out of real life experiences. “Not a bit!” I said, completely surprised, and I wondered what they and others might think if I did write bits and pieces of truth.

When writing memoir, facts are set down easily enough; it’s everything in between—and the potential effects afterward—that presents the challenge. Andrew D’Aries warns the memoirist in his quote above, but a write can only prepare for so much.

I’m talking truth in memoir at Write It Sideways this week in a post that’s generating some great discussion. I hope you’ll stop by and leave your thoughts.

Writers love dialogue.

Read it here: Telling the Truth in Memoir: More Than Just Facts

*Photo credit: biberta on morguefile.com

 

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New is a Relative Term: On Writing Memoir & a Prompt

image: ConceptionSomewhere in the last two weeks (I’ve been on vacation, and I can’t remember who said what when), a friend and I were talking writing and new ideas and wondering, are there really any “new” ideas? Even the story of creation, while it varies among religions, carries the same theme and many of the same elements.

When talking memoir, we all have our stories about when we left home for college or when we first fell in love or the moment we first realized we were “old.”

So, rarely is a story told that is completely new. Still, similar experiences, told to each other or written to share, can be flooded with individuality. Audre Lorde recognized this when she said:

There are no new ideas. There are only new ways of making them felt.

We see the world through our eyes only, and the world we view is shaped by interior and exterior forces–by our personalities, sure, but also by the people and places that have taken up station throughout our journey. Christine Hauser highlights this in her post, “Who Are Your People?” on Flash Memoirs:

Your mix of cultures is a powerful factor that shapes the uniqueness of who you are and your one-of-a-kind voice.”

For Hauser, her “cultures” are what others might call “labels.” She lists her cultures as Artist, Writer, IT Worker, Ex-Pat, and American, to name a few. And, she explains that each culture has impacted the person–and the writer–she has become.

I get that.

That’s what makes each of our stories original, even if they aren’t straight, out-of-the-box new ideas.

If you made a list, what would it look like? Would one culture stand out to you more than the others?

The Prompt

DSC04770Who are your people? List them, choose one, and tell us a story.

As a warm up, read Rosalie Sanara Petrouske’s essay, “Nature Lessons,” at Lunchticket (a great literary journal online).

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The Importance of Memoir and a Prompt

file4041257130846When I first set out to write seriously, I cranked out essay after essay, believing I could never make up an entire story from scratch, much less a novel, but I had plenty of life experience to share. Now, I write mostly fiction, more confident in my imagination and much less so in my own memory (and the amount of intrigue in my oh-so-exciting experiences). But, since I started my once-a-month creative writing class with Seniors, I’ve been diving back into memoir, flash nonfiction to be exact, and I’ve learned a couple of pertinent lessons.

Writing short memoir is damn hard.

Hard, not only because of the compact aspect of the genre, as the story must fit nicely within a small word count, but because every time I sit down to write a bit of my own self onto the page, it comes out clunky, dramatic, or flat. Or, maybe just dramatically flat. When I read my simple stories out loud to the Senior citizens at the table, I wonder what they must think; I can never match the extent of their tales from lives more rich in history. My gut reaction is to fall back on fiction, where I can dress up my experiences with more exciting details. But, here’s the other thing….

Writing memoir, in short or long form, is critical.

One of my favorite quotes right now comes from E. L. Doctorow in a lecture he gave on Historical Fiction at the City University of New York (CUNY) :

What is the past if not the present and the future?

Sure, he’s talking fiction, but this particular message rings true for memoir as well. I don’t need to tell you the importance of listening to the stories from an older generation. We learn much by studying and honoring people and events rooted in our past, more than revelations as to how much we’ve changed (or not, as the case may be). Bruce Feiler, in this New York Times essay, writes about the effects of family narratives on children, pulling from research by psychologists, Marshall Duke and Robin Fivush:

[C]hildren who have the most self-confidence have what [is called] a strong ‘intergenerational self.’ they know they belong to something bigger than themselves.

As humans, we need the stories from our past, from a family member’s struggle with mental health, to the birth of a first child, to the discovery of a father’s short stint in a band when you’ve never know him to be musical. Ever. Those histories belong to us. They teach us how to live life on life’s terms, how to embrace the unknown, and how to see others in new ways.

We, that is I, must take the time to unwind these memories, however difficult, however banal, and turn them into stories to share.

The Prompt

Long car rides. Pit stops. Getting lost.

This prompt comes from Hippocampus Online Literary Magazine and goes on to read:

There are many types of travel, but this wanderlust-filled issue will feature those that have one thing in common about getting from point A to pint B: Four wheels. Five, if you count the steering wheel.

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If, once you write this piece, you’re interested in submitting, the guidelines are here, and the deadline May 31st.

* Photo credit: [Man on beach] Shelling, by veggiegretz on Morguefile.com