Have you ever thought you’d like to tell your story? As I think about writing a memoir about the past year and the crazy change of course I took after the most ridiculous divorce in history, I find I have a lot of doubts. Do any of these feel familiar? Have similar doubts held you back?
1. Voice. Voice is everything. That’s why we read memoir because that’s what makes us care about that particular person. I want to be funny. I have tried to face my challenges with the awareness that we are a quirky species and Fortune’s curve balls are often comedies.
However, I’m not that funny. At least, not consistently. I’m only funny about once a month and then sometimes only to myself. I’m only funny when I’m desperate. Come to think of it, that’s most of the time. Maybe I am funny.
2. Deep down, I could still be furious. I could be bitter. I might be a whiner. If I write a memoir, is all that going to bubble up like lava on the Big Island? Am I going to discover that I really don’t like myself? Am I going to see my own flaws as I’ve never seen them before? Is that a good thing?
Know thyself. Do I want to?
3. Am I going to be tempted to justify? Basically, I feel misunderstood. (Don’t we all?) Can I tell my story without the need to explain myself?
4. Will I have to moralize? Draw some kind of conclusion? Find some “message”? That sounds like me, always needing to “teach”. Can I write a book that admits I don’t have a clue about anything? Is that a good idea when readers are reading to find meaning?
5. What if I write this thing to find “meaning” and discover that I can’t see any? What if, honestly, I can’t say everything happened for a reason? Or maybe it did, but the reason was that I made stupid choices.
6. Is this thing going to plunge me into depression and mental illness? Am I going to unpack baggage that is better left locked up in the attic? Will I be opening Pandora’s box?
7. Will I lose one or both of my two friends? When they see who I really am, will they be appalled?
8. Will I sound like a cliché? Woman of a certain age, runs off to Italy after the most ridiculous divorce in history. Tuscany, even. Does the world need yet another story about finding a new life in Tuscany? Isn’t that like asking: does the world need another hairball?
As I plan the Memoir Summit that the Village Writing School is hosting on October 10, I’m looking at popular memoir authors I’d like to interview, and you can bet these questions will be on my mind.
What about you? What’s the biggest challenge you would face if you decided to tell your story?
Do we actually have the courage to
Find our stories . . . and ourselves?
–Alison