Which Memory is Real?

Everyone knows how memory dims and darkens with time. Yesterday I began writing about a memory from the summer after first grade when I felt “outside the circle.” I'd written  about this incident before, but decided to begin fresh. After five paragraphs I could see no further benefit in continuing the rewrite and tracked down a version from five years ago, intending to graft in some of that material.

When I read the earlier story, my jaw dropped. The theme was the same, the other main character was the same, but circumstances were quite different. Yesterday's  story begins as I approach a cluster of kids that included Carol (the girl across the street) and half a dozen neighborhood boys. In the earlier version, Carol was jumping rope alone in front of her house.

Which is real? Has my memory changed that much in five years? Which version should I use?

As I closely examine the versions, slight differences begin to emerge. In the jump rope version, Carol does invite me to play, in an off-handed way. I do mention that Tom, the boy our age who lives in the other end of her duplex, won’t play with me. In yesterday's memory and story, I arrive as Tom finishes telling a dirty joke. I hear only the ensuing laughter. An older boy tells me I shouldn’t have been listening (I wasn’t!), and all the boys run off, leaving me to play with Carol.

In both cases I felt awkward and uncertain. Both my mother and I had only our younger sisters to play with before we began school, and we both lacked social savvy. I was desperate to learn. The jump rope story works well to emphasize that awkwardness. The second story works better for emphasizing my discomfort with groups, my feeling of being on the fraying fringe of things.

I’ve concluded that two memories are involved and that both memories are real – as real as any memory can be. As I further refine my theme, I believe the choice of which story to use will become apparent. Or I may use both in a longer version.

The important point for now is that both memories are tattered and faded, dark fragments of the moment. The “actual facts” of what “really” happened are only faintly discernible. The “truth” of the encounters lies in emotional memory.  That’s where the story is. Knowing the specific date, time of day, color of Carol’s hair, or names of the boys serves no purpose. I don’t care about those myself!

I shall include only details directly relevant to the story such as:

• The comforting feel of summer sun on my shoulders and espresso-brown hair.
• The view from my vantage point in front of my house, eighteen stair steps above the street and two hundred feet away.
• Feeling sad, alone and "different" as I watched.
• Feeling confused and clueless about how to join Carol or the group.
• Feeling awed by the beautifully decorated bedroom she had to herself.

Details like this form the reality of memories. My challenge is to develop brightly lit scenes that crisply convey this sense of loneliness and longing — the core truth of both memories and countless later incidents.

Write now: Without looking back, rewrite an emotional memory you wrote about at least a year ago (preferably much longer) in a story or journal. Don't look back before you write, but compare versions when you're done. Make note of differences and dig for those golden key emotions underlying the memory. Follow their trail through the years.

Photo credit: Dan Sakamoto

Eternal Optimists Piss Me Off

At the risk of sounding judgmental (how human would that be?) I’ve got to admit that when I continually hear nothing but rosy accounts from the same person, I grow suspicious, even angry at times.

For example, an elderly woman I knew many years ago never had anything but the kindest, nicest things to say about people, even about people I found monstrously arrogant or rude. She was always smiling and cheerful, even in her nineties when I knew she had aches, pains, and countless physical problems and not everyone treated her well. By her account, people were always delightful, and her cheerfulness never ended.

Get real, Gertie, I thought. Admit it. Some of the cherries in that bowl are rotten.

Another example is an acquaintance who seemed authentically forthright and open. Until serious illness set in. At first, rosy Caring Bridge accounts of awesome friends and caregivers, minimal side effects, and even the blessing of illness seemed brave and spunky. Later, when no post ever mentioned the least affliction of the spirit, I became suspicious. These sound like press releases from the Ministry of Positive Thinking and Eternal Gratitude. What's it really like? What are we not hearing?

Snarky bitch am I not? But those reports increasingly reeked of dishonesty. I became increasingly convinced I was not reading the whole story. I felt disrespected and misled. While happy to hear good reports, I wanted to read about the challenges of remaining positive in spite of the odds, in the face of obstacles. I wanted survival lessons "just in case."

Now, lest you decide I’m totally lacking in compassion, please understand that I realized both these people presumably held back for good reasons. The old lady belonged to an ethnic minority and learned from her first breath not to make waves. My annoyance with her was fleeting. The ill acquaintance was probably hanging on by fingernails, frantically stomping all negative thought, hoping thereby to promote healing for self — and also for the world. This person is like that. Genuinely compassionate and caring, expecting the best of others and determined to set a great example by walking the talk

But it pissed me off. Reports — STORIES, that is — that lack conflict, lack a bit of appropriate, expected pain, suffering and angst don't ring true. Authenticity holds my attention, especially authentic transcendence. You can't transcend what you don't experience and unless you give a fuller picture we don't know but what you had a fortunately light case of whatever, sort of like being passed over by a blizzard after dire forecasts.

I'm not perfect. I obsess, fend off fear, dread and demons of doubt and despair like anyone else. I bite back now and then. So the last thing I want to read or hear about is someone so good, so saintly, that they don't have these carnal thoughts or problems. That makes them unattainably better than me. I must cut them down to size or feel diminished myself. Unfortunately, cutting them down to size makes me feel rotten, not encouraged.

So here's the irony for lifestory and memoir writers:

If we record only the light sides of ourselves, our noble accomplishments — the sides we want to be remembered for and examples we want to provide, we come across as plastic stereotypes who set an unattainable standards. Through perceived insincerity, we run a great risk of pissing off readers.

To claim admiring respect spin around in front of the camera, for at least a quick rotation, and prove that you are/were human. It doesn't have to be much — only what's required to flesh out the story. A few lines of inner reflection may be enough, if they support the story to help readers understand your point and person.

Only vampires and liars lack shadows.

Write now: pull out an overly bright story and add a few lines of shadowed reflection for depth and credibility. Readers will love you for it.

Reading and Writing Across the Gender Divide

I just read Pittsburgh author Dave Newman’s story, “Asteroids Falling Up,” in The New Yinzer, a fine online literary magazine  published here in Pittsburgh. My eyeballs occasionally bulged as I read this risqué coming of age piece.

This story punched windows into walls of reticence as I read. Perhaps, I thought, I can write more boldly – on other topics. Whether fiction or memoir, Newman’s compelling story would not ring true or have such impact had he toned down or skirted his topic.

I mention this story, this experience, to illustrate the value of reading across the gender divide. As a writer I benefit from exposure to a wide variety of ideas, perspectives and writing styles. I could never get this credibly bold glimpse into a developing male psyche from anything written by a woman.

Which brings me to writing groups and classes. I’ve been teaching memoir and creative writing classes for over fifteen years, all but a couple with mixed groups. Like Marion Roach Smith, I use the laboratory method for teaching memoir: students write stories on topics of their choice and read them aloud in class for group discussion. Some might assume mixed groups would stifle the range of topics. Experience has proven otherwise.

Thousands of stories have reflected a cross-section of life, often sweet, maybe salty, sometimes humorous, occasionally spicy or painful. Women have written about abuse, grief, rape, abortion, menopause, sex and more. Men have written about abuse, grief, humiliation, disabilities, sex, and more. In every case, classmates of both genders have responded with support and acceptance. After deeply intimate disclosures I’ve checked with individuals. Each said s/he felt relieved and validated to have shared the story. Several said the mixed group was an unexpected comfort.

Not everyone shares this view. “Many women have been traumatized by men and they need the safety of a women’s group to heal,” I’m told. Maybe so, especially if the deeper purpose is therapy. Maybe that’s true for certain men too. Some organizations offer support exclusively to women, assuming some will need this safe haven – or just want to hang out and write with the gals. Men must find their own way through the storm.

Sharing nascent stories and receiving encouragement and acceptance powerfully energizes group members and builds deep bonds of camaraderie and compassion. My hope and dream is that over time we’ll all feel strong enough to share stories about anything with anyone, especially across the gender and other divides. How else will we understand, accept, and possibly forgive those who are different? How will we fully heal from abusive treatment of whatever sort or degree without at least symbolically confronting perpetrators? Writing buddies and classmates make splendid stand-ins.

My interest in the topic of exclusion and personal experience with being excluded is deepening and intersects with the writing community. As I continue to write and explore, I’m saddened and embarrassed by the divide posed by women’s writing organizations that exclude men seeking support such as they offer. How could I tell a mixed class that some of them might benefit from membership in a national organization, but “no boys are allowed”? No way! I dream of the time these organizations will find a way to meet individual needs while also building bridges across the divide as the National Association of Memoir Writers (NAMW) is already attempting to do.

For a simple, email-based mixed group experience, I invite you to join the free Life Writers Forum I co-host on YahooGroups with memoir expert Jerry Waxler. Members run the gamut from widely published to novice. The sidebar gadget on the right is the easiest way to join. Lurk awhile or jump in.

I also encourage you to read across the gender divide to limber your write brain and broaden your perspective. Let Dave Newman punch windows in your walls.

Write now: without naming organizations, write a comment as long as you wish about your writing group experience. Have they been a help or hindrance? What would an ideal group be like for you? Mixed or single sex? Further explore your thoughts in essay form, for yourself or to share.

Image credit: “Writing Group” by James Mitchell, Creative Commons license

The Book I Wish I’d Written (and May Yet)

What greater praise can an author give a book than to say “This is the book I wish I’d written!”? That’s the praise I heap onto Marion Roach Smith’s book, The Memoir Project: A Thoroughly Non-standardized Text for Writing & Life. How can I count the ways I admire this book? I’ll list a few:

1) She had me laughing the whole way through. Her rainbow of material covers the tragi-comic spectrum, but even the tragic has an amusing twist. I adore her off-the-wall humor and perspective. She nudges me to look at life from even more corners.

2) She walks her talk. She constantly illustrates her key point of writing with intention (that being focus at the closest range) by using short annotated clips of her own material. Many of these are items that have never fit anywhere else and finally found a home in this volume. Quite amazingly, she sticks to the point so tightly that she covers her material a mere 112 power-packed pages.

She also holds to a a primary tenet of memoir by closely framing her material and not attempting to cover the full gamut of all aspects of the writing process. She sticks to finding your story and framing it sparely, making every word count.

3) She brings fresh perspective to key points I hold dear. We both urge people to use small cards to collect story ideas. We both urge all writers to carry writer’s notebooks to record those ephemeral observations, thoughts and other gifts of the muse that are fragile and fleeting as soap bubbles. We both firmly hold the belief that there is no right way to write, although she’s a bit firmer on urging people to stay in one place and I tend to wander.

4) She has cleverly disguised a memoir. In my opinion, this book is at least as much memoir as instruction. It’s an ideal combination of using snips of life experience to illustrate writing principles. Her entire approach simply oozes with creativity.

5) She eschews writing prompts. I always read and admire them in other books, but use them only when they ring my bell to write something real. But wait. I do benefit from briefly considering whether they work for me. So I’ll stick with Write now: prompts on at the end of each post on this blog. I’m quite sure most readers use them as thought ticklers and suggestions and seldom actually write.

6) “What’s this about?” I can’t cite a page or copy in a quote, but this key question seems to permeate the material and is a key take-away focus for me. It’s not a new idea. I’ve included some version of this concept in a pile of previous posts. But the fresh emphasis is timely and the key to the tight focus she propounds.

I initially waited months after requesting a copy of this book from the county library system. When it finally arrived, I read a couple of chapters, then returned it and ordered my own print copy. This is a book I want to refer back to. It’s a book I want to wave in front of groups and quote from. It’s soft and feels good in my hands.

In the final analysis, I realize our two books complement one another well. We take rather different perspectives and cover different ranges of material. On balance, hers has more heart focus, mine more craft. So I suggest that if you already have a copy of The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing, you absolutely want to place The Memoir Project on the shelf right next to it. If you don’t have either one, order both!

Meanwhile, visit her website and subscribe to her excellent weekly blog.

Write now: leave a comment if you’ve read this book and tell us what you especially like about it. Or write a comment about how you use scraps and snippets of memory that don’t fit longer stories. Write a vignette about such a memory.