Points to Ponder Before Tarnishing Memories

Tarnishing the memory of someone held dear by friends, family or others is not a step to take lightly, but it’s a risk some of us must take if we dare to share the truth of our differing personal perspective on that person. You may have heard the widespread encouragement “Be brave. Be bold. It’s your story, you have the right to tell it!” Telling by writing is good. And, it’s prudent to consider all aspects of that decision before sharing or publishing what you write.

Sometimes that truth is known, and nothing you write will be a surprise. In my family it’s no secret that my maternal grandmother had both favorites and those she scorned. I was one of the favorites. My cousins, siblings, and I and have discussed that divide. I acknowledge her ugly treatment of the scorned one and though I admit to fond feelings for her, I do not eulogize her for the affection she showed me.

All too often hurt and resentment remain secret. One person I know, I’ll call her Clarissa, was so subtly abused by a former spouse that nobody noticed. She was unaware herself until the marriage ended. Eventually she recognized the problems for what they were. She’s writing about it, but has no plans to show her stories to family members.

“Don’t you think your son would benefit from knowing?”

“No. He adores his father. He would not understand and it would not be helpful.”

That woman is wise, and as we talked, several points about disclosure arose. This is not a new topic in memoir circles, but you may not have thought of all these angles.

Disclosing negative reports of your experience messes with other people’s feelings and memories of the subject of your disclosure and also of you. They may not always welcome that intrusion. They may react in one or more of these predictable and widely discussed ways. They may

• Argue with you. Many will feel inclined to protect the person they hold dear and  you seem to smear.
• Get angry. They may be furious that you took potshots at a hero.
• Not believe you.
• Spread deeply hurtful stories about you.
• Avoid or disown you. You may no longer be welcome at the Thanksgiving dinner table.
• Consider you unfair. Especially if the subject of your disclosures is dead, that person will not be in a position to defend him or herself. If alive, ugly arguments can ensue.
• You may incite a family feud. 

Ponder the guidelines below as you consider whether to share even a single controversial story with a single person involved:

1. Am I writing from revenge? In a blog post, writing guru Jane Friedman cites advice from Marion Roach Smith’s highly recommended book, The Memoir Project: A Thoroughly Non-Standardized Text for Writing & Life:

Never write a story because you want to extract revenge or betray someone.

Read the rest of the post or Smith’s book to learn why. Linda Joy Myers, founder and president of The National Association of Memoir Writers, is another well-known apostle of this creed, emphasizing it often in blog posts, public teleseminars, her book, The Power of Memoir, and other arenas.

2. How will these people (this person) benefit from knowing what happened to me? The answer may be, they won’t. Especially if you write from revenge. But let’s expand on possibilities from Clarissa’s situation. Perhaps her son could learn something that would help him improve his marriage.

3. Are they likely to understand? If the son does adore his father, he’s more likely to defend his dad than look into his own behavior. Short of directly pointing out flaws in the way her son treats his wife, he’s unlikely to get the message. If she does point them out, anger and avoidance may kick in, further closing his mind.

4. Is my disclosure important to set family history straight? Connie faced major controversy when she decided to include ninety-year-old newspaper coverage of the trial of an uncle who was convicted of murdering his wife in a family history she wrote. “That’s ancient history. Why dig it up again now?” Connie did have a reason: to show current and future generations that they come from a tough line of survivors of many family tragedies who thrived despite it all. Most family members applauded her efforts.

5. Is sharing this story likely to be a satisfying experience? If you have well-founded hope of being heard and acknowledged with empathy and compassion, or of inciting positive change in some way, maybe so.  If you foresee significant risk of inciting negative reactions, you could find the situation boomeranged, and that you’ve made things worse. 

Always keep in mind that written words hold even more power than spoken ones. Once read, they can never be erased. If you do decide to disclose, do your best to show all relevant perspectives. This open-minded approach tends to be contagious.

Bottom line: Lacking a compelling reason to disclose despair, the greatest kindness you can extend to others may be to leave memories intact. Work through your feelings and get the feedback you need by journaling, talking to friends, sharing with trust writing groups, or seeking therapy, but beware of messing with family members’ minds.

“I Could Write About My Sex Life”

Soon after I began teaching lifestory writing, I met with a man I knew only slightly, I’ll call him Sam. Sam wanted my advice on how to write his lifestory. I was several years short of sixty,  and this crumpling man in his late eighties. As usual, I suggested he start with a story idea list and asked him what he might want to write about. I sat patiently for what seemed like an hour while he sat silently, slumped in his chair and lost in thought.

Suddenly he seemed suffused with high noon sunshine as his head lifted. A huge smile spread across his pallid, wrinkled face. “I could write about my sex life!” he said, sounding like a child who just spotted the carnival’s cotton candy stand.

I’m embarrassed to admit this – I remember recoiling in shock. I hope that  reaction was confined to my mind and didn’t show on the surface. Age difference was definitely a factor. It’s true that I would have been stunned to hear anyone say this, male or female, but I would have pursued the topic with someone my age. Generational differences made it unthinkable to pursue it with Sam. I knew that I would absolutely not, under any circumstances, want to read about my parents’ sex life, and he was older than my father. I assumed his children would feel the same way. I’m sure a psychologist could have a ball with my reaction.

“You could …” I demurred. “It might be a little hard for your children to read ….” I swallowed and took another breath. “Is there anything else you might write about?” He visibly deflated. 

The meeting was short. I never saw or heard from Sam again.

I’d answer him differently today. I’d return his radiant smile, maybe wink, and encourage him to write about those lovely memories that obviously gave him great pleasure. He could celebrate the good times and perhaps grieve their decline. I would still alert him to the fact that his children may not want to read those accounts and remind him that he should discuss things with his wife before sharing with anyone else. But I would definitely encourage him to write for himself.

I have no idea how deeply Sam was thinking of delving into those memories or how much detail he might have included. Although I’ve never had a student or writing group member focus a story specifically on sex, some stories do call for at least a mention of the topic. In such cases, observing good taste and privacy while still providing enough detail to retain authenticity can be a challenge. I’ll save that discussion for another time.

For now, suffice it to say that writing about your sex life will bomb if you aren’t comfortable doing so. Freewriting and journaling are the best way to come to grips with your memories and feelings and the heart of your story and message, whatever the topic. Write for yourself first, then make decisions about what, if anything, to share with whom.

Write now: Not everyone has or had a delightful sex life. If you do or did, write about the joy it’s brought you. Tell how it made your life fuller and better. If you don’t or didn’t, write about that. In either case, write privately. In a journal. On scrap paper. On a keyboard. Write freely, bravely. Try lots of points of view. Write about love and lovers. Write about fantasies and spurned pursuits. Write about how and when you learned the facts of life and all you know now. Explore what turns you on and anything else that comes to mind. I guarantee you’ll learn something, and it may be downright pleasurable and fun.

If you wish your writing would spontaneously ignite when you’re done and it doesn’t, head for a fireplace or shredder. If a piece passes the blush test, consider sharing, with trusted friends or your writing group first, then openly.

To Finish or Bail?

When do you bail out on a story? That’s not an easy decision for yourself, and even harder when someone asks for  your opinion. A couple of days ago, one of my writing buddies sent me an essay she’d planned to post on her blog, but wasn’t sure about. “Is this too boring? Should I post it?”

I knew she’d struggled with that piece and put a lot of heart in it, but after a quick read, my answer was “No. Do not post this. It actually is boring, and here’s why.” Along with my reasons, framed as suggestions future stories and essays, I included the following personal experience:

By interesting coincidence, yesterday I asked a friend to read a story of mine. I'd worked for ages on that story that I thought was deep, meaningful, and well-crafted. A true masterpiece. My friend’s assessment was blunt: “This needs a lot of work. You need to start with the end and you need to add more detail here, here, here (basically everywhere) and develop the character (me) more. I can't tell if you're narrating from now or then, and you don't give me enough ... blah, blah, blah.” He neglected to say what he liked, though I'm sure there were a couple of things.

My friend hit every one of those nails squarely on the head. 

Now I face a decision about whether to continue working on the story or bail. Either is legitimate. I've enjoyed the project so far. But the expanded detail I agree with him that it needs calls for more exposure than I care to dare. Besides, my memory is hazy, and if I flesh it out, it will cross the line into fiction. Does that matter? Where are the boundaries? Actually, I may switch to third person, forget about facts, and morph it to fiction. I might. Or not.

So I ask myself,

• "Why am I writing this?
• Who am I writing it for?
• What am I trying to achieve?"

When I got totally honest with myself, my answers to these questions weren’t quite what I expected, and gave me good reason to back off. Writing this story helped me sort out a few thoughts, and that was valuable, but the world will turn just as well without it.

By my standards, I see now that it’s not appropriate for public dissemination. But I’m glad that I shared it with one person. I did think it was amazing, but from his remarks I learned that before it will work for the world at large, I must open the doors to more nuance of experience.

Why the huge disconnect? I had failed to understand the true breadth of the chasm between what women take for granted and what men understand about women. That’s hardly a surprise, but I doubt a female friend would have caught it so fully.

That’s a big deal and worth exploring. But finishing and publishing this particular story will not add one straw to that stack of understanding. It’s time to move on.

Here’s the bottom line:

All stories deserve to be written, but not every story needs or deserves to be finished or shared.

I wrote about this topic a couple of years ago in a post, “Piles of Unfinished Stories.” In that post I refer to the pile of painting scraps my mother left behind as well as my own growing pile of unfinished stories.

More recently I was heartened to read a post on Cate Russell-Cole’s CommuniCate blog sharing a rosy outlook on the growing publishing glut. In the post she shares this poignant point: “If you interpret success as achieving payment or recognition of some sort, be aware that there are both benefits and risks in judging your success by outside acknowledgement. Research into creativity suggests that in many cases, working for money, accolades and another’s vision, can dampen your creative spirit.” (Italics mine.)

So, break free from reader expectations as well as your own. Write your heart out for the sheer joy of writing. Try new things. Explore and relive. Like your journal content, some will be fit for others to read, some will be for your own pleasure and edification.

Write now: write a story about something secret and juicy, for your eyes only. Ramp it up, vamp it up. Write things that scorch the page. As you edit, ponder other ways to look at the situation and see what you can learn. You may decide later that it’s worth sharing, at least with a writing buddy or two. But give yourself permission to bail before you start writing. Enjoy the experience. Feel the wind under your wings.

On Hiatus

I’m touched by the outpouring of people who contacted me yesterday after reading that terse notice that I’m taking a break from blogging. Thank you for your concern, my friends! I’m deeply touched to realize the extent of the cyber community that has developed among those of us writing our lives.

But never fear. All is well. It’s just time to formalize the break that had already begun with  no plan. It’s time to reevaluate the purpose of this blog and what I want to achieve. A month or more offline will be digital detox to restore clear vision and balance.

A primary focus for me has always been to pay back the pot for all the golden information others shared with me, and to provide help and encouragement for those who lack the resources for high admission events. If people buy my books as a result, so much the better!

The blogosphere and memoir community have grown and evolved over the nearly nine years since I began this blog, and so have my interests, perspectives and skills. When I began, the few websites available were mostly bait to get people to sign up for expensive classes and services. Sites like that still flourish, but there’s plenty of free fodder to graze on – more than anyone can possibly keep up with.

A secondary aim has been to encourage those who write for personal growth and to create a legacy of family history. Publishing is great. Fame and fortune are great. The web is full of advice – good, bad and indifferent – on how to polish and promote your product to make that happen. I hope to keep people aware that unpolished, unpublished pebbles are also worthy of respect.

I admit that I’ve neared burnout on social media and my passion for posting has cooled. But embers till glow. I do expect to be back, refreshed, reconnected with passion, full of new ideas.

Perhaps the greatest compliment I’ve ever received is “You make me think!” I hear that enough often enough, from a broad enough base, to realize that may be my greatest skill and primary value. I feel on the threshold of Big Thoughts myself. Writing will help crack that shell. Stay tuned.

Meanwhile, for poignant memoir writing tips similar to things I post, please visit Elizabeth-Anne Kim’s inspired and compassionate blog, Lives In Letters. Elizabeth is a local writing friend, a generation younger than I. I’m a huge fan of her fresh insights and amazed at the depth of her knowledge. She’s living proof to me that wisdom knows no boundaries of age, and she fuels my hope for the future.

I invite you to join me for in digital detox if you’re flaming out, and write on, as I shall always do.

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.

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?

Is Memoir a Betrayal?

“Writers are always selling somebody out,” wrote Joan Didion at the beginning of her first essay collection, 1968’s Slouching Towards Bethlehem.

This sinister quote was included in Boris Katcha’s feature article on the New York Magazine site discussing Didion’s brutally personal new memoir, Blue Nights. Katcha considers Didion’s words “a statement of mercenary purpose in the guise of a confession: not a preemptive apologia but an expression of grandiose, even nihilistic ambition.”

How might this apply to “ordinary people” writing lifestory and memoir? How many memoir writers have grandiose or nihilistic ambitions? My previous post, “Above All, Cause No Harm,” emphasizes that shadows give depth to a character, and that speaking our truth may be inconvenient or painful for others. So, yes, in a sense, even without Didion’s mindset, memoir can be seen by some as a betrayal, in at least a small way.

Most thinking people will agree that this is a matter of degree. Mentioning that Aunt Agatha was portly won’t raise nearly as many eyebrows as sharing the news that Uncle Elmer groped children, specifically you.

So here’s the ethical dilemma. Assuming it is true that Uncle Elmer groped children, even if “only” you, most would consider that Uncle Elmer betrayed family trust, and yours  most of all. Perhaps by opening this wound to light and air you will help yourself and an entire family heal and move on. Perhaps you will inspire others to speak out and help rid society of this evil, or at least give future generations the strength and awareness to teach children to speak up so we can deal with it quickly before permanent damage is done.

In this case the question may be, if Uncle Elmer betrayed trust in general and yours in particular, is disclosing this fact in a published memoir betraying Uncle Elmer? Betraying the family? I leave that for you to decide. There is  no right answer.

Are hurt feelings a betrayal? Who owns reactions? Does Aunt Agatha ever look in the mirror? Does she think nobody knows she is the elephant is in the room? Is she truly unaware that people whisper and snicker behind her back? If you know Aunt Aggie’s feelings will be hurt, perhaps you don’t need to mention her size and eating habits, at least not so bluntly. Perhaps she’s eating herself into an early grave and you can wait her out. If it is an important story element, you’ll have a decision to make.

On balance, published memoirs do tend to include “juicy” material, perhaps because most people who feel motivated to take on a writing project of that scope generally have some sort of traumatic event or series of events to report, in the belief that doing so will have benefit for others. But even these thorny stories have rose petals strewn among them.

Decisions about what to include and what to leave in the closet are always an individual decision. Use these questions to help make your own:

• What is my purpose for including this event or detail?
• Does it further the purpose of the story?
• Am I using it to gain sympathy or a laugh at the expense of the person I’m writing about?
• What are the long term consequences likely to be?
• Do the anticipated costs of  expected turmoil outweigh the benefits?
• What will that person think? Others who know the person?
• Can I generalize enough to mask the identity of this person?

You may think of other questions to add to this list. I’ll continue writing about this thread in future posts, so please participate in the conversation by posting additional questions and other thoughts in a comment.

Write now: a draft of a story with juicy content that you aren’t sure about sharing with anyone. Write the draft without consideration for propriety or anyone’s feelings. When you finish, look back through the story and underline sensitive passages. Consider each one. How does it contribute to the story? Would your message be clear without that line? Is there another honest way to say the same thing in a less offensive way?

Everyday Editing

What to tell and what to hide is one of the most puzzling questions we all face when writing life stories and memoir. Although few may have realized this, this sort of decision isn’t limited to writing. We make them on a regular basis, perhaps daily, maybe hourly.

My epiphany on this matter came as I wrote a recent email. The email included statements such as “Ordinarily I would not have mentioned this, but …” and “knowing the other side of this story may help you understand … more clearly.”

Rereading that email, I realized that even when I’m not writing, I constantly edit what I say for some or all of these reasons:

To avoid coloring person A’s view of person B.  I realize that my perceptions and beliefs about any given individual reflect my experiences and values which may not pertain to others. Of course that’s most true of less favorable impressions. Favorable ones I share quite freely. When I was young, I often heard the aphorism, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.

To help others avoid a pitfall or make sense of a puzzling situation. As an adult, I realize there are times when exposing the dark side of a situation or person may serve a valuable purpose in helping others avoid similar pain and pitfalls or to help them make sense of an otherwise baffling situation. But my personal code of ethics requires a compelling reason to do so.

To avoid embarrassing others. Children are taught (for better or worse) not to blurt out questions like “Why is that man all hunched over?” or observations like “Aunt Agatha sure is fat!” when that man or Aunt Agatha is within earshot. I could write an entire post about situations like this, but you get the drift.

To present myself in a favorable light. I admit it. I want to be liked and admired. I’m not eager to expose my many Achilles’ heels, though reluctance is crumbling with age and experience.

To express my thoughts in a way that makes sense to others. This requires a certain degree of awareness about the background and thought patterns of others and the ability to adapt to alternate points of view.

To keep others interested. How many times have you silently wished someone would get to the point? Excessive detail bogs down your story and causes glazed eyes and wandering attention in both readers and listeners.

Time limitations. I think at warp speed, about 16/7/365. There will never be enough time to report all my jumbled, overlapping, contradictory thoughts.

Filters and editing are an inherent part of effective communication in any mode. Most of us intuitively recognize the strategic importance of suiting both content and mode of expression to the purpose at hand as we go through our days. It’s no different with writing. Consider your reason for writing, what you hope to achieve, and the reaction you hope for from readers. Pair that with your best understanding of where they are coming from, and make you best call about what information will be most effective and helpful for them.

If you have brazen, inflammatory disclosures to make, you may feel safer doing so from behind the shield of print, but the issues involved in making that decision are almost identical to smaller ones you face each day.

Write and live honestly and boldly, with courage and compassion.

Write now: Think back over the last few days and identify situations where you chose to reveal or hide information. Use free writing to explore these decisions and the beliefs, attitudes and values that led you to make them. Then extend this reasoning to puzzling situations you face about disclosures in stories.

Memoir: Breaking Through to the Next Level

Over the last few days I’ve read two memoirs back-to-back, Margaret Overton’s Good in a Crisis and Jonna Ivin’s Will Love For Crumbs. Both stories revolve around disastrous relationships with men. I was struck by the fact that although these two women had very different backgrounds and their stories are quite different, each had to piece together the puzzle of her mother’s life to break free and follow a different path. I was reminded of computer games where you must find all the hidden tools to advance to the next level. 

As I thought about this similarity, I realized how universal this theme is. I did study Freud once, along with a tower of other psychology books, and dimly recall some psychobabble about “differentiation.” Obviously there is nothing new under the sun here, other than airing this process in public. That public sharing angle is the aspect that most fascinates me.

Thinking beyond the stories themselves, I realized that as I read each one, it stimulated me to think more deeply about my own life and relationships. I realized once again that although I’ve certainly faced my share of puzzling and tense times,  for the most part I’ve led a charmed life, spared most of the traumas they disclose. In spite of the odds against it, I’ve remained happily married for nearly fifty years, and my mother’s shortcomings are hardly worth mentioning. Still, although comparing my life challenges to theirs may be like placing the Blue Ridge mountains next to the Himalayas, reading how these women “broke through to the next level” and became more peaceful and comfortable in their skin settled me more securely in my own. 

As I pondered the powerful effect these books had on me, a light went on. Each woman explained at the end of her book that she initially began journaling or writing random notes in an attempt to make sense of her experience. Transforming those notes into a coherent narrative was a profoundly healing experience. That healing process rippled out to me as a reader, and presumably to a multitude. Perhaps, just maybe, those of us who are “called” to write and share our stories are gifted with the opportunity to help others find hidden clues and find their own next levels of peace and freedom. As we heal ourselves, the effect spreads through our words into the world at large. 

I’m reminded of thoughts I’ve heard, perhaps from Christina Baldwin, and probably also from others, about “restorying” the world. I’ve written a pile of blog posts scattered around the web about my own experience with revis(ion)ing my memories and discovering far more light in them than I ever imagined. I know the process works, and some memory visualization tools I’ve found are magic cursors pointing to hidden tools and maps.

Not everyone wants or needs to write and fewer still want to share their work. For many or most, it’s enough to read or privately journal. To whatever extent you are called to write for peace and healing, whether it be a letter of reconciliation and forgiveness, a single short story, or several volumes of memoir, write with boldly honest passion and flood the world with light. I’m beginning to find tangible evidence that as we heal the past, we also heal the future. Let’s get on with that!
As an aside, there is still time to register for my 3-week NAMW short course, Soaring High and Digging Deep: Tools for Refining Your Memoir. It begins this week. Find more details and sign up for the class and this month’s related free Roundtable here. 

Write now: start a collection of random notes about a person or situation that puzzles you. Add to this collection over time as further thoughts occur to you. When you run out of new thoughts, read through what you’ve written and transform that to narrative. As you work on that story, your understanding is almost guaranteed to shift.

Barbara Tate’s West End Girls

Guest post by Harry Bingham gives some prepublication back story from an agent’s perspective showing the need to keep ourselves in our story and prune the extra text to highlight the true story.

When people ask me what I do, I never quite know what to tell them. I’m an author, yes, but I also work part-time running The Writers’ Workshop, an outfit in the UK which offers everything from editorial feedback to running writing courses. Needless to say, many of the manuscripts we receive are still fairly raw, some are good but not exciting – and some, a very few, are simply mind-blowing.

Early in 2009, I got such a manuscript through the letterbox. It was huge. 160,000 words or almost enough material for a 600 page book. And it was a memoir, every word of it true.

The author was an 82-year-old British woman, Barbara Tate, but she hadn’t written the manuscript recently – she’d written the whole thing back in the 1970s. And the story she told tracks back still further, to a two-year period in 1948-49, when the author was a young woman, newly independent in post-war London.

Barbara had had a truly difficult childhood. Her father had been dangerous, her mother neglectful. When Barbara was still very young, she found herself abandoned to the less than tender care of her grandmother. Indeed, although she wasn’t directly abused, her childhood was scarred by lovelessness. She’d never really been loved, never really had a friend.

Her two passions were painting and writing. She painted as often as she could, and signed up to correspondence writing courses when and if she could afford them.

Then, to her joy, she became old enough to leave home. She had a few temporary jobs and was working as a waitress in Soho – one of London’s more exotic areas – when she encountered a woman, the like of whom she’d never previously encountered. That woman was Mae: glamorous, impulsive, charming, spontaneous and warm. She was also a prostitute.

The two woman made friends instantly. Although Barbara was (and would remain) rather conservative in her values, she knew friendship when she saw it. She knew love.

Mae offered Barbara a position as her ‘maid’ – half-companion, half general helper. Barbara accepted.

The manuscript told the story of how that friendship developed: touching, astonishing, moving. The trouble was that the manuscript did lots of other things too. Barbara had felt uncomfortable telling her own story, and kept writing herself out of the picture. The manuscript was amazing, but not quite publishable.

Normally, we’d suggest that such a plainly gifted writer do the necessary editorial work themselves. One of our writing courses teaches self-editing skills that a younger Barbara could have made excellent use of. Or we could just have offered detailed feedback and let her make any corrections herself. But she was in her eighties and simply not physically strong enough to tackle the work involved. So we agreed to do it on her behalf: cutting 70,000 words from that giant manuscript to tease out the amazing story that lay buried within.

The shorter and more focused the manuscript became, the more appealing it grew. It was a delightfully surprising combination of chaste and raunchy, nostalgic and energetic. Most of all though, it told a story. About a friendship between two women. Explaining why that friendship arose in the first place, explaining why the friendship was finally doomed.

We sold that book direct to publishers in a competitive auction. It was published very well, got glowing reviews, and sat for weeks on the British bestseller lists. It deserved all its praise.

Tragically, Barbara died (peacefully) before the book was published, but she had met her publishers, signed a contract, seen a book cover. And before she died, she told me repeatedly, ‘Harry, this book is the crown of my life.’ Considering that, after her time in Soho, Barbara became one of the best known women painters in England, that’s high praise indeed. She used to remind me that while her art teacher had wanted her to become a painter, her English teacher had always urged her to write. It turned out that it wasn’t an either/or choice. She’d done both and done them brilliantly.

Harry Bingham is an author of fiction and non-fiction. He also runs the Writers’ Workshop which offers feedback on writing and a range of writing courses.

Fear of Exposure

I’ve done things in my life that I’m not proud of, and I’ve never told anyone about them. Do I have to write about those things in my lifestory?

I just read a memoir that left me with my mouth hanging open. I almost quit reading because of all the talk about sex, drugs and other stuff. Even if I’d lived through anything like that, I could never write about it. Is that what it takes to write a memoir?

This are typical questions about self-disclosure that I’m asked as a lifewriting coach and teacher. The simple answer is NO. If a subject gives you pause, respect that feeling. Don’t leave your comfort zone without good reason. The healthy thing to do is to write those stories in full detail. Spill your guts on the page, but keep it private at first. This will give you the health benefits of writing without the counter-acting stress of confrontations.

Once those stories are written, you have many options. You can burn the pages, or decide to delay sharing them. Depending on your relative ages, you may wait until those key players die to publish your work. But if you’re young and they aren’t old, another solution may be better. Here are a few considerations:

Look at the situation from other perspectives. You’ve probably only been thinking of this experience from your own point of view. Perhaps it looks quite different from the other person’s or the reader’s. Try experimenting by writing what you think the other person would say about it. You may find that it looks quite different, and your story may change as a result. This experiment may have additional value. In a recent IAJW member teleseminar James Pennebaker again emphasized that subjects in his research who adopted the most diverse points of view in their writing demonstrated the strongest health benefits.

Question your assumptions. Perhaps you overestimate the power of other people’s reactions. Perhaps some of your assumptions about what actually happened are a bit off-base. The techniques Byron Katie developed in The Work provide a simple process for challenging assumptions and beliefs.

Consider the value for readers. After reading several memoirs that were candid about the pain of feeling different during childhood, I’ve come to realize this is a much more common situation than I’d ever imagined, and I would not know that if those authors had not been brave enough to share their experience. As a result, I feel more comfortable openly joining their “club.”

Realize that reader attitudes are changing. Who doesn’t know that a vast sea of change has taken place over the course of a generation. My daughter’s generation could shock the socks off my mother’s with ordinary conversations among friends. They are more candid about nearly everything, and write accordingly. Even among those who are old enough to remember living conditions during World War II, many are disclosing things they would not have dreamed of telling fifty years ago.

Be compassionate with yourself. If you decide to admit to shortcomings or transgressions of various sorts, don’t just toss them out there and duck for cover. Include enough reflection to let the reader know what lessons you learned. Extend the same compassion and understanding to yourself that you would to a grandchild or any younger person who was feeling fears, pressures to conform, or general lack of insight similar to you experienced.

Never include anything simply for shock value. If, for example, your story involves sexual experiences, it’s okay to close the doors for privacy after the reader knows what’s going on behind them. Include only those details necessary to serve the purpose and move the story along.

These considerations barely brush the surface of this deep topic. For what promises to be a thought-provoking discussion about the issue of self-disclosure, sign up for the free NAMW telesummit on Friday, October 21 and dial in for the fourth session: Young Memoirists Talk about Truth, featuring Elisabeth Eaves, Nicole Johns, and Anna Mitchael. Everyone who signs up will receive an email link to listen to replays if you can’t dial in live.

Write now: think of a story you are afraid to share and work through the considerations above. You may still not want to share it, but I guarantee you’ll see the situation somewhat differently as a result.

Photo Credit: Wesley Oostvogels

The Tip of the Iceberg

The material that makes it into a finished memoir is like the tip of the iceberg, representing only 10% to 20% of the relevant material. Deciding what to include and what to omit is a major challenge for anyone aspiring to write memoir.

Many factors go into this decision. Three of the most important are retaining focus on the primary story, controlling length, and respecting personal privacy of self and others in the story. My purpose here is not to explore these factors, but to share my experience reading a memoir that disappointed me by leaving too much ice under the water, resulting in a flat, confusing berg of a book that probably won’t get much notice.

I won’t identify the book, and say only that it was about the disintegration of a marriage and the author’s eventual realization that although she couldn’t fix the marriage, she could and would fix herself. Bravo!  I hope that writing the memoir was a big step along that path.

The disappointment springs from the fact that the author stayed so intensely focused on the month or six weeks during which the marriage ground to its ultimate conclusion that she failed to include background information that would put these weeks of personal agony into context. I know the couple had moved to a new state a year or so earlier, but nothing about their life together prior to the move, and little about it in the new location prior to these climatic weeks. She fleetingly mentions that she used to have a good job, but I had no idea what that was.

She mentions money in an account that belonged to her that she’d promised to give her husband – or something like that. His mother knew the whole story, but he didn’t, and readers know only that there is a mystery. She never says what it is or how it happens that there is still money belonging to her in an account he purportedly had drained.

More mysteries arise in the concluding chapters when she infers that he had left her a few times before, but again, no details are given.

Then there is the matter of sex. Now I’m one of the last people to suggest that sex is a necessary component  of a memoir, and I’ll be the first to blush if you include details. But when a couple is slipping into bed together the first night of a reconciliation and she seems thrilled at the fact he’s simply lying there beside her drifting off to sleep with her hand on his shoulder … a key element is missing. I don’t know if this is normal and a reason they remain childless, or perhaps she’s omitting  a key detail, or … Shucks, if nothing happened, let us know that much. There was just no contact at all beyond a couple of pecks and sterile hugs.

These are not the only loose ends, but they are the major ones. I have no idea why so much was left out, but I felt teased and led on. I wanted her to go back and finish the book. It was quite short as it was, barely over 200 very small pages – maybe 33,000 words. It could have been half again as long without seeming wordy.

It’s not possible to write a story that doesn’t leave a certain number of unexplored side paths, but a well-crafted one gives enough of a view up those paths to round out the main story without distracting side trips.

One of the roles I play for my coaching clients is pointing out where they have holes in their stories and loose ends such as this one had. Editors should be able to do the same. But you don’t need to rely on paid professionals. When you think your story is finished, as good as you can make it, you should have two or more trusted people read it to find structural inconsistencies, loose ends and holes in the story.

Family members may be great for proof reading, but the best hole finders are people who don’t know the history you are writing about. People in your reading group will be great helps, but I’d suggest calling in a couple of people who know are completely new to the manuscript. Listen to their input, then make your own decisions about what to do.

These extra eyes will make sure the important ice is on the top of your berg, your readers will feel satisfied, and your book will receive the notice it deserves.

Write now: make a list of people you could call on as beta readers when you have a finished manuscript. If you aren’t close to that stage, let the list be an incentive and keep scanning for willing and able readers in the meantime..

Photo credit:  Liam Quinn

Fireflies and the Power of Story

What else holds the fascination of fireflies? Once again they light the night with mysterious flashes. One unforgettable night a few years ago I glanced out the window and saw several dozen fireflies blinking their little hearts out. I'd never seen so many in our yard at once. and I stood transfixed. Watching this fascinating show. I soon noticed that they were flashing in cycles of six blinks in three seconds, then idling for about ten seconds before repeating the sequence. They weren’t moving around much. Once in awhile I saw one blink through the air like a plane approaching the runway, but most hovered in the same spot indefinitely.

Eventually I spotted a pattern involving maybe two dozen fireflies flashing a complicated sequence of blinks. This rhythmic frenzy of flashing started in the same place every ten to twelve seconds, and though it became intuitively predictable, it was too complicated to remember. Alien code? Could be! I thought of the light show and intergalactic concert ending of the movie Close Encounters of the Third Kind, recalling how sound and light bridged the communication barrier between different life forms.

Nearly thirty years ago I discovered Theomatics, an arcane library book demonstrating that both Hebrew and Latin words can be converted to numerical values. So can light waves, sound waves, and even matter (using atomic weights). We all understand the concept of writing music on staffs, a form of graphical notation. Color could be graphed in a similar way, using the numerical values of specific color tones. It is hardly a stretch of the imagination to consider translating our thoughts to Latin or Hebrew and graphing numerical word values.

I envision mind-boggling symphonies of light and sound transmitting pure thought-waves, beaming light and love through the universe. Perhaps the firefly symphony I saw was a demonstration of this possibility — a demonstration conducted in yellowish green and black, much like early computer monitors.

My thoughts turn a corner to my writing groups, both local and online, formal and ad hoc. I think of our stories as dots of light, building bridges between people. They create a web of links between us wherever we are, and that web will grow larger as they shine forth to others. Each time we share stories, we create a symphony of life, with each story carrying part of the tune. I hear everything, from lullabies, to stirring storms, combining in perfect harmony, creating something greater than the sum of the parts. As we write and share, our stories show us life and the past from new angles, hopefully wiser stronger ones. We light each others lives by sharing hope, love and humor. My life is better for the writing and sharing.

I think of the song, “I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing”, and edit it ever so slightly. “I’d like to teach the world to write, in perfect love and truth.” How could peace and harmony not result?

Write now: about fireflies, dreams, visions, love, peace, truth, or anything else noble and exalting that comes to mind. Share your story with at least one other person, maybe in email, maybe in person. Let your stories build bonds.

The Inside Dope

All of us, especially those of us who live in the public eye, have plenty of stories that can be told from a number of angles. There’s at least the public story, as told in press releases and articles, and there’s the “real” story as you experienced it. The “inside dope” story is the juicy one. When you write your life story, you have a chance to take your readers on a back stage tour and tell them “the rest of the story.” Here’s a purely fictitious example of the difference, adapted from a story told by management guru Tom Peters:

Press Release (Summary):
Credit card executive hops on a plane on the spur of the moment to fly to Africa to hand deliver a replacement card to Very Important Customer after canoeing up a raging river in the middle of a jungle full of crocodiles, rhinos, tsetse flies and malarial mosquitoes, with no regard for personal comfort, danger, cost or inconvenience to himself, his family, his company, or his community. What a hero! What service!
Inside Dope Story:
I’d always dreamed of a trip to Africa. I remember watching Humphrey Bogart in The African Queen, piloting that boat down the river in the face all those obstacles. What a man! I wanted to be there, to do that, but I never had time. There was always another deal to close, another fire to put out, another promotion to launch, another golf tournament or deadly benefit dinner to attend. Then one night Phil and I got to talking about his upcoming safari, just the two of us, over Glen Livet and Cuban cigars. I admitted how much I envied him and wished I could go along. Suddenly his eyes flashed the way they do when he thinks of a way to pull of a takeover or something, and a smile spread from ear to ear.
“Jack, I have this strong premonition I’m going to lose my credit card in Nairobi. Why don’t you hop on the company jet and personally bring your firm’s best client a new one? Hell, can you think of a better PR stunt? I’ll have a few extra guns and provisions. We’ll have the time of our lives, and every cent will be a write-off!”
How could I not? Of course neither one of us told anyone. We couldn’t afford to have it look staged. Actually, by the time he got there, he’d arranged to take off up some river so I’d have to follow him and make it look even better. He really did a great job of setting everything up, and even better, giving me the adventure I’d been dying for and something to live for, at least for a few weeks. I love that man like a brother!
The timing was perfect. Genevieve was on another of her frequent jaunts to Paris, shopping for more designer rags to wear to the boring benefits. I always have a back-up on call for appearances at Rotary clubs and other routine events, “in case of emergency,” real or convenient. And of course when the time came, marketing and PR went absolutely ape over this idea, and I’ll admit, it was a stroke of genius. I mean, leaking word to Tom Peters … absolutely brilliant! And of course Peters was slobbering like a St. Bernard. This was the sort of story he’d kill for. But that’s what I pay those guys for, to plant the seeds in fertile fields. I have a hunch a few people had their suspicions about the whole deal, but nobody said a word. After all, it paid handsome dividends, thanks especially to Peters. That’s what I get paid for — to field a team that can pull this stuff off.
Now, let me tell you about the trip…
You may have thoughts about which of those stories is True. In their own way, each is. Your life may not be quite as glamorous or your stakes as high, but you surely have some stories that can be told more than one way and make better reading from the inside. Write ‘em up. Come clean. Your family and the world want to know.
Write Now: Think of a story you’ve always told one way in public. Perhaps it’s one of your trademark stories, one that “everybody” knows about you. But you know there’s more to the story. Write the story with “the inside dope.”
Photo: Sharon Lippincott

Autobiography or Memoir? Ask Holden Caulfield

Art by Willie Jimenez

J.F YOU REALLY WANT TO HEAR about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. In the first place, that stuff bores me, and in the second place, my parents would have about two hemorrhages apiece if I told any-thing pretty personal about them. They're quite touchy about anything like that, especially my father. They're nice and all—I'm not saying that—but they're also touchy as hell. Besides, I'm not going to tell you my whole goddam autobiography or anything. I'll just tell you about this madman stuff that happened to me around last Christmas just before I got pretty run-down and had to come out here and take it easy. …

— J.D. Sallinger, Catcher in the Rye

 I read this book when I was a freshman in college. We also read Catch 22 and Lord of the Flies the same term. That was a heavy introduction to liberated life! 

I don’t recall much about the book, other than realizing it was totally outside the realm of my experience or any experience I would ever have. To my surprise, a couple of weeks ago a friend older than I mentioned that she had read the book again, and that she had been especially impressed with the opening paragraph, because it made the book sound like a memoir. Of course I ran straight to the library and checked out a well-worn copy. Sure enough, I found the lines quoted above. 

Holden knew he wasn’t writing autobiography, and he correctly alludes to the definition by mentioning his birth, the nature of his childhood, and all that “kind of crap.” Quite possibly in 1950 when Sallinger was writing this book, the term memoir was not widely used, and it certainly would have been considered too “artsy fartsy” for a book of this nature. But it is indeed written as a fictitious memoir because it’s about a specific period of time and topic, “this madman stuff that happened to me around last Christmas ….”

He catches another topic of flaming interest for  memoirists in this paragraph. “… my parents would have about two hemorrhages apiece if I told any-thing pretty personal about them.” And he justifies the memoir approach rather than an autobiographical one by noting that “… I don’t want to go into it .…” And finally, his opening paragraph kickstarts the book with a powerful punch by outlining the plot, sketching in Holden's parents, and letting us know to expect what was considered racy language sixty years ago.

With this promising lead-in, I think I’ll follow the example of my friend and reread the book. When I checked it out, the desk clerk asked if it’s a book club choice or something. “You’re the third one this week to check it out.” Apparently a long line of adults are returning to this book shelved in the Young Adult section. It’s stunning durability over sixty years and its status as an exalted classic seem to indicate that any serious writer would do well to study it. 

Write now: think of a book that has remained alive in your memory for at least thirty years. Find a copy if you can and at least skim through it. Does it still seem as compelling as it did back then? What writing style differences do you notice? What writing tips can you find? Make notes on these discoveries, perhaps in an essay, primarily for yourself.

Writing without Shadow

"Writing without shadow has no depth."

I wish I had written down the source of that quote. It reminds me of the importance of including dark notes in my memoir along with the bright ones. It's so tempting to leave out those times when we didn't get the prize, when we were the last one chosen, didn't have a date for Homecoming, or felt despair of every finding love. Those are not fun stories to remember, much less to write, and not ones we generally care to share.

The graphic above says it all. Simple facts make a bland story. Adding some detail may brighten it up and vastly improve it. To make it pop off the page and become memorable and true, you need shadow. The interplay of light and dark is what gives it depth, mystery and magic. Darkness is the purview of fear and tension, keys to compelling stories.

As you can see from the graphic above, it doesn't take much darkness to give perspective and define the light. Below are a few simple tips like these to add a dash of darkness to your story.

Tell of failures as well as success — Besides the story of winning the spelling bee, tell how you were the last one picked for the fifth grade softball team.

Give an inside perspective — Don't just say you were the last one picked. Tell how it felt. "I stood there staring at my toes, praying to be struck by lightning, or at least to get sick enough to go home and hide in bed for the rest of the school year."

Admit to human frailties — Tell about times you broke a promise or twisted the truth.

Include doubts and fears —Highlight your walk across the stage to receive your diploma with the thoughts running through your mind, like "I never thought I'd make it. I was sure Mr. Frank would fry my sorry ass on that last term paper and test. That man hates me!" Better yet, tell about your struggles with Mr. Frank before graduation.

Show simple flaws — Occasional reference to thick glasses, knock-knees, shyness, stuttering, or some other simple  flaw lends depth to your character (generally yourself). You needn't dwell on these things, or mention them on every page. Less is more, but some is great.

One of the best ways to master the art of the shadow is to read the work of established writers. Study how they describe characters. Look for the sources of tension. What keeps your interest? Try to incorporate your discoveries into your own work.

Write now: write a new story (or revise an old one) to sprinkle in a few dark elements. Share the story with a writer friend some other discerning reader and ask for their suggestions on how to improve the story.

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

First, Do No Harm

Through the years I’ve consistently given this exhortation:

Any life story you write is better than writing nothing.

Today I’m adding a caveat from the Hypocratic Oath: “First, do no harm.”I’ve written numerous posts about how to decide whether to share your stories, but I had not connected those dots with the advice above. That connection was formed by a recent question from a person who was helping someone else write his lifestory. The result was disturbing. The client insisted on including a section that described one of of his sons as a lazy, no-good, son-of-a-gun — or something to that effect.

Without going into the details of the matter, something became crystal clear to me: Anything you write is better than writing nothing, but ...

no writing you share with others should intentionally cause harm or exacerbate harm that’s already occurred!

I’ve discussed this point many times. But not until this situation came up did I realize that my core values have progressed to the point that I must say, loud and clear, that it is simply not okay to use your words, whether spoken or written, for the intentional purpose of demeaning, belittling, scorning, or worse. Writing for revenge pours oil on a fire rather than quenching it, and you will never find personal peace by going down that road.

So what do you do if you feel angry, hate-full, or abused? Am I saying you have to burn or lock up those words?

No. That is not my intent. Truth is important, and sharing your writing can unlock shackles of pain, bringing healing to at least the author. There is a difference between writing for the purpose of revenge and writing to document or “witness.” You can describe what happened and how it affected you. Pour the unfiltered content of your heart and soul onto paper or the keyboard. But it won’t be helpful or healthy to share your stories until you can write them without blame or attributing motives to others.

Heather Summerhayes Cariou does a fine job of this in Sixtyfive Roses when she tells how her maternal grandmother disowned Heather’s family. She tells of the circumstances and the resulting pain and loss she felt, but she writes objectively, without blame, making it clear she understands her grandmother's decision.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, Heather wrote several drafts of her memoir before seeking publication. The first three or four drafts served the purpose of settling and healing her own spirit. Only then could and did she begin to share with others. Take a lesson from her example. Write those dark stories and thoughts, but don’t share them (outside a confidential writing group) until they have had time to mellow and you’ve thoroughly explored the consequences.

Do no harm. Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with you.

Write now: jot down some thoughts on a situation that has pained you and consider the perspective of the source of your grief. Do you think that person was intentionally hurtful? Do you honestly believe the person knew a better way to handle the situation? Why or why not? How do you suppose the situation made the other person feel? What do you anticipate the outcome would be of sharing your story with that person? In the overall scheme of things, did the situation affect your life for better, worse, or both?

It Really Is All About You

It’s easy to forget that a lifestory or memoir really is all about you. “I didn’t want to say too much about that, because I didn’t want to sound like I was bragging,” is a common response to the urging to the question “Why didn’t you say more about that?”

Most of us learned early that bragging was to be avoided, and those who were fortunate enough to achieve unusual success in life or receive rich blessings often hesitate to elaborate on them in lifestories. The inverse is just as true: nobody wants to sound like a whiner! And yet, to give nothing but fleeting mention of triumph or tragedy is a form of insincerity and leaves readers wondering what the real story was.

It boils down to a matter of telling rather than showing. The problem arises when you are “reporting” on your life, focusing on facts to the general exclusion of feelings and insights. The solution is to put more of yourself in the story. Tell your readers what you thought and felt at the time. What did this event mean to you? Why was it important? How did it affect your life?

I’m reminded of an occasion my senior year in college when a friend I’d met in a small, intimate psychology class received notice that she had not only been admitted to Columbia for grad school, but had received a full fellowship. I happened to call her within minutes after she received the letter, and she couldn’t contain her joy. I was genuinely thrilled for her, but when she missed the next class meeting, I decided to keep silent, to allow her the added joy of seeing their faces light up with delight as they heard.

When she did see the class and realized they didn’t know, she turned to me. “Didn’t you tell them?” she asked. “No. I wanted to let you tell them yourself,” I replied. She looked crestfallen and her report had an edge of disappointment.

This is a great example of how things not said may loom larger than what is, resulting in misunderstanding. I personally valued the joy of sharing my own good news and in that close-knit group didn’t think of it as bragging. How would I know that she didn’t see it the same way? I also sensed that she thought my reticence was due to jealousy on my part — further proof of the danger of bragging. In fact, nothing could have been further from the truth. Sure, we would all have liked to have been in her shoes, but that didn’t diminish the joy I felt for her.

Circling back to writing, the same potential for confusion exists for unwritten details. If you just report that you won the Pulitzer Prize and move on to something else in the next sentence, I’m going to feel shortchanged, and maybe a little angry when I read that. I may feel like you didn’t trust me, the reader, to understand.

If you elaborate with something like, “When I hung up the phone, I could hardly breathe. I sat there with tears streaming down my face as I realized that all those weeks, months, and years of pounding away on my Underwood had finally paid off. The ultimate critics had bestowed the ultimate honor. As contradictory as it sounds, I was overwhelmed by a mixture of humility and tumultuous joy. I simultaneously sank with grief that my mother had not lived long enough to share this joy and felt my spirit rise like a hot air balloon, soaring through the sunny sky. I wanted to run and shout, stop strangers on the street. I wanted to crash down the solid walnut door and storm unannounced into the Publisher's office. Instead, I took a deep breath and strolled into the press room with wicked anticipation and glee.”

Just remember, whether triumph or tragedy, if readers think it is a big deal, they are not going to believe you if you say it wasn’t. Let us know how it was a big deal to you, or if it really wasn’t tell why not.

You don’t likely have anything as dramatic as a Pulitzer to report, but small things that brought elation or devastation matter too. Don’t hesitate to “brag.” Just be sure to package it in context and let us feel your response. Remember, this is your story, and it really is all about you!

Write now: a few paragraphs about a great victory or joy and/or devastating event. Recreate the whole scene as you heard, and and describe what you thought and felt and how you reacted.