Chapter 1: Introduction to Memoir Writing

As you settle down with a warm cup of coffee or tea, a blank page or screen awaits your words. The thought of penning a memoir essay crosses your mind, but where should you start? In this guide, I will walk you through the initial steps I take to develop a memoir essay, helping you to transform your vivid memories into impactful narratives that resonate with universal themes.

For those drawn to the past, seeking to understand how our histories shape our identities, a fruitful starting point is to reflect on the memories that stand out most vividly. Begin by compiling a list of your most striking recollections. Set aside some time to write down brief descriptions of moments that come to mind when you think of your past—just a line or two will do. If you're feeling uninspired, start from your earliest memories and work your way forward. Aim for about one hundred memories; for instance, from early childhood, I might note:

Once you've created this extensive list, take a moment to reread it. Notice how your body reacts to certain memories. Do some evoke a sinking feeling, make your heart race, or bring a smile to your face? What emotions do you feel—anger, fear, happiness, or astonishment? Highlight or mark the memories that elicit a strong response, as these often hold deeper significance.

Now, choose one of those marked memories to draft a narrative. Marion Roach Smith once suggested to "look for the heat," meaning to select memories that stir strong emotions. Focus on getting the story down without worrying about grammar or punctuation; just let the words flow. You may choose to write in the present tense as if the events are unfolding now, or reflect on them from your current perspective. The act of writing down the memory is what matters most.

Reflect on the emotions tied to your experience. For example, I recall my earliest memory of nearly drowning, a vivid yet puzzling incident from my childhood. Although there are no photographs of that day, my mother confirmed it happened, even if it wasn't a story she often shared.

Here’s a glimpse of that memory: June 1957. Face up, I sink to the bottom of the swimming pool, bubbles escaping from my mouth. I don’t recall feeling afraid. Suddenly, a man leaps in, pulls me to the surface, and I cough up water while my mother shouts at me. I observe the passing traffic nearby. (92 words)

I can’t fathom why my mother was not watching me. Who was the man who saved me? Did she thank him? I don't remember if my mother was relieved or angry with me. Curiously, I wasn't afraid of the water afterward. Why was that?

As you move to the second draft, jot down questions that arise as you read your initial attempt. Think about how this memory fits into the broader narrative of your life. Is it part of a recurring theme? What does it reveal about you or the other characters involved? Capture these fleeting thoughts before they vanish.

In revising my second draft, I focus on adding details—both those I distinctly recall and those that could plausibly belong to the memory. I often close my eyes to mentally revisit the scene, and if I have photographs from that time, I use them to refresh my memory. Listening to music from that era can also help evoke the experience.

While refining your draft, consider whether stronger verbs or additional sensory details could enhance your writing. As writers of creative nonfiction, we can weave in elements we believe to be true, adding small details that immerse the reader in the experience.

Why wasn’t my mother keeping an eye on me? I remain uncertain about the identity of the man who rescued me or if my mother expressed gratitude. She appeared upset and embarrassed. I cannot recall where my siblings were or if my mother comforted me afterward, but I suspect she scolded me.

I am fortunate to have numerous letters and journal entries from my mother, which provide insights into her mindset during that period. However, I must remain aware of the need to depict the scene from my four-year-old perspective. If I speculate on her state of mind, I can phrase it as, "Perhaps my mother was preoccupied, worrying about the motel's daily cost before the family joined my father in Alaska," or "I wonder if she had been awake all night due to my baby sister's fever." Nonetheless, I cannot penetrate my mother's thoughts.

Although I shouldn't limit my vocabulary to that of a child, I should convey the event using insights I have gained over time. As you continue writing, consider whether other events in your life relate to this experience. Is this day part of a larger pattern or a standalone incident? Why does it remain so vivid in your memory? These reflections often lead to uncovering deeper truths.

Where do you proceed from here? Honestly, I sometimes find myself with just a vignette at this stage. If I cannot discern a greater purpose immediately, I urge you not to discard these moments frozen in time. Label and file your story, as it may become useful later. At times, connections form, and the essay evolves.

At this juncture, I review my writing and ponder where it may lead. I may eliminate a few ideas before settling on one that could expand into a full essay or a scene within a memoir. I've always viewed my swimming pool memory as one of my three near-death experiences. Its clarity and tranquility led me to ponder whether it shaped my perspective on dying without fear.

Children often drown silently, even when adults are nearby. This angle could lend itself to an intriguing narrative: the mystery man who saved my life. As a daring child, I rarely felt fear, which may have contributed to my ability to evade consequences when I misbehaved.

I also wonder about the broader implications of such childhood events. How do seemingly random incidents ripple through our lives and shape who we become? This notion prompts me to consider the potential significance of my memories. After all, our minds tend to retain vivid, distressing memories more readily than joyful ones, serving an evolutionary purpose to help us recognize danger.

In a Washington Post article titled "Why We Often Remember the Bad Better Than the Good," psychology professor Laura Carstensen notes, "Many psychologists think that this has evolutionary roots; it’s more critical for people, for survival, to notice the lion in the brush than to appreciate the beautiful flower growing nearby." Although not every event carries a traumatic meaning, it may still influence us, making this an important area of exploration.

As you progress to your third draft and beyond, focus on developing a central theme and jot down notes for additional scenes and personal reflections on lessons learned. Patience is key in the writing process; it cannot be rushed. Remember, if your aim is publication, your readers must care about you as the protagonist, and you must deliver a story that justifies their time investment.

So, delve into your memories. Pour another cup of coffee and revisit the past; you might be surprised by the truths that emerge. And no, I never confided in my mother about the subsequent two near-drowning incidents. I never felt I could rely on her for safety—whether near water or in life.

Every narrative encompasses two stories: the one visible on the surface and the deeper, underlying tale. The climax arises when these two collide.—Grace Paley; from a lecture. This is what writers seek: the seed of a powerful, compelling story. Keep writing and see where your memories lead.

Chapter 2: Engaging Your Readers

In this video, "Memoir Writing 101: Guides For Writing a Compelling Life Story," discover essential tips and techniques for crafting your memoir that captivates readers.

In "How To Write Memoir With Marion Roach Smith," learn from Marion herself as she shares insights on writing a compelling memoir and connecting with your audience.