When I published my book, One Page a Day, December of last
year I wrote a few promotional articles about the art of memoir writing. If
that’s something that would interest you, I’m posting the first article here.
If this generates some interest, I’ll post Parts Two and Three.
HOW TO
WRITE A GRIPPING MEMOIR—PART ONE
Someone once said that “Everyone has a book inside them,”
and that may be true. After all, we’re all sentient human beings with unique
experiences, imaginations, and ideas, which, if compiled, could probably fill
several manuscripts.
And, chances are, if you’re reading this article, the idea
of writing a book has crossed your mind. Now, some people fall in love with the
idea of writing a book. The thrill of
pouring out your soul in print; of being nurtured by wise and understanding agents
and editors as they help you shape your masterpiece.
Then there’s the splendor
of your book’s release and the book parties and the book tour, the book
readings, the book reviews. Heck, just your ideas set down in bound signatures
and encased in a colorful cardboard cover with your name in 48-point type and
your professionally retouched photo on the dust cover are enough to send us
dreamers into a swoon.
Yes, heady stuff and, of course, not at all an accurate
depiction of reality for most of us authors. Writing is mostly hard work. I’ve been doing it for over
thirty years—and it doesn’t get easier over time. Writing a book is the hardest
type of writing. It’s a grind, an exercise in endurance. Every day, draft after
draft. If blogging is a sprint, writing books is a marathon. I know lots of
people way smarter than me who have embarked on a novel, a memoir, or some
other book-length project, only to flounder and run out of steam by page 40 or page
60 and stick their pile of pages in a drawer and forget about them.
But that’s not you. You are willing to put in the work. To
put aside at least a year if you have the luxury of doing it full-time, or
three years if you’re like the rest of us who do it part-time and only have
nights and weekends. You’re not in it for the glamour, since there’s not much
of that to be had in real life. And you’re not in it for the money, because
there’s precious little of that for us book writers. (Ms. Rowling, you can
ignore the previous statement!) You’re in it for the challenge and satisfaction
of completing a significant task that can potentially deliver enduring value.
That’s why I’m here to help. I respect the fortitude that it
takes to commit to a book-length project. I also believe that there is a right
way and a wrong way to approach a book project and, having trod both paths, I’d
like to save you some energy and heartbreak by suggesting ideas and processes that
have worked for me.
Getting
started, or, why a memoir?
Clichés are clichés because they generally contain more than
a kernel of truth. The cliché that we’ll drag out here is the hoary advice given
to writers, that of Write What You Know.
After all, the logic is indisputable. Writing is hard enough without having a
thorough understanding of your subject. For a novelist that could mean
extensive research, interviews, travel to various locales, and so forth. And
even then the novelist has to frame it all in a story that balances the
elements, of language, style, and character.
Happy is the fiction author who can frame a career around
what he or she already knows—the great Canadian short story writer Alice Munro
took Write What You Know to heart by seldom setting her stories far from her
Southwestern Ontario home.
But a memoir. A memoir! That is the mother of all Write What
You Know projects. You are the expert of you. Nobody knows you better, not your
spouse, your kids, your boss, or your shrink—regardless what they say! Your
life, your experiences, your hopes and dreams and all the things that make you
what you are—they’re all locked up in your brain waiting to be loosed in an
exciting and coherent memoir voraciously consumed by hordes of eager readers.
But first, let’s define what a memoir isn’t.
Not a Diary
Many amateur writers embarking on a memoir project seize it
as an opportunity to pour out all their most private thoughts and feelings in
excruciating detail, plus the justifications for the actions they’ve taken in
their lives salted with various slights and rationalizations that come from the
actions and decisions they’ve made in the process. And it’s all boring as hell
because the writers of such things are not writing a memoir, they are writing a
diary.
The difference between a diary and a memoir? The audience.
A diary, or poorly written memoir, is meant to be read by
the writer and only the writer—that’s why many diaries come with lock and key.
A memoir, however, is a higher form of art. It is meant for a readership—an
external audience. A memoir should inform, amuse, inspire, move, and otherwise
entertain an audience based on the incidences and interpretations of the author’s
experiences.
In other words, as you write your memoir, it’s not a matter
of “and then I did this and then I did that and she said this and I said that.”
Boring. Constantly think about your reader—why should this information be
interesting to them? If it’s not, delete it before your reader deletes you.
And best of all, leave them hanging after every chapter,
just like I’m going to leave you hanging here! In Part 2, I’m going to answer
the following questions:
- ·
What types of memoirs are most successful?
- ·
I’m not famous or all that accomplished—how can
I write a gripping memoir anyway?
- ·
What are the keys to grabbing a reader’s
attention and make them stay along for the ride?
