Personal Truth vs. Factual Truth

Rereading old stories often sparks new insights. Ditto with old blog posts. En route to finding an old post about something else, I found “My Brain on Story.” That post is based on an incident where a witness to a mock crime testified that what turned out to be a plastic water pistol was the gun that fired the shot she heard.  Rereading the post led me to reconsider the controversy about Truth I reported there. My son-in-law’s adamant position was that although the perception that a water pistol was a bullet-firing weapon was real, it was not true. I disagreed, clinging to my assertion that the perception was true.

Today a flash of insight penetrated my skull. Sally’s perception of an actual gun and speeding bullets was personal truth  or perceived truth. The documentable fact that the gun was a water pistol was factual truth. While not every instance of questionable truth has documentable evidence to prove it “right or wrong,” in this situation , the matter can be settled. I still maintain that each form of truth is equally valid, but I’ll concede they are different.

Bottom line, in my opinion, it still does not matter. We’re still talking about terminology and the fact that perceived or personal truth plays a powerful role in our lives.

Sally’s personal truth that a pistol was aimed at her and that shots were fired is still as true today as the day it happened in 1984. I did not stay in contact with Sally, but I can say with absolute certainty that she remembers that personal truth, how real it was, and how stunned she was to hold the water pistol. I’m willing to wager that her life turned a corner that day.

The timing of this discovery is amazing. Life has intervened, and that new volume of advice for writing your lifestory is not finished, though I’m deeply engrossed in it again. I believe it’s no coincidence that I’m currently working on the chapter on memory and truth.

This flash of insight holds two jewels for that chapter:

1. Truth comes in at least two versions, maybe more. Each or all are equally valid, just different.

2. Insight and understanding evolve. I’ve written about this before. Lessons sink in and begin to grow when their seed sprouts, and some seeds can take a long to sprout.

My life is full of slow-cooker lessons and evolving understanding. What are some things you’ve been slow to learn?

All Truth Is Fiction, and All Fiction is Truth

Over the past couple of years, a number of scandals involving fake memoirs have rocked the literary world. The latest broke right after Christmas 2008. This time the topic was a love story with its roots set at the fence of a Nazi concentration camp during World War II. The author was Herman Rosenblat, a bona fide survivor of Schlieben, according to a report in Salon.

These controversies raise a flurry of questions, including many about where memoir writers should draw the line between creative license to convey the essence or personal truth of their memories. They call into question the very nature of memory itself.

With these questions in mind, my mind went on full alert when I belatedly thumbed through the October 2008 issue of Writer's Digest and found Jordan Rosenfeld's interview with Isabel Allende, "A Woman of Letters." One question and answer read:

"You've said that in writing memoirs, you work with the truth and then end up lying. Can you explain what you mean?

"A memoir is my version of events. My perspective. I choose what to tell and what to omit. I choose the adjectives to describe a situation, and in that sense, I'm creating a form of fiction. I realized this when I showed the manuscript to the people in my life before it was published. Everyone had a different version of the stories because their feelings were different. If you and I witness the same accident in the street you'll tell it one way, I'll tell it in another and maybe one of us won't remember it in a week.

"There's basically an element of fiction in everything you remember. Imagination and memory are almost the same brain processes. When I write fiction, I know that I'm using a bunch of lies that I've made up to create some form of truth. When I write a memoir, I'm using true elements to create something that will always be somehow fictionalized."

Perhaps the difference between what Allende is talking about and the incidents that have rocked the memoir world of late is a matter of both degree and intent to deceive. James Frye admitted he embellished the truth to add spice to the story. He was purposeful and deliberate about it. Herman Rosenblat admitted that he told his story to "bring happiness to people," and that there was nothing true about it at all. In each of the scandals, the authors admitted awareness of distortions and intentional deceit.

It's one thing to agree with Allende that all memory is somewhat fictional, and that my memory of a room being painted rosy pink is just as valid as my sister's memory of the same room being yellow. It would be quite another thing to say that I rode the super killer coaster at Cedar Point when all I really did was hold the cameras while others did the riding, but the latter doesn't make a compelling story, and who will know the difference if I pass the purposely embellished version off as real and true? I'll stick with my rosy room, but I won't claim to ride the vomit comet unless I can rely on first hand experience to describe the resulting ... never mind. You get the idea.

I will continue to develop my descriptive skills so I can give the most poignant picture possible of sincerely held memories. I’ll stick as close to the truth of my perceptions as I can, but a little creative license is okay in the sense of describing things as I think they must have been. And as a reader, I'll keep in mind that all truth is fiction and all fiction is truth so I can read with compassion and generosity, listening for the inner Truth with less concern about the literal.

Write now: grab pen and paper do some Writing Practice about your personal Truth boundaries and your feelings about deception as practiced by other writers.

What Is Truth?

Eight years ago as I pulled together the material that became The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing, I thought I knew the answer to that question: It's what really happened, or what you really think. It's basic honesty, plain and simple. Everybody knows that, right?

That's a good starting point, but based on what I’ve learned and discovered since then, that definition is incomplete and misleading. Some of my increased understanding is old news, things I knew that had not yet integrated into my life writing neuron cluster. Meanwhile, advances in the field of neuroscience continue to deepen understanding of how memory works. These discoveries have profound  relevance for life writers. Here's a list of a few insights worth sharing:

Memory is fallible. Contrary to what you probably heard in psychology class, self-help seminars, and various other places, your subconscious is not packed with every minute detail of every sensation that ever entered your brain. Recent evidence shows that incoming data is filtered, scrubbed, compacted and consolidated. Unless it significantly relates one way or another to something you already know, most new material is filtered out.

Another stumbling block is that our brains often mistake vivid mental images for fact, embedding them as memory. This phenomenon explains many “suppressed” memories that may be planted by certain forms of questioning. Are those “true” memories? Debate rages on.

Memory morphs. Research shows that each time you recall an event or thought, current circumstances and thought become enmeshed in the memory, which may become buried in debris over time.

Perception is personal. If you have not yet done so, read my essay, Mayhem at Camp Ryla for a first person account of sensational and documented differences in personal perception as a simulated crime was committed. Elizabeth Loftus and other researchers have repeatedly verified my ad hoc observations.

Truth is relative. As you take different points of view, you see truth in different lights. What was true without a doubt to you as a child may look quite different after fifty years of life experience. What seems true to a child is something entirely different to a parent. Experts often disagree on the truth of such fundamentals as the meaning of scripture.

Truth is situational. You may already have noticed how you select aspects of thought depending on who you are talking to. Conversation and writing are both shaped by our perceptions of the people we address. Time dictates filtering. Even if we had all the time in the world, shaping our message for best understanding is also important.

So, again, what is truth? Amazon is full of books on this topic. Here’s my current take. Today my best answer is that truth is found at the core of my being. It’s as ephemeral as an atom, lacking substance and location, but forming the essence of being. I recognize truth as a sensation of rightness or “inner knowingness” that washes over me as my beliefs, values, memories and experience converge in a single bright spot.

Truth does not trump fear, nor does speaking or writing it promise a smooth path. Speaking, writing and living in conformance with truth as you believe and understand it does lead to a sense of integrity and personal peace.

Story that springs from the well of truth within you shines the most brightly. You don’t need to blurt it out. You can veil it, scatter it, turn it upside down. But if it isn’t there, your story will ring hollow.

Writing, especially (but not only) journaling, may be the most powerful way to arrive at your truth. William Faulkner is credited with first saying,  “I never know what I think about something until I read what I’ve written about it.”  The longer you work on a story, the more you dig for detail, the more deeply you know the truth of that story, and the truth of yourself.

Write now: even if you’ve done this before, start fresh and write about a cornerstone memory, ideally one with volatile emotional content. As you write, as yourself the question, “Is this  really true?” Keep writing until the answer to that question is “YES!” Then write the true story.

To Tell the Truth

Guest Post by Wayne E. Groner

A common oath for courtroom witnesses is: “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” While witnesses may still raise their right hands, the use of a Bible in taking the oath has mostly gone out of favor in deference to a variety of non-Christian religious beliefs. The word God is deleted for Atheists and Muslims.

Rotary International encourages members to use its Four-Way Test in all personal and business matters: Is it the truth? Is it fair to all concerned? Will it build goodwill and better friendships? Will it be beneficial to all concerned?

Which brings me to memoirs; to what extent are writers of memoirs required to tell the truth? After all, a memoir is a collection of remembrances, not an exercise in journalism. The best memoirs tell good stories with conflicts, lessons learned, issues resolved or not, and changes that bring growth. Can a memoirist accurately and fairly remember all that stuff, especially the dialogue? And do readers really care?

Storytelling has its extremes. Local and regional liars’ clubs encourage the telling of tall tales for fun. Mary Karr, in The Liars' Club: A Memoir, tells of “a terrific family of liars and drunks” with tidbits and chunks of redeeming truths. Some critics claimed to be unable to tell whether, in some cases, Karr is retelling a fabrication or creating one. James Frey was embarrassed by the national media when it revealed much of his bestseller, A Million Little Pieces, was made up; Oprah Winfrey publicly rebuked him for lying after she initially praised him. A lot of movies are declared to be based on true stories. Based on are the operative words; many of the opening credits should include, “Some of the following is true.” Does memoir qualify as creative nonfiction, that ambiguous and relatively new term for using fiction writing techniques to tell true stories? Lee Gutkind posits creative nonfiction encourages personal viewpoint and conjecture.

Ben Yagoda and Dan DeLorenzo, writing for the Nieman Storyboard project at Harvard University, declared there are no simple answers for the complex questions surrounding truth in memoirs. That said, they tried to take on the problems of memoir inaccuracies by constructing a scoring system, a system they admit is half-facetious and half-serious. They rate inaccuracies according to their negative reflections on people, living or dead; corroboration of facts; questionable dialogue; clichés and flat writing; and self-deprecation. A passing score is 65 out of 100. They applied their scoring to nine memoirs from the year 397 to 2009. Ernest Hemingway’s A Movable Feast received a 69, James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces got 29, and Sarah Palin’s Going Rogue: An American Life got 69. Read the full scoring report and download a printable worksheet to evaluate your memoir. It is a subjective process, since we are all biased about our own work, but it could prove insightful.

What does all this mean for today’s writers of memoirs? If you want to be accepted and respected then you must be as accurate and truthful as possible. What does it mean for today’s readers of memoirs, who are the final judges because they approve or reject memoirs based on what they buy? As Yagoda and DeLorenzo said, “. . . an informed reader has to make the call.”

___________________

Wayne E. Groner is a personal historian and memoir writing coach who blogs at www.waynegroner.blogspot.com

Personal Essay: Pathway to Clarity, Persuasion and Power

What’s the best way to air your personal views? First get clear on what they are, then write a personal essay!

Write an essay? you ask. Me, write an essay? Surely you joke!

I get that. I’ve spent most of my life thinking the same thing. Like most people, I always thought of essays as noxious English class assignments that fed dry toast to brains. 

That was before personal essay and creative nonfiction came of age. Now I recognize essays as both a tool for getting my thoughts clear and orderly, and also a dimension of story — stories explaining what we think and believe and why. Stories exploring Truth. They interlace nicely with stories about experiences. Most stories are hybrids, with elements of both.

Well-written personal essays sizzle with energy and sometimes humor. They make you think. I know this, because I’ve read a pile of them lately. The ones that spurred this post are blog posts by Kristen Lamb.

Two in particular are so powerful I hope they go viral. Both are calls to action, inciting the nation to get a grip and reclaim our sense of balance and humor. While well-meaning and serving an initial purpose, the Political and Emotional Correctness Police have become Nazis, and who isn’t tired of walking on eggshells all the time? I urge you to read them for yourselves:

Lighten the HELL UP! Combatting the Plague of Self-Importance

Emotional Toughness—How Haters & Hurt Feelings Can Be GOOD for Us

In her essays Kristen mixes observations on the current state of cultural values with personal reflections on how these values affect them and society at large. She begins her first post by citing an article, “Is America Starting To Target Thought Crime?” That article reports on how Michele Obama anointed graduating high schoolers as thought police for their families. Yikes!  Kristen went on to build on the ramifications of that.

Her second post continues the theme. I don't see how anyone who reads Kristen's posts can avoid personal reflection and become more clear on personal thoughts.

I haven’t queried Kristen about the process she used to compile these essay/posts, but I’d bet a dime to a dollar that she learned something along the way. That she was more clear after writing than before.

How does that work? How can you do that? 

A few years ago I invited Sheila Bender, noted personal essay writer and teacher, and author of highly acclaimed Writing and Publishing Personal Essays,  to write a series of three guest posts, “Finding Starts in Personal Essay Writing.” That wheel still rolls smoothly down the road, so I invite you to take a few minutes to read through them.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Whether you plan to influence the world or not, do give personal essay writing a try. Take something you often ponder and write about your thoughts and feelings about it. That might be as seemingly simple as the challenges of being short, or something like the current Orlando tragedy. See where it goes. Who knows? You may write something as compelling as Kristen. Or you may just be more clear on your views and able to discuss them more effectively with friends and neighbors.

Points to Ponder: What do you want to be more clear about? What keeps you from sitting down to write? Would it help to write about the fears or reasons for reluctance? They may be the key to unlocking your power. 

What Is TRUTH?

Nine years ago as I pulled together the material that became The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing, I thought I knew the answer to that question, what is truth: It's what really happened, or what you really think. It's basic honesty, plain and simple. Everybody knows that, right?

That's a good starting point, but as I've learned since then, that's both incomplete and misleading. Some of my increased understanding is old news, things I knew that had not integrated into my cluster of life writing neurons. Meanwhile, advances in the study of memory continue to deepen understanding. These discoveries have profound  relevance for life writers. Here's a list of a few evolving insights worth sharing:

Memory is fallible. Contrary to what you probably heard in psychology class, self-help seminars, and various other places, you do not remember every minute detail of every sensation that ever entered your brain. Recent evidence shows that incoming data is filtered, scrubbed and consolidated. Irrelevant material is unlikely to be retained. Furthermore, our brains often mistake vivid mental images for fact, embedding them as memory.

Memory morphs. Research shows that each time you recall an event or thought, current circumstances and thought become enmeshed in the memory, and the initial memory may become buried in debris over time. Compare this to your story files on disk. You may save your initial draft. Then you edit and save again. You may repeat that process twenty times, perhaps changing only a word or two each time you read. Five years later, if you had a copy of that original draft, you may not recognize it as the same story. But you didn't save the original, so there's now way to know.

Perception is personal and situational. In 1978 I grew sick of my long, hippie hair. I was enrolled in an off-campus graduate program at Central Washington U at the time, and made the hundred mile drive to the Ellensburg campus every couple of weeks. One day I left early and stopped at a hair salon before a lunch date with my mentor. Although I felt foxy as heck with my sleek new bob, I could barely see beyond a new fringe of bangs invading my view. My next stop was the library. When I stepped up to the checkout desk, I heard a man say, "Oh, my GOD!" A bomb exploded in my self-absorbed brain. Could my hair be that bad? I swung around and saw him gaping at a document.

Truth is relative. This perspective is based on the one above. In my essay, Mayhem at Camp RYLA, I cite the example of a young woman who worked as a bank teller and was held up at gunpoint a few months earlier. Shots were fired, though not at her. During a simulated crime at Camp RYLA, she saw an object held at arms' length, pointed in her direction. Not only did she tearfully swear under oath at the mock trial that a gun had been pointed at her, but that she'd heard a shot. That belief was so strong and true for her that she went into near meltdown at the revelation the "gun" had been a plastic water pistol.

Truth is situational and sometimes inconsistent. Victims of abuse often testify to this. "I loved him," they claim, years after they got brave enough to leave. "I really loved him. And I hated him when he beat me. Sometimes I wished he was dead." Those feelings, those truths, can exist side-by-side for decades.

So, you see, although I don't deny the existence of universal truths like the power of love, story truth is fuzzy, fleeting and personal.Write your story the way you see it, the way it's real and true to you. If you find truth changing as you write, consider yourself blessed.

Write now: Make a list of beliefs about what you hold true. Jot down a few examples of each. Then ask yourself Byron Katie's question, "Is this really, really true?" and "How do I know it's true?" You may be surprised by what you learn.

New Beginnings

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

January First is typically thought of as a day of new beginnings. This year and this post also mark the completion of 300! posts in this blog. In the spirit of New Beginnings, I’m expanding the blog's scope. For nearly three years and three hundred posts, I’ve concentrated almost exclusively on writing lifestories. Today, you’ll notice that the title has changed ever so slightly. Now, rather than being The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing, one word is missing. It’s simply The Heart and Craft of Life Writing, a small but subtle distinction.

Over the course of time, especially the past year, I have become increasingly aware of the various facets of life writing and how they fit together. Some people can stick with a single focus for their entire lives and feel satisfied and happy. I’m not one of those people. I’m an adventurer, a wanderer, an explorer of new perspectives and insight, and eager to try things new ways. I need to follow this impulse to expand for my own reasons, and trust that you will find additional value also.

The facets of life writing as I currently see them include both processes and products, and they overlap all over the place, so the boundaries I describe below are arbitrary and loosely defined. The first three, autobiography, lifestory and memoir have been the focus to date, with the most attention given to lifestory writing. I’ve mentioned journaling, personal essay and documenting, but mostly in passing. The change in blog title reflects my growing interest in these latter three.

• Lifestory — informal vignettes of specific memories and events written from a personal perspective. There is no right way to go about it. They can be as informal as a journal, as impersonal as a document, or as insightful as memoir. They can be rough drafts or highly polished. They can stand alone or be incorporated as elements in a longer work. They are the perfect place for a beginner to get started.

• Memoir — a highly personal account of a specific period of aspect of life. Memoir emphasizes personal reaction and interpretation as much or more than events. It generally implies more literary focus and polish and may evolve from a collection of lifestories.

• Autobiography (chronicling) — an overview of your life, generally written in chronological order. The focus tends to emphasize events and circumstances more than personal observation and interpretation.

• Journaling — a repository of raw thoughts, memories, and insights. A tool for discovering insights and documenting and recording events. Journaling is highly personal and there is no right way to do it.

• Documenting — memorabilia that genealogists treasure like a birth and marriage certificates together with constructed documents like a time line of your life, an account of a specific event including details. Many autobiographies serve to document the details of a life. These documents often serve as supplementary material for other writing.

• Personal Essay — the other end of the line from documenting ... or maybe not. Essays document insights, beliefs, opinions, and interpretations rather than facts. An ethical will is a type of personal essay.

• Poetry and music — valued and time-honored forms of expression, but these forms of life writing will remain outside the bounds of this blog.

Though the focus and title are broadening, much of the content will remain consistent, addressing topics like Truth, secrets, disclosure, and other key concerns. You may not even notice the expanded focus, but I’m a stickler for clearly defining the purpose of any piece or collection of writing, so the title had to change to reflect the expanded focus.

I wish you every blessing and success in this new calendar year and hope that it will be filled with written words as well as joy, growth, and expanded insight.

Write now: doodle some thoughts about the focus of your writing projects. What do you want to write about in the coming weeks and months? Do you have unfinished stories you want to polish? Do you seek publication, by others or your own devices? Expand your timeline. Add to your store idea list. Pull out an old story and polish it. Whatever you do, write!

Fact or Fiction?

An ongoing debate rages in the memoir world about Truth. What are the limits? How much creative license is too much? Where do you draw the lines between memoir and fiction?

The case for fictionalizing memoir is growing increasingly prevalent and strong. Proponents claim that all memory is fiction to begin with, since memory is based on perception and perception has to be interpreted. No two people perceive things exactly the same way, ergo perception is fiction. Thus all memoir is fiction, so we might as well call it that to begin with and avoid controversy.

Other positive points the fiction camp claims include:

Freedom to disguise characters and place, thus shielding yourself from disgruntled acquaintance, relatives, and lawsuits.

Freedom to embellish details as you wish.

Freedom to distort circumstances to enhance a point.

Freedom to write in third person and include other people’s points of views.

Freedom from concerns about inaccurate or incomplete memory.

Some truth can be expressed more poignantly in fiction than sticking to real life circumstances would allow.

Your muse has more room to dance, play, and toss out delectable insights when unfettered by reality constraints.

These are all valid points and they have artistic merit. There are times when fiction is a powerful alternative. But if you look closely, you’ll notice nearly all those points are based on fear. When the fiction decision is made from fear, it may be a cop-out. This fear may stem from the possibility of censure or offense, from insecurity about writing skills, or from anticipated consequences for baring your soul.

A case can be made that these are all surmountable, and that the rewards of writing your truth in your voice as your true story are likely to be greater than the rewards of writing fiction. Some point out that writing fiction is no guarantee that people won’t attribute it all to your personal experience anyway, as Kathryn Harrison found out when she wrote The Kiss.

Harrison’s first published book was a novel, Thicker Than Water, about a consensually incestuous relationship between a man and his twenty-year-old daughter. Critics claimed it was really a memoir. In truth it was fiction, though based on her own true story. According to her account while keynoting a writer’s conference I attended a few years ago, after writing her third novel, she became blocked and had to write the incest story as a memoir, The Kiss, to get it out of her system. Critics read the memoir and claimed it was fiction. She read parallel passages at the conference, and the memoir was more sparsely written with fewer details.

So how do you know which form will work best for you? It’s always a personal decision and the author’s choice. If you want more information to guide you through this choice, be sure to sign up for the 2011 Fall Memoir Writing Telesummit sponsored by the National Association of Memoir Writers. Eight experts will join NAMW founder Linda Joy Myers to discuss various facets of topic Truth or Lie — On the Cusp of Memoir and Fiction.

Click here to see the list of speakers, times, and topics, and sign up for this free event. Even if you can’t listen live, everyone who signs up will receive a link to listen to replays.

Write now: pull out a favorite memory and write the story as fiction to explore the difference it can make.

Six Things I Learned Going from Memoir to Fiction

Invited guest post by Carol Bodensteiner

Long time readers may be surprised to find a post about writing fiction on this blog about life writing. While it’s true that my focus is on memoir, lifestory, journaling and other forms that draw upon actual experience to express personal truth, sometimes the freedom of fiction is more effective in conveying truth. Carol Bodensteiner found this to be true. She has successfully written in both genres and her experience moving from memoir to fiction has lessons for all.

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I’d been a business writer all my life, so I was used to working with facts. Memoir was a logical first writing step. Growing Up Country: Memories of an Iowa Girl, tells the stories of my childhood growing up on a family farm in the middle of the United States, in the middle of the 20^th Century.

When I finally raised my head from writing, publishing, and marketing the memoir, I looked around for what I’d write next. I turned to family-inspired fiction, which I’d never written before.  My novel, Go Away Home, which I indie published in 2014 and was acquired by Lake Union Publishing (an imprint of Amazon Publishing) later that year, is the result of that effort.

The road from memoir to fiction brought many adventures and a lot of learning. Here are six things I learned along the way.

1) A family story can be a great launching pad to fiction.

Go Away Home was inspired by my maternal grandparents. My grandfather died of the Spanish Flu in 1918. Throughout my life, I’ve been intrigued by my connection to this major world event. As someone used to writing from facts, a family story gave me a starting point: A story I cared to write and people and places that were familiar.

Writing the story as fiction was necessary for many reasons. One was that I didn’t have enough facts to write it any other way. Of course I never knew my grandfather and even though my grandmother lived until I was well into my 20s, I never asked her a single question about him or their lives together. And she was not the type to share. So though the story began with family, it is fiction.

2) Don’t get stuck on the facts

Once I got into writing the story, one of the biggest challenges was letting go of the facts. Since the genesis of this story rose from people in my family, and I knew a bit about the people, places, and events, my inclination was to use those facts. But I quickly found that the facts didn’t work for the story I was ultimately telling. They didn’t create a good story arc. There was no drama. On his website, Write the Truth, Robert McKee said, “The weakest possible excuse to include anything in a story is: ‘But it actually happened.’”  Having gone this route, I believe him.

3) Do get stuck on the facts

Since Go Away Home is historical fiction, research was critical to creating the time period accurately. Clothes, transportation, hairstyles, technology, colloquialisms. The list of topics I researched and fact checked was long. Readers of historical fiction really care about the details. Writers must, too.

Research also helped shape the story. One example: Family lore was that my grandmother went to a sewing school. Research revealed that the town in question didn’t have a sewing school, rather that young girls apprenticed with seamstresses as a way to learn an important life skill and to meet a man to marry.  The idea that seamstresses were invited to their clients’ house parties had terrific dramatic potential, so I ran with that.

Another bit of fact to fiction. My grandmother took pictures, but the whole part in the book about the main character’s work for a photographer and her relationship with him is entirely fiction.  Most of the book is that way. Tiny fact. Huge fiction.

4) Planner vs. Pantser

Writers fall into two general camps: Planners and Pantsers. I wrote my way into Go Away Home, discovering the story through countless re-writes – by the seat of my pants. I always knew the end of the story; I didn’t know how we got there. In the first draft, the story started in 1900 and my main character Liddie was 10. In the second draft, the story started in 1915 and Liddie was 19. In the published draft, the story starts in 1913 and Liddie is 16. Believe me – those changes create seismic waves throughout the story.

Having used this highly inefficient “pantser” approach once, I’m reasonably certain that I’m a “plotter” at heart and will be more plan-ful in future writing.

5) Fiction is freeing

While I thought it would be easier to start with some facts because that was what I was used to, the reality was there was great freedom in starting with nothing. As the story developed (pantser), it became clear that connections were missing. I needed a scene to show my main character’s inexperience with men. No problem. I made up a guy. I found it was great fun to let my imagination run. Over and over, I filled holes with scenes that met a plot need.

6) New craft to learn

I learned a lot about creative writing as I crafted my memoir, much of which was also applicable to fiction. Dialogue, scene development, visual characterization – all come into play in both genres. Plotting was a new challenge in fiction writing, as I noted earlier. Developing multi-dimensional fictional characters was another challenge.

I used a number of techniques that contributed to creating the real, individual people living in my novel. I visualized people I know who were somewhat like the characters I had in mind. Writing exercises helped to identify key traits and to express them in fresh ways. I used Enneagram research to flesh out the positive and negative traits of various personality types.

From memoir to fiction, from craft to research, I will always be able to learn something new about writing, and for me, that’s great fun.

Go Away Home is available on Amazon in paperback and ebook formats.

Growing Up Country is available on Amazon in paperback, ebook, and audio book formats.

Carol Bodensteiner – Bio

Carol Bodensteiner is a writer who finds inspiration in the places, people, culture and history of the Midwest. After a successful career in public relations consulting, she turned to creative writing. She blogs about writing, her prairie, gardening, and whatever in life interests her at the moment. She published her memoir Growing Up Country in 2008. Her WWI-era, debut novel Go Away Home was acquired by Lake Union Publishing, an imprint of Amazon Publishing. It launches July 7, 2015.

Carol’s online links
Website/blog 
Twitter
LinkedIn
Facebook

Write now: think of an interesting ancestor or other person who has influenced your life that you know relatively little about. Drawing on Carol’s experience, write a short story about how you imagine this person’s life might have been. Don’t worry about facts. Just let that story rip. Have fun with this!

Writing With Courage

Every now and then someone asks how to handle a story topic that isn’t currently “politically correct.” I include an example of such material in The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing (to be released in July 2007 by Lighthouse Point Press). It’s about the time I ordered extra spicy food at a Chinese restaurant. I include the dialect of the immigrant Chinese owner in the story, introducing it at the top in the title, “Esstrah Spicy.”

The original version of this story included words like “evil gleam” and “sinister grin.” I would have used these terms to describe a blue-eyed, blond-haired Swede in the same situation — in my mind, they had nothing to do with ethnicity. However, as I read the story with an eye toward publication, I realized those particular terms fed into wide-spread stereotypes from decades ago that had nothing to do with the story. Other words serve the purpose equally well, and I edited accordingly.

I was aware a few people might be uncomfortable with the dialect, but it was as much part of the ambiance of that restaurant as the Asian decor. I would find a glibly American accent on the tongue of Chinese restaurant staff as jolting as French Provincial furnishings. I don’t think anyone would question using dialect if the character hailed from Boston — is China any different? The dialect is an integral part of the story. It stayed.

Where do you draw the line on political correctness? My personal rule of thumb is to tell the story as I understood and saw it, as long as I’m not being intentionally hurtful or mean. Within that determination, if I’m aware something is questionable, I work through this list as I make my decision:

• Is there another way of stating this without changing the meaning? If there is, I'll change it.
  
• Does this description or incident lend significant value to the story’s purpose? If it doesn't, it shouldn't be in there anyway.
  
• Do I have any underlying malice or spite toward the person I’m describing? Malice and spite turn a story bitter. Better to not tell it at all, or at least to wait until the edge is off.
  
• Does the benefit of including this material outweigh the risk of offending or hurting?
  
• Does this material express my own truth?
  

I would never advocate being purposely crash, disrespectful, or insensitive. However, scrubbing all questionable references to personal characteristics that define the uniqueness of others would sanitize the life out of stories, rendering them sterile and boring.

This same sanitizing can distort historical accuracy, giving a false sense of the times you live in. For example, in today’s culture, using the term “Nigger Town” is beyond imagination for most people. But if you grew up in certain parts of the United States in the early decades of the last century, that term was in common usage. It may have been a significant part of your mental map. While it will sound shocking, even offensive, you deny the reality of the times by writing around it. You can soften the impact by including a line or two to explain the cultural context of the times, and perhaps write about your own evolving vocabulary and attitudes. The explanations allow you to teach and witness in a positive way.

You’ll have to make your own decisions, based on your own sense of inner truth and personal integrity. Write with tenderness and courage. Celebrate differences, and don’t let the PC Police force you into hiding your reality and truth.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Untangling a Memory Knot

Do you remember how you celebrated Memorial Day when you were a child? And what difference does it make to know? Traditionally, for me, Memorial Day marked the end of the school year. It was the official beginning of Summer Vacation, and worthy of celebration for that reason alone, especially since, rather amazingly, none of the many veterans in our family lost their lives while serving their country.

This question arose just just now as I wrote about my high school graduation in my journal. I graduated from high school on May 28, and the next day I went home with my grandparents to spend the several days between graduation and the first day of my summer job. My parents came to pick me up ... when? Memorial Day weekend? That didn’t seem possible. There isn’t time for Memorial Day weekend if I graduated on May 28.

My compulsive need for accurate details kicked in. I set my journal aside, reached for my nearby laptop, and googled over to a perpetual calendar to refresh my memory regarding the day of the week that May 28 fell on that year. Although perpetual calendars are enormously valuable for unraveling many mysteries, it didn’t help with this one. A few more clicks turned up the explanation that Memorial Day was always celebrated as a stand-alone holiday on May 30 until the passage of the Uniform Holiday Act in 1971 that created all the lovely three day weekend holidays we enjoy now.

Thus Memorial Day was not a long weekend back then as I’d been thinking. It was the First Day of Summer Vacation — unless it fell on a Sunday, in which case it was the Second Day of Summer Vacation.

What difference does all this make? It’s a prime example of how memories morph and blur. I forgot that we didn’t always have that three day weekend. It probably blurred together with Labor Day, which marked the official end of summer vacation — it was carved in stone that we return to the classroom the Tuesday after Labor Day, which has always has always been celebrated on the first Monday of September, ensuring a three day weekend.

If I had written in the Los Alamos Years memoir I’m tapping away on that my parents came up to pick me up over Memorial Day weekend, nobody would ever have thought twice about it, and it would have been true enough. That claim expresses personal truth, supported by the reality of memory. If anyone checked a few decades from now, at worst they’d figure I’d gotten a little wifty and let it go.

Since tools for determining factual truth are easily available, with about four minutes of searching, I was able to set the record straight. I can keep my account accurate, and perhaps insert a little historical insight by including half a dozen words about the history of the holiday date change.

Although this is a personal decision, when accurate facts are readily available, I feel better when I make the effort to find and use them. When the facts are not available, memory and considered speculation will suffice, though if I have serious doubts, I may qualify such statements with a phrase like as I recall... .

Write now: click over to a perpetual calendar and use it to determine the day of the week for significant events in your life. For example, do you remember what day of the week you were born? How about your children? What day of the week was JFK assassinated? Conversely, if you remember the time of month something took place, for example, the third week of August, you can probably find the date using the perpetual calendar. You can file these dates away for future reference, or just know that this tool is always there.

Alternatively or additionally, write about your feelings about technical accuracy in matters like this. How important is it to you?

Q & A About Keeping a Journal

Photo by Julie Jordan Scott

Journaling is one of the most intensely personal activities you can indulge in and one of the most powerful self-care ones, plus it's a gold mine of material for memoirists. Because it is so personal, there is no right way to do it, but many beginners still have questions. Below are a few of the most common.

Do I have to write by hand?
No. There is some evidence that writing by hand slows your thinking to an orderly pace, giving meditative-like benefits, but the edge is slight. If you are able to catch the gush of your thoughts better on a keyboard, go for it.

How should I choose a journal?
It doesn’t matter if you use a hand-bound volume covered in Italian leather, a composition book from the Dollar Store, a folder full of loose paper, software like LifeJournal. or a basic text editor. What does matter is that you choose something you feel comfortable with, and then use it.

When is the best time to write?
Many people prefer to write first thing in the morning, but that doesn’t work for everyone. Write when you can — during coffee or lunch breaks at work, on the bus, after dinner ...

How often should I write?​
To get the most meaningful results, you should write at least several times a week. In her multi-million copy best-seller The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron advises writing three pages, first thing, every day, and millions of people around the world follow this advise. She does not specify page size. If you skip a day or few for whatever reason, Just pick it back up and keep going as soon as you can.

How much time should I spend?
As stated above, Julia recommends three pages. That may take ten minutes or an hour. Write for as long as you feel the urge and have the time.

What should I write about?
Anything at all. You can keep a log of the weather, record your comings and goings, rant and rave. You can keep a gratitude journal. One key to using it for enhanced health and enlightenment is to focus on feelings, emotions and reactions. The more you get your inner thoughts on paper, the more self-aware you become, the more alternate perspectives you’ll find, and the more stress you are likely to relieve.

Should I share my journal?
That’s a personal choice. If you think others might read it, you’ll filter what you write. You’ll gain the most insight if you keep it private. Hide it or keep it elsewhere if you don’t trust people you live with. Then always write the Truth as you know it, and watch that Truth transform.

What other tips should I know?
Two key questions have generated huge pay-offs of insight for me: “Is this true?” and “What can I learn from this?” After I write one of those questions on the page, I just write down the answer without serious thought. Writing dialogue with people from the past — or even imaginary people — is also powerful for surfacing hidden thoughts and wisdom.

Another tip is to write as fast as you can without concern for punctuation, grammar or even making sense. Just get it on the page and don't let your inner critic stop you!

Do I need lists of topics to write about?
No. But using them can seed some amazing essay material.

What if I lapse?
My advice about writing in your journal is the same as writing life stories: Anything you write, anything at all, is better than writing nothing. Even if it is just a few paragraphs a couple of times a year.

Where can I find more information?
My favorite websites about journaling:
     International Association for Journal Writing
     Writing Through Life
     Center for Journal Therapy

My favorite books about journaling:
     One to One, Christina Baldwin
     Journal to the Self, Kathleen Adams.

Write Now: if you don’t have a journal, find some paper or open a new file and start one. If you do have one. pull it out and write an entry.

In Defense of Surface Writing

In her new book, The Art of Memoir, author Mary Karr repeatedly urges readers to dig deep to discover their true story. As a disclaimer, I’m not digging back into the volume to discuss it. This post is based on what I perceived, understood, and remember, not her specific words. My perception is my reality, my truth. If that varies from literal words in the book, that’s how memory works, and that’s part of my point.

Karr, along with countless others, myself included, have continually made the point that as you begin to edit and refine your initial story and reflect about what really did happen, how else you might look at the past, how else might you tell it, your story changes. In fact, you reconstruct history. Some give the impression that this reconstruction conveys our true essence and is truer than our initial understanding or viewpoint, no matter how long we held it.

As I read Karr’s thoughts on this reconstruction, I was overwhelmed with the certainty that these “deeper truths” are no truer than the ones we’ve lived with, perhaps for decades. Our lives may be richer for reaching them, but they NOT MORE TRUE.

What you remember on the surface is your story, the story that made you who you are. You may derive enormous personal benefit and change your life by digging, archeologist-style, into your past, but that does not diminish the personal validity of your original insights and belief, your original truth.

Early drafts of your story convey a sense of who you have been. When you begin crafting and editing that story, it remains true, but continues to develop. You continue to develop and grow. Deep reflection and insight can shape and reflect who you become. New information can change how we view the past, but it can’t change how we thought and felt before we turned that corner. We are, after all, works in progress, continually evolving as we travel life’s path, and stories change even for those who never write.

Memories do tend to morph over time. Read an old journal if you need examples. Just keep in mind that their initial form is as true and valid as whatever form they eventually take.

I bring this up in the hope that nobody will be deterred from writing or sharing stories for fear they have not dug deeply enough or their story may not be true enough on the first or second draft to be deemed “worthy” of writing or being read. I hope nobody will be deterred from writing at least a few stories from the certainty they’ll never have the time, skill or motivation to polish it to perfection.

Enough of that Inner Critic talk! All stories are worthy of writing and sharing. Furthermore, no matter how well-developed and polished, or how loudly your supporters cheer, not all will appeal to a million people. So whatever your level of skill, motivation and resources, don’t hesitate to write yours.

Do you find this concept startling, that truth can be defined on multiple levels? Do you agree? What are your thoughts and experiences? I welcome and encourage comments on all facets of this topic. Please join the discussion.

Tale of a Neo-pagan

Last week a friend sent me a link to Belief-O-Matic, a fun quiz on Beliefnet that features twenty multiple choice questions about your concept of God, the afterlife, human nature and related beliefs. It’s programmed to compare your pattern of responses to beliefs of 27 different religions. It generates a report showing how closely your beliefs align with each faith. The e-mail included a report of her top ten matches. To my amazement, her top one was Neo-Pagan.

Wow! I thought. She publicly admits to being pagan?

Then I stopped to examine my response. It was strong and immediate. And stunned. The word “pagan” carries lots of baggage.

*   *   *   *   *
 
STOP RIGHT HERE

Before reading any further, take a few seconds to focus on your reaction to that name/label.

 *   *   *   *   *

My instant associations include earthy, sensual, orgies, seasonal, Earth worship, Gaia, priestesses and sacrifice as well as more sinister ones: burning at the stake, Satan, ignorance, heathens. Thoughts of warnings about pagans that I learned in Sunday School flash to mind. Pagans were to be avoided by all but missionaries for fear of contamination. No wonder I reacted strongly.

Over the years I’ve grown open to learning about other religions, and my beliefs have evolved far from my childhood training. Nevertheless, belief is a strongly personal thing, and may not be easy to talk about — or write about. Traditionally, public discussion of religion has been on a par with talking about money, sex and politics — strictly taboo. Some people are reluctant to take a strong stand on any issue, for fear of making waves, seeming foolish, alienating people, or being trapped if they should change their mind.

Then I saw the connection with life writing and Truth. “The Truth shall set you free,” may first have been uttered by the apostle John, but it resonated so strongly that it’s rare to listen to a motivational/inspirational speaker for more than twenty minutes and not hear that sentiment. It underlies much of the current memoir movement.

By sending that report, my friend spoke her truth. I checked with her. She has received no negative responses, and she feels empowered for having made this disclosure. A few friends have sent their results to her. Turns out there are lots of people in our midst who hold pagan beliefs, and she would not have known that if she hadn’t been brave enough to share. In fact, I was as astonished to find that I’m among that number as I was at her initial disclosure.

Write now: Explore your reactions to the word Pagan. What is the origin of your beliefs and the way you value those words? How have these beliefs and values shaped your outlook and your life? Have they changed over time? Record your thoughts in a journal, essay or story. 

Photo by ; Kam

Little Story, Lots of Lessons

Closing the covers on a tale of epic proportion is merely a transition on my path of savoring a book. I may spend weeks gnawing on the bones of that book, reliving favorite scenes and savoring the way the details come together. Shorter stories may provide welcome diversion and profound insights, but seldom stick with me as long.

Michel Sauret’s memoir, Child, Hold Me, is an exception. I found the book after following a link to”How Much Does It Cost to Publish a Book?” on Sauret’s meaty blog. A blurb for the book piqued my interest:

From International Book Awards winning author Michel Sauret, “Child, Hold Me,” is a short memoir about losing a child in the womb, told through a man's perspective.

What? A man has written a memoir about miscarriage? Wow! This was new territory for me. I read on and learned that Sauret and his girlfriend were still in college and … the frank confessions in that blurb stunned me. I clicked the link to Amazon.

For less than the  cost of a cappuccino, the story flowed onto my iPad, and I dug in right away. Captivated by phrases as rich as the insights they convey, I read straight to the end. Sauret writes with his heart wide open. I’m reminded of the phrase attributed to an army of authors,

Writing is easy. You just open a vein and bleed onto the page.

Sauret’s literary blood and gutsy writing flowed straight into my heart in little longer than the time required for a physical transfusion. This memoir is short – 88 pages according to Amazon (it’s not available in print) – but lacking in nothing, and it packs a powerful punch. I’ll be chewing on this bone for weeks to come. Some of the points I’ll ponder:

Reading memoir by diverse authors broadens my insight into the human condition. I’d never stopped to think how losing an unborn child might affect a man. Suaret’s frank disclosures jolted me to attention and broadened my point of view. I never intended to limit my perspective of difficulties conceiving and carrying a child to term as strictly a woman’s concern, but I realize now I pretty much did.

What other blinders do I unwittingly wear? I shall keep reading and learn, taking them off, one-by-one.

Self-disclosure builds bonds of trust between writer and reader. Daring to disclose personal truth on the page, especially raw confessions such as Sauret makes, opens portals between people. They crack shells of indifference and preoccupation. They remind us there are people out there. People who live and breathe and bleed when they’re hurt. They snap our little lives into perspective. They breed compassion.

Longer isn’t always better. Sauret writes his tale tersely, within a small space. Yes, I was left hungry for some additional details, but he covered the essential points. In retrospect I realize that the details I hungered for are primarily trivia that’s fun to read at the time, but seldom stored in long-term memory. He stuck to the bones with just enough muscle to make them move. I read the story in two hours, but will ponder it as long as if it took two weeks.

Story transcends boundaries of gender, race, time and place. Saueret’s story reminds me that men can move beyond macho to cry, feel compassion and unbounded love. Ian Mathie’s African Memoir series reminds me that purportedly primitive people are wise in ways we may fail to fathom.  Jerry Waxler’s Memoir Revolution thoroughly explores the world of ways memoir enriches lives.

The advent of digital publishing opens the opportunity to publish a collection of mini-memoirs, much like literary Lego blocks, allowing readers to pic and choose, linking them in a variety of ways. We are freed from the pressure to crank out 75,000 words to make our story worthwhile. Hooray for that!

Write now: think of a major turning point in your life. Outline the elements, including lessons learned, and consider ways of converting that experience into a mini-memoir, writing the bones, with enough muscle to make them move. Share your thoughts about writing in smaller scale. in a comment. Is this liberating? Disappointing?

Above All, Cause No Harm

“You can’t write the truth of someone without mentioning their warts and wrinkles as well as their angelic smile. And how can  you write about the warts and wrinkles without causing them distress?”

This question comes up in one form or another in every memoir and lifestory class I teach. Everyone hopes for stone tablet truth to guide them, but alas, there are no hard and fast rules. But take hope and use these tips to guide your decisions:

1) Write privately first.

It’s therapeutic to get angry feelings on the page, out in the open where you can see them. Sometimes simply writing the reasons for your rage focuses it, and the reasons may look ridiculous or blown out of proportion. Perhaps that’s enough and you can burn, shred or delete the words and all will be well.

If it isn’t well, think care-fully before sharing your thoughts lest you cause greater damage to self or others, or paint yourself into an unforeseen corner or difficult situation. I speak here of rage, but other emotions can be equally volatile. You can’t always know how others will hear or understand.

2) Go to the balcony.

The idea in this concept borrowed from negotiation texts is to rise above the situation and consider the points of view of all concerned in any conflict, misunderstanding, or emotional events. There is always another side to any story. Simply making the effort to look at other points of view may change the way you see things. 

3) Write from compassion rather than revenge.

Nobody wants to read whining stories, and those simply point fingers and write from a victim’s point of view are likely to be set aside rather soon. You may not understand why a person committed an evil or hurtful act, but whether it’s an “external” event such as failure to repay a loan, or an “internal” one like betrayal of trust, physical or emotional abuse, or other forms of pain, simply state what happened and how it affected you. Skip the name calling and judging. That will not gain you sympathy or credibility with readers, nor will it improve your state of mind and mental health. Give them the benefit of the doubt if you can and express empathy.

4) Get guidance from others.

Ask a trusted friend or writing group if your story is too judgmental or likely to cause pain to someone you care about – or worse yet, provoke legal complications. Ultimately it has to be your decision, but these advisers can help you tone things down or make decisions about certain story elements you may do well to omit.

5) Ask permission.

Many memoir writers mention somewhere in their books that they showed their draft to parents or others who might be offended or hurt by the material. They encountered surprisingly few objections. Requests for changes were often about things the author never would have expected.

However, few realize that their consent is no guarantee that no feelings will be hurt. For a variety of reasons, people may agree to allow you to publish something that actually is hurtful. To minimize this possibility, go back up the list to the point about compassion. Hopefully if your relationship is healthy enough that you were able to ask, you have come to the point of understanding and forgiveness, and expressing that that will surely blunt the pain for the offenders as well as gaining you points with readers.

6) Change names and details.

People who know you will probably know who you are writing about, but far fewer than if you use real names.

7) Write fiction.

You may have heard the adage, “All stories are true, some stories happened.” Some truth is best and most safely expressed in fiction.

Write now: write a personal essay on your feelings about showing other people’s warts and wrinkles in published stories. You may have someone specific in mind, or you may write more generally about people you once knew who are unlikely to ever read your story, but if they learned about it could be embarrassed.

Photo credit: Quinn Dombrowsky

Apology to China

Shanghai skyline from bus crossing bridge

Shanghai riverside park

My face is red. I misspoke and must set the record straight. As you can see from the two photos above, the skies are not always white in China as reported in my last post. Flipping through some of the thousands of photos I took on our trip, specifically to find pictures of some of the stunningly beautiful high-rise architecture we saw (my title for the trip is China: Under Construction), I was shocked to see several consecutive pictures taken in Shanghai that featured blue sky. At first I thought that was caused slightly tinted bus windows, as in the first shot, but the second one was shot in the open air around noon.

How could that happen? How could I fail to remember the mild sunburn I got that day as we walked through a park and along the streets of a part of town that has been preserved as a living, fully functional museum of a historic Shanghai shopping district?

I share this story with you for three primary reasons. First, to set the record straight about China’s air and weather. But more than that, this incident reflects the way memory works. I began the trip noticing the white skies, and I can truly say this sunny day was an anomaly. To my mind, this beautiful sunny day was comfortably “normal,” like I’d expect at home, so to my programmed perception for the trip, it was hardly worth noticing. It did not stick in memory.

Ordinarily, the unusual does stick in memory, but for the purposes of this trip, my perceptions got turned around. The white skies that would be unusual at home became the norm for China, and that norm, being unusual in my overall life experience, is what stuck — not the single gorgeous day that lulled me into a sense of familiar comfort and knocked the sky out of awareness. (I hope you follow that!)

The third point is the value of having multiple modes of capturing your experience. If I hadn’t had those photos, I never would have remembered the sunny day. And ... if I hadn’t been focusing on white skies, I never would have noticed that one day was different. More about this in another post.

Our minds and memories are amazing things, as are the functions that focus what’s in them. I don’t want to turn this blog into a dissertation on brain function, fascinating as the topic is. If you want to learn more, specifically about the reticular activating system that continually scans our input for relevant information and helped me notice that blue sky when I saw it this morning, I recommend two books. The first is Train Your Mind, Change Your Brain , by Sharon Begley. The second is Liberating Greatness, by Hal Williamson and Sharon Eakes.

Was I untruthful in my earlier report of white skies? No. That is my primary memory, and although it’s not entirely accurate, it was my “personal truth” when I wrote it. It’s also generally true. In this case, writing about a country I’ve come to care about is not so different from writing about a person I care about, and I felt obligated to set the record straight. I can do this in a blog. It’s not so easy in print. I would not lose sleep if I’d immortalized that impression, but this is a good reminder to me and others to double-check what we can, if there is a way to do so, without becoming obsessive about details we can’t check.

Write now: about a time when you discovered a memory error, or remembered things differently from a family member or friend. Or maybe nobody called you on the error, but you found it yourself. How did you handle this? How do you feel about literal accuracy in your writing? Are you fact focused or impressionistic?

How Did You Feel About That?

Books on lifestory writing emphasize the value of including personal reactions and insights into events in your stories. I was recently involved in a lively and enlightening discussion of this matter with a group of students.

One student encouraged another to include at least a brief explanation of personal feelings and responses in stories covering content that would normally evoke an intense emotional reaction. “When you don’t tell us your reaction, you seem sort of detached or dispassionate. I can’t believe these situations didn’t affect you somehow. I’m looking for that information.”

Another student took a different view, pointing out that many people don’t typically express these views when they talk of the experience, so it would be out of character to include them in written accounts. “People will come to their own conclusions about how they feel about these situations.”

Both of these astute observations are valid. Reporting feelings is a personal decision, and one that can only be made by the writer. If you don’t report your own feelings and reactions, readers are likely to attribute their reaction to you. This may not accurately reflect your experience. Perhaps the best guideline is to consider the result you want to achieve. If it matters to you that people understand how you felt, you must tell them. If it doesn’t matter, then follow your natural inclination.

Also, when you talk about your experiences, facial expression and body language indicate how you felt, so people sense your reaction even though you don’t specifically tell it. If they wonder, they can ask when you’re talking in person.

It needn’t take more than a few words to include reactions. For example, many years ago my husband and I climbed Mt. Monadnock in New Hampshire. On the way back down, ascending hikers began warning us that there was a dead man down the trail. About twenty minutes later we finally rounded a bend and found a sturdy hiker collapsed on the ground beside the trail. His skin had a slight gray cast, but otherwise he looked as if he were merely asleep. Several hikers were keeping watch over the body, waiting for the family and park officials to arrive.

I could leave the description at that, and let you experience your own reaction. Or, I could write about my intense anxiety upon seeing this youthful and apparently healthy looking man lying dead beside the trail, or tell you how intrigued I was to see an actual dead body, or report the awe I felt at seeing an aura hovering above the body, or how I had to step to the side of the trail and hope nobody saw me lose my lunch…I could, but each of those reactions was fabricated for effect. In truth, the memory remains sobering nearly twenty years later, and it served as a wake-up call to the fragility of life.

You can see that it didn’t take many words to convey each of those sample reactions, and you see that many reactions are possible. If it mattered to me that you know how I personally felt, I’d have to tell you myself, rather than relying on the accuracy of your assumptions.

Are you naturally inclined to include your feelings and reactions? Try looking at stories you’ve written about intense events and consider whether adding more feelings would give readers a better sense of your nature. On the other end, are you including so much emotional content that other details of the story get lost? Balance is something to strive for.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal