Hope your first week of Teachers Write (or whatever else you did this week) was wonderful! Friday Feedback, for sure, is full of pure wonderfulness today. No, seriously, you'll see. . .
Suffice it to say, Nora Raleigh Baskin is guest hosting, and for those who don't know, Nora is not only one of my favorite writers, author of many award-winning middle grade and young adult novels, she's also been working on her memoir (and will be teaching memoir writing this fall at SUNY Purchase!) which she's been serializing on her blog, called WHY I'M LIKE THIS, and you can quickly see how poignant and beautiful her writing is there! If you want to subscribe to her blog you may do so HERE. In addition to all that, she's one of the kindest, most deeply-feeling humans on earth and pretty much my BFF, to boot.
So, today, she's talking about memoir writing, but to be sure, as the title says, Story is Story is Story -- so whatever you're working on, feel free to share an excerpt here. In the spirit of the theme, if you can choose an intimate and personal moment in your WIP (Work In Progress) even better! Look forward to seeing you in the comments!
And Nora and all my guest authors (and I!) work hard to write these posts, give you feedback, and share our thoughts with you, so please, please, please order Nora's books. If you can't afford to order yet one more book (we understand!), please call your local library and make sure they've ordered her newest titles, NINE, TEN: A September 11 Story and RUBY ON THE OUTSIDE in!
Writing Memoir
In some
ways it seems only natural for me, that
after 13 semi-autobiographical fictional novels for young readers, I would now
be brought back to writing the same stories, the same characters, the same
themes, the same history, but this time with no barriers, this time as memoir.
There is
also no lack of irony here, as our contemporary world moves the line of
non-fiction closer to what was once considered fiction, the line of fiction
gets blurred as well.
Yet here
I find myself: passionately drawn to telling
another another form of the same truth, once again, for the first time.
So why write
memoir?
I don’t
think I can explain (at least my
reasons) any better than I did in my actual weekly-serialized-memoir-experiment
(http://www.norabaskin.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=1182&action=edit) so if you are interested you can read this entry, and
hopefully you’ll want to subscribe (just add your email) and join me on this
journey. I’d be honored to have you.
But for
this Friday Feedback I thought I would take you through some of the pitfalls
and successes, some of the things I’ve learned over the thirty plus years I’ve
been trying to figure out who I am through this crazy process of creative
writing, both fiction and non-fiction.
So here goes:
1. Story with a capital S
The same exact “rules” for writing fiction apply to
writing memoir. In other words STORY comes first, which is just a little
trickier when your hands are tied by having to
stick to the facts. (which by the way, you HAVE to do in memoir!)
So by
“rules” (knowing that rules are meant to be broken- but not until you know what
they are, and are proficient in using them)
I mean:
Beginning,
middle, and end.
Rising
action, conflict, climax, resolution.
Character
development, motivation, meaningful dialogue.
plot,
tension.
All
those same annoying things you have to think about, even when you are free to
make everything up.
"Writing fiction is like digging holes for posts in
hard earth, steadying the posts, stringing the line, and then hanging up the
clothes, with clothespins in your mouth, all the while watching out for rain.
With memoir writing, the posts are there, and maybe the line is stung,
but you still have to figure out how to hang the clothes."
Mary Karr, the brilliant memoirist ,writes in her book The Art of the Memoir,
“I once heard Don Lillo quip that a fiction writer starts
with meaning and then manufactures events to represent it; a memoirist starts
with events, then derives meaning from them.”
Bottom
line, don’t be fooled. Good memoir writing is not easy at all. In many ways, it’s harder than writing
fiction. Interestingly it’s harder to tell the truth when you are stuck with
the facts.
2. Have Some
Distance
While it
is crucial (I believe) that one should write —as Patty Dann says—out of “Love
or Anger” you are probably going to need a little (a lot) of distance from the
experience, or from yourself ,to see clearly, to see other’s, to see without
the cloud of too much LOVE or too
much ANGER.
I’m not
saying that revenge isn't a good motivator, but you’ve got to be far enough
back to see the forest through the trees. To see the whole picture. To not
paint yourself a victim. To truly
find the truth. It may taking writing the story, the same story over and over and over again for years, before this
happens.
But it
will happen.
Wait for
it.
3. You had a terrible childhood, yeah so what?
Everyone has..or thinks they have.
Some stories are truly tragic and we are drawn to them
because we love
survival stories. Educated by Tara
Westover and of course, Glass Castle by
Jeanette Walls as well as Frank McCourt, and dozens of others. But there are
quieter, less dramatic memoirs like Let’s Take the Long Way Home by Gail Caldwell, about friendship. It’s all in the language, the story
telling, the observations. It’s not in the history.
One of
the best learning experiences I had happened when I took a memoir writing
course with Joyce Maynard at Sarah
Lawrence College— and by the way, if you ever have the opportunity to take a
class with her . . . do it!
We all
had to read samples of each other’s work during the week-long intensive and one
women wrote exclusively about being hit as a child. It was self-indulgent and
pathetic. She clearly wanted the reader to feel sorry for her but what she
achieved was quite the opposite. It was dark and humorless, and well boring.
But I
learned something very important reading her story: It really isn’t what
happened to you (many people of a certain generation were spanked pretty
severely as child) but how you perceived it.
Self-pity makes for a terrible book.
We want
to feel for the narrator, not feel sorry for them, so don’t write about your
experience until have gotten over yourself.
What
insight, what meaning, of what importance is your story?
Traumatic
experiences don’t make great memoir writing, great writing does. Your vision, your lens, the way you organize
history to reveal something new. That’s a memoir. You are NOT writing an auto-biography, a list of events, a play by play of
your life, not unless you are Johnny Depp or Hilary Clinton or Jane Fonda.
3. Friends and
Family Beware
If you
are not ready or willing to sell everyone down the river with you, don’t bother
writing. Or wait till they are dead.
Or tell
a different story.
Or write
fiction.
You
can’t protect your loved ones when writing memoir if you are going to write
about them, any more than you should protect yourself. Joyce Maynard was
brutally attacked by critics (mostly J. D. Salinger fans) when she wrote her
memoir At Home in the World (https://www.amazon.com/At-Home-World-Joyce-Maynard/dp/1250046440) She was called,
amongst other things, “shameless.” She
will tell be happy to let you know today, that’s exactly what you have to be to
write a memoir: Shameless.…without SHAME.
You have
to be brave. Willing to look at yourself honestly. Willing to expose your
pimples and warts. Take responsibility. See all sides.
In other words you have to be your best self while
revealing your worst.
Remember,
whether in fiction or non-fiction even the antagonist doesn’t think he’s the
bad guy of the story. As I said before,
revenge writing isn’t wrong (as a motivator) but twisting a story to get back
at someone is. Twisting a story to make someone look BETTER than they are is also.. . well, wrong.
premature p.s. -- I am going to interject something
here that may or may not belong in this exact spot. But when rendering
dialogue in memoir it is, of course, impossible to remember verbatim words from
yesterday, let alone twenty years ago. So, there is an unspoken acceptance
that you will try to duplicate dialogue to the best of your ability, your most
honest recollection, to get the gist of what what was said, if not the exact
words.
And
there is an unspoken understanding that you may be completely full of shit.
Both.
So do
your best. And, as in fiction, keep
dialogue brief, and meaningful, and as realistic as possible.
You are a truth-seeker, NOT a truth-teller.
No one is the keeper of that.
Truth changes. It is not static,
it is not even true.
When you understand that you will write a better memoir.
5. READ Like There
is No Tomorrow
Lastly —
because who am I to tell anyone anything about writing, let alone writing
memoir?— There is only one true teacher: READING.
Read
what you love AND read what sucks.
Read
something great, and try to reach for that level of excellence. Analyze it.
Dissect it. Look for the structure, the climax, the themes, the lyrical
language, great word choice. What works? Why do you love it? How does the
author play with time? Does he write in chronologic order or jump back and
forth between past and present? Does she write in the child voice and grow as
the years go by (Jeanette Walls), or is written as an adult looking back with
that perspective and wisdom (as does Marry Karr)? Or a combination?
Most of
all look for what the author has chosen to show the reader. Memoir is a
manipulation. Of course it is. It has to be. It’s nothing less, but nothing
more than your version of the truth.
Look for
which scenes the author has chosen to put side by side. That is your color
pallet and your brushes. (words are your colors) Juxtaposition is crucial—that’s where the
story lies. Between the lines.
A memoir writer is a master manipulator, but not an
exploiter.
And then read some really awful memoirs (contact me if
you need a list!) and you’ll quickly
realize: Hey, I can do better than that piece of crap!
Look,
everyone has a story to tell. They do. But you need to know WHY you want to
tell your story and you have to tell it well. You have to write beautifully,
specifically, meaningfully, with only salient
details, and with heart.
But write it down.
Get it out on paper because no matter how many times you’ve
regaled your friends at the dinner table with your interesting story, no matter
how many years you’ve ruminated and spent processing your unique history, no
matter how many hours you’ve spent in therapy,
it is very, very, VERY different when you write your story down.
So trust the
process.
Something
powerful, and maybe a little magical, happens when you let the memory flow from
your brain, to your hands, to the tips of your fingers, and out onto a blank
page. Smells you’ve forgotten, sounds you didn’t know you heard, things you
didn’t remember seeing, illuminations and revelations will present themselves
to you in ways you never expected.
So stand naked and go forth!
And now, since it is Friday Feedback, time to do some sharing and critiquing! If you aren't familiar with the RULES please read them HERE FIRST: http://ghpolisner.blogspot.com/2018/07/friday-feedback-where-will-your-spark.html
And here is Nora's excerpt from her Memoir, Closer to the Sun:
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I
missed my sister terribly. If I had ever felt whole, it would have been like
having an arm cut off, or an eye taken out, but to be honest, at this point, I
was pretty used to operating with fewer cylinders, less gas, a flat tire or
two. I still had my bike, my body, and now, a whole dairy farm spread out in
front of me. Cornfields to run through, a flat country road that ran along the
river to explore, the town library where I could take out books as often as I
could ride my bike there. And food, like ice cream, readily available.
But Anne’s visits were hard for me.
I can’t think of explaining it any other way, except for this: Imagine someone
you loved very much and expected would be in your life forever suddenly dumped
you, letting you know you were just about the most unlovable, worthless human
on earth. However this person who dumped you, didn’t dump your sister. So every
time your sister comes to visit, you know she is going to go back to be with
the very person who didn’t want you anymore. But still wanted her.
And
then you would have it. Sort of.
Until
Anne’s mother dumped her, too.
But
not exactly.
Because
this is where stories can collide and can actually explode, showering down with
shards of glass that cut and wound deeply but never reflect the whole truth,
only slivers of it.
My
father will say that Jean had a boyfriend who was moving to California and
didn’t want Anne anymore, so she set up a situation whereby he had to go to
court and sue for full custody. And Jean will say that my dad wanted Anne to
live with him, had more money and more resources, sued for full custody in
family court, and won. My dad will say it was becoming so clear that Jean was
an unfit mother he had to sue for full custody to protect Anne. Jean will say
he dragged her through the mud, with lawyers and even the testimony of his new
blond, perky wife, Barbara, and that she had no other choice but to move to
California with her new boyfriend, Alvin. And have another baby.
So
after a year and half, Anne came to live with us on Springtown Road.







