Any fiction writer who has ever tried to write his or her own life story knows it is far more difficult to write a memoir than a novel. It would seem easy at the outset: you’ve lived the experience so the research is already done. You’ve interacted with the people so the characters will just begin speaking to you, as they did in real life. If memoir writing was that easy, however, my workshops wouldn’t be packed with people who have lived incredibly interesting lives but are stopped short when trying to write about themselves.
I sympathize with them. I’ve grappled with that nasty inner censor that folds it arms like a border guard and will not let you pass. I’ve attempted to satisfy its request for a passport, which is in reality the answer to the question, What makes you think your life is interesting enough to write about? I’ve stared bleary-eyed at my computer screen, waiting for a story I’ve lived through once to make a repeat appearance. Most days it doesn’t show up.
Other days the characters show up, but what they have to say is not what you want to hear. It didn’t happen that way at all, they wail. Or, You’re not being fair to me. Or, You write one more word and I’ll sue! And they’re not the only voices in your head. Suddenly your parents and/or children show up: You did that? You should be ashamed of yourself! If you put that down on paper you’ll embarrass us all. There are often other voices up there, too, all shouting, Loser!
Hey. One of the reasons I teach this stuff is because I’ve been there, done that, heard the voices, fought them off…some days successfully, some days not. What I’ve learned to do is to distance myself. For one thing, I call what I write (and teach) personal narrative, not memoir, not autobiography, not non-fiction. What I aim for is emotional truth. If I feel the finished product adequately describes events as they actually occurred, I may then label it memoir. If I feel that there was a deviation from events that somewhat contradicted fact, I might label it a memoir-novel.As publisher of Leapfrog Press, I was working with an author who felt her handling of the material of her life might hurt people she loved, so we agreed to label the book a memoir-novel. The reviews were fantastic. In my own life story, The Kitchen Man, I allowed my imagination to take command, so I labeled the result an autobiographical novel. In all cases the emotional truth was of primary importance, because I believe that what a reader really wants is a good read, and if you have written an experience that moves the reader, it doesn’t matter what label you give it. That’s a marketing decision. First you have to write the book.
To reach this emotional truth it is sometimes necessary to distance yourself from the experience. To tell that former lover you’re writing about: It’s not you, so shut up! To stand up to your mother (in your head, of course) and say, This is not my first sexual experience, it’s somebody else’s. Or to your cousins who insist that grandma was a lily white virgin before she met grandpa, the love of her life. Much historical and speculative fiction—writings that take place in the past or the future—deal with events and situations that are emotionally true to a writer. It is naïve to imagine that people in the past were free of the complications we suffer through today and overly optimistic to think that people in the future will have rid themselves of the most basic human emotions.
Back to Center Post Contents | Home