Whenever I mention I’m working on a memoir, someone inevitably states, “Someday I should write my memoirs…”
I’ve heard folks say this and wonder what they’re talking about. How many books do they plan to write? Then I realize, they must mean memories, as in a collection of.
I think the term memoirs was (or is?) used as a catch-all phrase alluding to important or fascinating events in a person’s life. While the genre, by today’s standards, does require some aspect of the author’s experiences, it’s the interpretation of those experiences and how they shaped the author that is as important as the events themselves.
Memoirs—as in books written within the genre’s expected criteria—are filled with interiority and big-picture realizations that may be universal, or at least that will resonate with certain readers. As I understand it, the more an author can tap into those truths, extracting insight that will provide “Me, too!” moments for as many readers as possible, the better the chances of success for that memoir. The better it will serve its readers.
This is the challenge I have accepted.
In writing my debut memoir, I am not curating a laundry list of “and then this happened, and then this happened” in my life. A memoir is decidedly not an autobiography. Instead, I have focused on a specific time in my life—an event which could be considered dramatic to some, fascinating to others—and how I confronted that event; how it affected or changed me; and what resolution I came to in order to move forward from that event.
The storytelling, for me, is the easy part. I’m curse-blessed with pretty good recall, specificity of details in particular. Guess that’s what prompted me to spew the story initially, as part of my healing process. Had to get those details the hell out of my head. Of course, memory isn’t impartial.
Each of us may remember a moment differently, as we each experience life from our own perspective. Our brains fill in gaps of sight, sound, fractions of a second with data based on our lived experience. Like those word puzzles where you guess the word written upside down or backwards, missing a letter here and there. Amazingly, our brains can actually fill in the missing bits to make sense of the nonsensical. Order out of chaos. With memory, we do the same. Which is why eye witnesses sometimes report seeing very different events, or describe different perpetrators, from the same crime scene.
But memoir authors do our best to remember as accurately as we can. Even if we get something slightly wrong, the inner thoughts we share shed light on how the inaccuracy isn’t willful or deliberate, but how we experienced that moment. By examining our thoughts and feelings along with the recounting of the event, we illustrate that moment’s uniqueness within our timeline. Other folks may remember things differently, but only because they experienced the same moment differently.
My biggest challenge is mining for those insights. Deep-diving into introspection, problem-solving why I felt the way I felt or acted in the manner that I did, isn’t for the faint of heart. Truth can sometimes be ugly, like looking in the mirror after a three year old “does” your makeup during dress-up time.
The challenge is to find the big nuggets, then polish them into glistening jewels that will befit discerning readers searching for treasure. And, if I do my job properly, maybe even those who thought they’d just pick up a disaster book may unexpectedly find some part of themselves in my journey.
If you haven’t read any memoir, I invite you to delve into a genre where you can live vicariously through true events and never risk life, limb, or love. And you may learn a little something about yourself and the way we move within this world as a bonus.
Some memoirs I’m reading or have read and loved:
