How To Write Your Memoir

These are my full responses to a series of questions asked by Susannah Hickling, for her article How To Write Your Memoir, published in Saga Magazine April 2016. Excerpts from these answers appear in the article. 

1.       What are the emotional benefits of writing a memoir?

Most of us, at one time or another, experience events in our lives that feel unfinished, traumatic, or are just highly emotional. At these times, energy can become stuck in our nervous systems. This can cause tension and ill health. Writing a memoir enables us to process that stuck energy and allow the emotions to move through and out. For that reason, telling our stories is profoundly liberating. Stories enable us not only to thrive in life, but also to survive.

Writing a memoir can also allow us to feel in control of, and gain perspective on our lives. It can give us a sense of closure close towards the end. Autobiographical work can ensure stories are not lost, and lives are not forgotten. It can pass information on to future generations, Our stories can entertain, inspire and motivate those around us, and those who come after us.

As well as that, simply feeling heard and understood is health-giving, to an extent that I think we are only just starting to appreciate. 

2.       To what extent can writing a memoir help you reassess your life or come to terms with an episode in it?

When we write we gain perspective on our lives. We come to understand our own motivations, and see how we have repeated certain patterns of behaviour over time.  This space to notice, is also space to both appreciate what we have achieved, and to decide to do certain things differently in future.

To some extent the stories we tell ourselves about our past lives are fictions. Our memories are very selective. Ever noticed how, if you ask three people to relate an event they were all present at thirty years previously, they will all tell a different version of the story?  This creative tendency is helpful to us, because it allows us, whilst remaining true to the events that have happened, to re-frame in a positive light, any event or person that we have had difficulty with in the past. We can also decide to appreciate ourselves, and the good intentions we have held through life.

3.       To what extent can it help to bring a family together or heal a rift?

In families, over time, so much can become ‘unsayable’. Unresolved disputes and points of tension, the longer they are left, because increasingly difficult to talk about, for fear of impasse, anger or upset. Small issues become magnified. Miscommunications that are not corrected, can lead to family members feeling misunderstood, or unappreciated.

When we write a memoir telling our view of events, in an honest and non-conflictual way, this can help others to understand our position. It can correct myths, and connect disparate pieces of information, to give others a broader, more balanced view of events.

Having a shared history of events to be celebrated, and mourned, can help future generations to take what is useful into the future. It can also enable them to put down disputes and ways of behaviour that have been passed from one generation to the next, but are unhelpful.

While revealing previously untold information can sometimes cause distress amongst family members, it is more often a source of relief to all involved. To keep secrets takes energy, and involves living with a level of fear. To give up those secrets is liberating.

4.       What practical advice can you give about how to approach writing a memoir? What are the really important things people should know before they begin? How should they go about assembling material? What research should they do?

Do the research to find out the facts that you need to know to tell the story. And no more. Research can be never-ending. Don’t drown in it!

When writing a memoir, it’s easy to get overwhelmed by the sheer volume of documents, and other source material. It’s sometimes hard to know where to start, and how to structure material. In order to avoid this, chunk the process down.  Before you start writing, decide how long you want the finished product to be. You might even like to write a two-sentence summary for each chapter.  Come to your writing desk each day knowing which piece of the story you are going to work on, and how long you will work for.

The easiest way to tell an effective story, that hooks the reader, is this: Choose a lead character (it may be you), through whose eyes you will see events.  Decide what they want to achieve (money, happiness, a relationship, family, work status etc.) Follow them through, on a journey to achieve that goal. Have the reader learn information through their eyes. Finish the story when they achieve, or fail to achieve their aim.

Be realistic about how much time you have to give to the project. Underestimate, rather than overestimate. You want to build your confidence over time by succeeding in the tasks you set yourself.

The primary reasons people read (whether we realise it or not), is in order to feel. To engage a reader, you have to be able to put emotion on the page. In order to do that, you first have to be willing to re-live those emotions yourself.

Be aware that writing about emotional events, particularly distressing ones, can be challenging. Take it slowly, and be kind to yourself. Notice if you have trouble making contact with upsetting memories, as this might affect how well you can write them. If you can’t bear to think about something, you are probably not yet ready to write about it.

If the material is challenging, and you feel that the emotions are likely to overwhelm you, bring in a writing tutor, editor, or understanding friend to support you.

Remember that even when writing about real-life events, you will most likely need to use your imagination to write them in the most impactful way. Creating or changing small details of events or characters is not ‘lying’ if it serves the interest of the wider picture, and deeper themes of the story, and makes it a better read.

Be sensitive to how others will feel about what you write, but remember, you are not responsible for the feelings of others. If you suspect sadness, distress or anger is likely to be directed your way, that’s not a reason, necessarily, to decide not to write the book, or to avoid describing certain events.

5.       What should a memoir writer definitely NOT do or include?

Try not to over use phrases such as ‘I remember’, or ‘when I was young’.  They are clichés and send the reader to sleep!  

Don’t tell the reader too much information. Instead show it through dialogue or action. Write so that the reader can visualise the scene.

It is not advisable to write from feelings of unresolved anger, or jealousy. Don’t write if you are motivated by revenge. If you are antagonistic, that will result in equally antagonistic reactions.  Whilst you must be true to the reality of events, it’s helpful, wherever possible, to resolve personal internal tensions around family situations before entering into the writing. It can help to bear in mind that no-one is perfect, and that we all want to be happy. We all do the best we can in life, given our emotional and practical resources at the time. The process of research can be useful in this respect. It can help us to understand what motivated others. In general, the more we understand people, the more we come to have sympathy for them. The events do not change, but our relationship to them does.

6.       How might the process differ between writing for personal reasons and writing for publication?

You may have to provide more contextual information for a public that does not know you personally. Also, the emphasis may change. A wider public might be more interested in your family’s role in historical events, while the immediate family might like to know about the details of relationships, for example.

It can sometimes make us feel vulnerable or exposed to write about personal issues, or to show our emotions. This may be amplified, the bigger the intended audience is.

Depending on your audience, you always have a choice as to what you reveal and what you conceal of yourself and those you know, or have known. You can still be honest and authentic in your writing, and tell a great story, whilst deciding to withhold certain pieces of information. A good example of this is Helen MacDonald’s Book ‘H is For Hawk’.  She tells an impactful story about grief over the death of her father, whilst maintaining her family’s privacy by not talking in depth about the dynamics within their family. However, if there are certain facts, episodes or people you do not wish to mention, you need to think about how to set up the story, to still satisfy the reader.  They must not be led to expect the revealing of information that doesn’t happen. This leads to very grumpy readers!

Above all, tell a story that you feel passionate about telling, the one that you can’t stop thinking about, the one that needs to be told. 

A Writer's Process: Ann Palmer

Decades ago, I initiated the teaching of Creative Writing at several Colleges of Adult Education. My two qualifications: a primary teaching certificate and publication as a children's short story and article writer.

Back then, no guidelines existed for Creative Writing teachers.  Fortunately I like experimenting with creativity.

My reasoning was that the first word of the course was creative and all my students could write anyway. I ordered thirty books on Creative Writing from the States and quickly became fascinated by right brain led methods.

One student, a rocket-scientist, (really!) doodled all over his file while I talked. Eventually I asked Mark why he doodled. Mark told me it kept him switched on in boring lectures! That is, it kept his whole brain engaged; the doodling ensuring his right brain was activated.

A few years after this, I wrote my book on Creative Writing – 'Writing and Imagery: How to deepen creativity and improve your writing'. 

I had to change my pen-name to A.J. Palmer, the male look-alike, as the publisher believes male authors carry more academic credibility than women!

Today I am an eco-lyricist. I put eco-lyrics to well-known and much loved songs, carols and hymns. As my EcoCarols project had attracted global educational interest, I decided the next stage was to work up a musical script. It was to consist video-clips to expand on the lyrics of fifteen EcoCarols.  I knew how to do this.

On a playwriting course, we were asked to produce fifty action images to kickstart the creative process. So the method was familiar. Yet, for a whole year I put off doing it. The fact I had written a book on the power of imagery as a fantastic aid in the writing process (backed up by the experience of a rocket scientist who went on to earn a six figure sum for his fantasy trilogy) didn't seem to make any difference. Unsurprisingly, the longer I put it off, the bigger the block became. I willingly tackled other writing projects, rather than face that big block!

So, my advice is a threesome. Stay open-minded. Draw or otherwise engage your right brain. If a block feels big, remember the adage: the bigger the block, the greater the breakthrough.

It's a lesson I am relearning right now!

                                                                                                         http://www.gaiadancebooks.com/

The Fly

So, as everyday, I’m sitting in a room, inside my house, and my mind is inside that other box that is my computer.

There are three levels of separation between me and the world. The walls are white, textureless, the floor is equally flat.

The desk is polished wood. The books are ordered on the shelf. The extractor fan in the kitchen has been on, so nothing smells of anything anymore. The double-glazed window is closed. Outside, who knows what temperature it is. The front door of my house is locked. Nothing can get in, or out - not even noise.

This is my controlled environment, where I bring life to my characters and their world, where I CREATE. Except I don’t.

I stare at the flat white walls, drum my fingers on the smooth polished desk, scuff my feet on the varnished floorboards.

And then, the final straw. God only knows how, but a fly gets in, and flies around. Except, (in retrospect) it doesn’t just fly. It completes a slalom course across the room. The buzzing powers in and fades as it flashes and jerks its way towards me. It zigzags, sketching a circle around me, then it careers straight at me and whispers in my ear. It smells of dog shit and rancid oil.

It distracts me. I try to ignore it and get on with my work.

Now it steers a straight course for the window, and accelerates, a Kamikaze pilot on a mission. It hurls itself against the glass, and rebuffed, soars upward, arcing. Close to the ceiling it cuts its engine, and drops towards the light. The silence of the drone.

This time I am ready, hate-filled, with a rolled up copy of the previous draft of my novel. They make hollow contact. The fly spins, and slides inanimate down the windowpane.

What a relief. Now I can get back to being creative-not.

This sad story happened some time back. These days I’m beginning to learn that are many more original and impactful words for ‘fly’, but only if we can learn to see the fly, so to speak. I wonder how many thousands of times I’ve killed the teacher of vitality and creativity because I thought the answer lay somewhere else?

This article was first published on September 20th 2012

Winter Solstice Writing Competition 2015: Runner Up

Black, Red and Yellow

by Karen Lethlean

When she was eight, her father had taken her ‘walkabout’ in the outback. He had taken her by herself, and she remembered the glory of being completely his, and him being completely hers. She did not remember why he had chosen her, and why he had left her sister behind.

They had taken a late night plane. Before too long they were landing in Alice Springs at dawn: she did remember him carrying her off the plane and camera, which he carried as close to his chest as he carried her: he put her down on the tarmac to take a photo of the rising sun He turned to her and said – what had he said?

For you to remember.

As they drove a wide, new highway away from the airport toward town buildings appeared to nestle in a folded hillside, rather than stuck out like in the city.

She had never been anywhere so hot, confusing when she’d left inner Sydney in chilled rain.   Neither could she recall being awake so early in the morning.

Of that trip, all she remembered were scattered moments of joy: meeting cousins who played and laughed in just the same way as her friends at school, yet who sounded truer, more real, and who looked beautiful, despite being brown.

At school class mates had said, ‘you will be the fast runner, you can’t be pretty or smart because you are an aboriginal.’ With an emphasis that made it sound like ab-bow-riginal. As if Jenny might have to bend like a bow for shooting arrows, or be tied in knots like a hair-bow.

In ‘Alice’, and the even smaller towns, settlements, whatever they were called, long legged, straight white teethed girls could easily have strutted down modelling cat-walks. You could play sport just for fun, chase a ball, and run the dry creek beds without straining to be better than everyone else.

True, there were frightening locals who gathered in shouting groups on some street corners. Who didn’t seem to pay attention to rubbish her teachers would have said, ‘needed to be picked up.’ Those people seemed to use words like sharp objects, or were flopping their thin limb around in unfriendly gestures. But even in Sydney there were people like that she knew to avoid.

Everyone seemed to be called ‘Uncle or Aunty’ even if they weren’t. Some were trouble, some could do tricks like making their thumbs disappear, or coins come out of your ears. And all their faces were varying shades of brown – from tan to blue-black-brown. No matter what skin, Jenny stood among them not apart from them.

If she was not playing with cousins Jenny was sitting in her father’s lap as he relaxed on a cool, wide verandas, and gazed out at a shimmering place that was just called “country”.

Safe within this family she would listen to a mix of language that to her ear resembled a jumble of sounds rather than words. Jenny had no idea her father could speak another language.

Sometimes she would doze off and would wake to find everything cloaked in gentle darkness. But no matter, the heavens were alive with Guy Fawkes Night sparklers, ‘they’re what the stars look like away from the city,’ her father had assured.

Out here her father seemed to have gained a straighter, stronger back, more powerful arms, and insights to all sorts of secrets Jenny would never have guessed. Not least of all was how he seemed to know the way across dusty tracks.

A few of the places where they had visited ‘the mob’ were dry and dusty, some houses burnt, graffiti covered, with scabby looking dogs who wandered about aimlessly. Except for fewer dogs, she’d seen worst in Sydney.

Jenny was surprized to find some fridges in the store behind strong wire frames and chained closed with padlocks. Even once, in the town, a policeman near the counter had scoured at her like her father was doing something wrong by getting out a cold drink.

It’s his job to make sure I aren’t buying booze to take into dry settlements, or give to under aged kids. Had been her father’s explanation which, to Jenny, explained nothing.

One night, they were coming home late, and she was talking to him, she remembered, but he was quiet, listened and laughed at whatever silliness she was saying. He looked out of the window into the dark night, and then cried out suddenly. Finally he said, ‘do you like it here?’

Her father then swerved and stopped, leaped out of the car, his hand outstretched to her, and she knew that hand would always be there as an offering. ‘Come darling,’ he said. She slid into the dark, the back of her knees sliding across the sweaty, dusty seat.

He stamped about, bear-footed. His bird like steps lifted dust from the ground. Jenny had never seen her father dance.

See if you can catch the land, keep it inside, and take it up into your heart through your feet, my baby.

While Jenny thought she’d never heard of anything quite so silly. How could you make something go to your heart sucked up from the souls of your feet? Here, she loved him, for those words.

If she’d been able to put it into an envelope and post it to her adult self, anytime in the future when she opened it red dust, dark skies and burning fires would have fallen out. 

A Writer's Process: Karen Lethlean

Karen was a runner-up in the Wild Words Writing Competition which closed in December 2015.

 

The process of creating the story Black, Red and Yellow began with a snippet I encountered while reading the work of a Sri Lankan writer, Roshi Fernando (author of Homesick).

Like trinkets a bower bird might collect the sense of remembering a trip back to a homeland stuck in my brain. But I had to find a way to make this piece mine. So after a recent trip to the Northern Territory the mesh of inland Australia was laid across those initial thoughts.

I was continually worried about the thought that my ideas belonged to Roshi Fernando.

So I needed to understand that while that trinket I first saw was written by someone else, I was not copying her, but instead using something glimpsed in a new and original manner.

A good analogy here would be that of a seamstress; she sees a design somewhere, goes out and buys unique fabric, puts the piece together and comes up with her own creation.

Being a writer means reading widely and I cannot help but be intrigued by things others have written. I am constantly making notes, putting little snippets away, and looking back later to find I cannot recall where they came from but that a tiny few words can later become an entire new story.

Working in a multi-cultural school, being aware and very interested in indigenous cultures did help the writing of Black, Red and Yellow.  I have long harboured the desire to find some Noongar blood somewhere in my family tree, so my curiosity is endless.

I also wanted to try and deal with the way children are often stereotyped, no matter what their cultural or racial group.

So giving Jenny a voice about the way she sees others and how she feels treated seemed to work. Even though with the ending and my title I cannot help but wonder if I have in fact stereotyped Jenny into becoming an artist in her adult life. Such are the concerns of a writer!

Having a very supportive husband, who settles my worries, who tirelessly does the housework and allows me time to hit the keyboard (even though I have installed a writing rule that when the lap-top needs re-charging I finish for the day) is a wonderful help to being about to work creatively. 

Resourcing The Writer

Six months ago, a friend who's a talented writer,  came to an abrupt halt halfway through writing an autobiography of his extraordinary life. I was disappointed. I wanted to read it!

Last night I tried to cajole him into picking up his pen again. To no avail. He was very straightforward with his reasons. 
 
‘You know what I’ve realised’ he said, ‘is that it’s too much effort. It takes too much out of me. It takes everything'.
 
I respect that. As someone who historically will always push forward with a project, regardless of whether ‘I have it in me’, it was permission-giving. I thought, how wonderful just to be able to put it down when it’s too much.

I thought about the reasons I've sometimes pushed on through, despite exhaustion. It's because I fear failure. I fear disappointing myself. I fear losing the sense of identity and purpose that comes with a project.  Those things can drive us on. They can cause us to lose touch with the inner wild animal, which functions 'attuned to its environment', not despite it.

Writing in this way is an addiction. It can sabotage health and relationships. One day I will start a 'Writers Anonymous' group, to support the many writers in that situation! 
 
It's important to realise that writing can be tiring work. The energy of hope, excitement, or fear around the process, as well as the extremes of emotions that accompany our character’s journeys, can take a great deal out of us.
 
It’s taken me years to learn the following lesson:
If we work, when we are not sufficiently resourced, then, when even small problems or stuck points come up, we will quickly reach overwhelm.

How do we recognise overwhelm? It's characterised by freeze, the inability to think and act clearly, indecisiveness. It also manifests as tiredness (the switching off from overwhelming emotion that we cannot manage). You know the point when you can't see the wood for the trees? That's a form of overwhelm.
 
What does it mean to be resourced? It means to do things that relax us, that nourish us, that make us feel happy, without feeling like we're 'wasting time'. 

Only when we are resourced are we truly acting in accordance with our needs as a human animal. It's only then that we will write truly wild words- connected, passionate, alive. 

Most of us can probably name the things that resource us, but nearly all of us underestimate how much resourcing we need, in proportion to undertaking activities which demand we face difficulty.

We need much more resourcing than we think, because we go into overwhelm much more quickly than we realise. The more resourced we are ongoingly, the easier it is to spot that things are 'too much' before they disable us.  We can then unwind them. That's much better than getting to a point of crisis management. 

It's here I think, we can support our fellow writers. What gifts can you offer a colleague or friend who writes? It's not necessary to be in the same room, or even the same country to offer another person something that nourishes them. You can offer virtual gifts. We're writers, we know the power of the imagination!

Sometimes I put little gifts on to the Wild Words Facebook page. A picture of a flower. A photo of a mountain view. I do this with the sole aim of resourcing my fellow writers. 

What could you offer another writer today? A pair of soft slippers? A sheepskin blanket? A heart meal? The sun through their office window?
 
Close your eyes. Imagine you're receiving these gifts. Do that strongly enough and it has the same effect on your metabolism as if you were receiving them for real. 

Conversely, what would you like to ask for from another writer today? What virtual gift would bring that edge of overwhelm down, just enough, to keep you writing? Just enough that ultimately, you'll be able to deliver to the world, the invaluable gift of your story. 

Happy writing today. 
 

The Monthly Writing Prompt

One of the greatest gifts you can give your reader, in this modern, fast-paced world, is a sense of relaxation and nourishment. It gives the story breathing space, and the reader time to reflect. It acts as a springboard for cranking up the tension later on in your story.

What small details can you bring into your story or poem that achieve that? These are the same kind of things that you might like to offer yourself or your fellow writers to resource them. Some ideas might be: a beautiful sunset. The touch of a warm gentle hand. A smile. The sound of laughter. 

Make sure, as you write these small events, you really feel them in your body. Revel in the experience :-) 

A Writer's Process: Jenny Alexander

My older sister killed herself when I was 23 and I always knew I’d want to write something for young people about suicide.

My first thought was that it should be a Young Adult self-help book, as I’d already written 8 self-help books for children, but my agent couldn’t get a publisher on board with it. She suggested I might write it as a novel instead.

I finished the first version of my novel, Drift, more than 10 years ago, and several publishers expressed interest in it, but they all eventually decided that the story was ‘too quiet for the market.’ They said it needed a ‘strong hook,’ that is to say, to be out-of-the-ordinary in some striking way.

But my reason for writing it in the way I had was because I wanted to help other survivors of sibling suicide to feel less alone in that already extraordinary grief. The whole point of my book was that it should feel real; it should feel like any young person’s life, suddenly disrupted by something that could happen to anyone.

I knew I had written a good book and I wasn’t willing to compromise it by sexing it up, so I shelved it and tried to forget about it, but it wouldn’t go away.

So when I got a new agent a few years later, I sent it to her. She liked it, but told me she found the most dramatic passages weirdly unmoving.

I realised then that I’d been unwilling to feel the kind of emotions I’d felt when my own sister killed herself; by creating a protagonist who was emotionally numb, I’d hoped to be able to tell her story without feeling the raw pain of her situation.

I rewrote the whole novel, this time fully inhabiting the main character, and it was the hardest rewrite I’d ever done, but the experience broadened my reach as a writer. Where previously I had invariably used humour in stories about difficult subjects such as bullying, now I found I could lay down that armour if I wanted to. It felt brave.

My agent sent the revised version out to publishers. They still found it ‘too quiet’ so I brought Drift out myself on September 10th 2015, to mark World Suicide Prevention Day. I later realised that my choice of publication date was almost exactly 40 years to the day after my sister’s death.

Drift has received wonderful reviews so far and has just been included in the list of books recommended by Cruse, the UK’s largest charity for the support of bereaved children, young people and adults. When I saw that on their website, I felt I had done what I set out to do.

http://jennyalexander.co.uk/young-adult

 http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/191030008X?keywords=jenny%20alexander&qid=1453380135&ref_=sr_1_6&sr=8-6 

Unexpected Encounters: The Stag

I’ve been thinking about unexpected encounters. 

The other evening, at dusk, I was driving along a small road at the bottom of the mountain, when I came upon a deer skittering down the road. And not just a deer, a half-grown stag with antlers so hard and heavy they seemed strangely at odds with his fragile legs, and lithe body.

In the moment before he noticed the car he seemed mysterious, and spirit-like. I stopped and watched him, spellbound.

Once he’d seen me, he changed. His body tensed, and he veered sharply off the road, heading for the safety of the trees. He didn’t see the fencing. His leg caught, and he flailed, before finding his feet again, and bounding off down the tarmac, panic-stricken.

I crawled the car after him, at a non-harassing distance. Soon he found an exit off the road, and was gone.

Moments of great writing seem to come to me like that deer. They arrive only occasionally, unannounced, and they take my breath away. I never want them to leave.

In order to get them to stay, I try to wrestle them into submission. But the struggle changes their shape, and they no longer hold the qualities that I wanted on my page: that mystery, that lightness, that fragile elegance.

So, how can we allow our words their freedom, but still keep them on the page, and serving the needs of our story?

The short answer: First we have to create a space for those unexpected words to arrive into. Then, we have to follow them as the crawling car followed that deer, keeping them in heart and mind, but not influencing their behavior unduly.

And the long answer, well, it would need much longer, and, for now, will have to wait.

This Week’s Writing Prompt

Spend a period of time outside, with a notebook and pen. If it’s warm enough, stay in one place. If not, go for a walk. You’re looking for anything that, for you, embodies the qualities of ‘mystery’,  ‘lightness’, or ‘fragile elegance’. When you find something, write a poem, or piece of prose about it.

The Wild Words Facebook page accepts guest blogs. Why not post your creative response to the prompt there! 

This blog was first published on February 22nd 2013