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The Ultimate Guide to Writing a Memoir
Every older woman has an important story to tell.
By the time we reach 70, 80 or 90, most of us have lived enough to have some fabulous stories and enough perspective to tell them well. At the same time, memories become harder to hold onto, so we want to record them before they disappear. That’s why memoir is such a popular genre for folks our age, and why I love teaching it. I just finished a six-week class, which was so great, I want to share it. Here it is, in a nutshell:
First day: What am I doing here? Do I belong?
My most recent class roster included a couple of experienced writers, but mostly novices: a retired minister, a philosophy professor, an assistant district attorney, a park ranger, a nurse. Growing up in the ’40s, ’50s and ’60s meant they were well educated in grammatical correctness and what we used to call “college English” — using fancy language when simple words would do.
So, my first order of business was to set them free! Relax. For the purposes of this class, all sentences, whether run-on, incomplete, simple or compound, are welcome. And you can forget those swanky words that are meant to prove you are seriously smart. Writing is an act of partnership with your readers, so you don’t have to write up (or down). Look them in the eye and say it straight, in your own words.
How do I face the blank page?
Dedicate a bound notebook to filling it, not with typed words but with handwritten ones. This, because the connection between brain and hand often unlocks deeply buried memories that you thought were lost. In your notebook you can brainstorm, jotting words, pictures, diagrams, arrows, scribbles and doodles if you want. Or, try freewriting — a technique of taking pen to paper (no keyboards allowed) for a timed session (usually 10 minutes) about the topic of interest, without stopping the flow of ink. Use the old journalistic mantra to flesh out details of who, what, when, where and why.
Where do I begin?
Wherever you want. Not necessarily at the beginning. And remember that everything is easier in small bites. So, tell me your five-page story in one page. That will make you think twice about what details you need and which ones can be cut. It will help you focus. Then, take that one-page story and “thicken” it. Don’t go forward or backward in time, just deepen what is there. It is where you will find meaning, the why of that journalism mantra.
What if I can’t remember all the details of my story?
If you can’t recall exactly who was there, how it happened, where it took place, how long it took, you can try interviewing others or use personal photos or newspaper accounts. And if none of those are available, you can speculate.
Speculate? Are you saying I should make things up?
It’s not exactly making things up. You are allowed to wonder, to ask how it might have been, how you would have liked it to have been. What was the likely truth? Taking the liberty to see it in those ways gives you a unique power, and may even open your mind and heart to unexpected thoughts and feelings.
What is sensory research?
Sensory research is the slow and detailed application of all your senses. It is the first way we experience life: a baby will pick up a piece of dust and put it in her mouth to see what it is. But she won’t do it again, once she knows. As we grow up, we use our senses less and less, because we don’t have to anymore. We have bitten into enough apples to know an apple. We don’t have to blow into a harmonica to know how it works. But by revisiting this primary (and primal) way of experiencing things, you can bring them alive. It will help you remember, and the more you practice doing it, the easier it becomes.
How does sensory research work?
Take a lemon. Hold it in the palm of your hand. Bring it up close. Notice the skin. Run your hand over it. Are the pores prominent, like the nose of the old man behind the counter at CVS? Or as smooth as the skin of your inner arm? Speaking of noses, smell it. Can you smell acidity? And exactly what color yellow is your lemon? Is it the same color as your friend’s lemon? The same as your banana? Give it a squeeze. Does it resist? Does it yield? Finally, cut it open. Taste it. Big pucker? Little one?
In the process of preparing for this class, I took my own advice and tried to experience the world through my senses. I ran my hand across the rough surface of the wood bench and it brought back the outdoor fair where I bought it and the taciturn farmer who let it go for 10 bucks. I held an old shirt to my nose and was rewarded by a fleeting scent of my late husband’s aftershave.
Try it. You don’t even have to write a memoir to bring back the details of life by using your senses. But if you have a mind to, you can use this guide and write a memoir, too.
How many of YOU would love to write a memoir? Let us know in the comments below.
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