Should I do Research for My Memoirs?

research

Should I do Research for My Memoirs?

First off, you need to know that I hate research so you need to take that into account when you read this post. My preference is to write it first and then figure out if it’s right. In fact, I’ve suggested in other posts a way to write both fiction and memoir which is more haphazard but I think more effective. However, I recognize that just because I don’t like doing it, doesn’t mean that some isn’t necessary.

Do I need it?

Depends on the type of memoir you’re writing. If it is intensely personal—your take on surviving cancer, or losing a child, or winning the Nobel Prize—you probably won’t need much. Checking names or dates, etc. all make sense but you are already the expert on this type of memoir.

Memoirs might need more research if you want to delve back a bit into your family history. Even if the focus is on you, as it should be, there may be facts or background which might help to illuminate what happened in your life.

What kind of research?

Again, depends on the type of memoir you are writing, but some sources might be:

Interviews with relatives. Relatives and older friends can provide an adult perspective on your childhood memories. Or provide answers to questions you’ve always wondered about.

Historical record: Particularly if you are covering when you were young, it might be useful to read any histories of that early period. You can be reminded of situations you’d forgotten or how the period shaped behavior which makes sense put into its context.

Old photos or diaries. Naturally. Don’t forget any teen diaries you have tucked away. Cringe material, I know, but it again might jog your memory on incidents or insights from that time.

Other memoirs dealing with a similar topic. If your memoir is focused on a particular major event in your life, reading how others handled your topic can give you ideas on how to approach it and even how to structure it.

For more on this, go to the good article called Why Research is Important to Your Memoir.

But it’s not a research project

This, I think, is the biggest trap with undertaking research, particularly before you start writing. If your objective is to fully explore your family tree, by all means, go ahead.  But that’s not a memoir.

You should be researching enough to inform your memoir, but not a lot more. It is easy to be trapped in a never-ending cycle of research because every fact you dig up will lead to three more questions.

In addition, you may not know what facts/background you’re going to need before you start. It’s more likely to come up when you are writing. So just-in-time research might be preferable. In particular, it avoids doing a whole lot of research that you don’t use, or worse, try to shoehorn into the story just because it’s interesting.

So research if you must but not necessarily research.

Can/Should I Make Up Stuff for My Memoir or Personal History?

history

Can/Should I Make Up Stuff for My Memoir or Personal History?

Of course not. You don’t change history

True. Well, at least you should not rewrite your personal history. As I’ve mentioned in another post, Do I Have to Tell the Truth in a Memoir? , the real downside of doing so is that you are unlikely to create a good story if you spend large parts of it hiding or distorting your past. There is a presumption in a memoir that you are telling the truth (unless you are a movie star or a politician—all bets seem to be off for them).

Having said that…

Unless you have perfect recall, there are likely moments which you can’t remember and are trivial—the color of the dress, the number of fish you caught, the weather that day. If it isn’t critical to your story, it makes sense to make it up rather than subject your reader to: “I think his name was Fido but that might have been the previous dog which was also a cocker spaniel.” Just call him Fido. Beyond the trivial detail, there are a range of other possibilities for not truth-telling.

Reasonable

There are instances when you might want to move beyond the literal or factual truth.

  • It was too much of a coincidence that they were both there at the same time—it had to have been planned.
  • Her nervousness and ill-temper made me think that she was seriously worried about something even though she denied it.
  • I can’t believe you’re accusing me of that,” when all you actually remember is a denial.

Stretching history

Maybe it’s okay; maybe not. It’s a judgment call.

  • Combining characters: Say you have a mess of cousins, none of whom will figure largely in your narrative. You could draw a character which represents your cousins and let him/her stand in for all. Of course, be prepared for Hey! There’s no cousin Lex!
  • Cutting corners: Readers get bored if an action is repeated too many times. Getting married, not getting married, reuniting, breaking it off, giving the engagement another try, a blow-up which calls the wedding off. Unless this is the main focus of your story and you plan to put a lot of meat on those bones, this repetition is tiresome even if true-to-life.  You might need to cut the number of repetitions so as not to lose the reader.

Questionable

Be very leery if you are deviating from the straight and narrow to:

  • Maintain it never happened. This is the Big Lie—protesting that the event is a figment of the whole world’s imagination and perhaps substituting a more palatable version.
  • Avoid a particular important but embarrassing incident. Or skipping over the event completely—like writing about going from one job to another without mentioning that you were fired.
  • Clean up your story. Here you sanitize the story to put yourself in a better light. The DUI was all a big misunderstanding which you ended up being penalized for.

So, your memoir is going to be a mix of truth and fiction no matter what. The trick is to keep your emotional honesty.

Deathless Prose

prose

Deathless Prose

Whether we admit it or not, deep down and at 2:00 in the morning, we think that every piece of prose we write is a gem which must be preserved. That’s why writers keep copies of everything they’ve ever written (you know you do). I create an ‘extras’ file into which I deposit all the bits of writing which don’t fit this story but might have a place in some other piece of deathless prose. (Almost never happens.)

And honestly, why shouldn’t we? Don’t we write because we have something to say? Didn’t we start this journey for that reason? Why delete our attempts to do so?

Yes, of course, but I think we all need to get over ourselves. Keep all the files, by all means, but we need to lose the idea that every piece is worthy of publication.

Writing prose for the sake of

I know this sounds harsh but if we expect/assume that everything we write has to be published, it discourages writing.  You may avoid:

  • Learning a particular technique like foreshadowing or flashback
  • Working out a problem in the story
  • Doing backstory to understand the character better
  • Experimenting with different endings, openings, characters, etc.

Worst of all, assuming that everything you write should be published can morph into I should write only for publication. And then that really dampens your willingness to play or otherwise access your creativity.

Benefits of launching many expendable pieces[1]

‘Wasting’ time on pieces which aren’t in the ‘must publish’ file will help your writing in the long run because you can:

  • Stop work on something which has done what you needed it to
  • Let go a lovely piece of prose which slows the action or confuses the reader
  • Allow yourself the freedom to move on, not just because the piece isn’t working, but also maybe because you are bored with it or your interest has moved elsewhere.

You still need persistence

None of this should be interpreted as urging you to avoid working to perfect your pieces, or to trying to get your work published, or that you are not ready for prime time. But a more relaxed view on the need to publish gives you permission to throw in the towel if you need to.

[1] I know this is something the writer William Stafford said, but damned if I can find the actual quote, Sorry.

Categorizing Reader Opinion

opinion

Categorizing Reader Opinion

In the last post, I suggested you decide on your own how to treat reader opinion of a piece of your writing or memoir. That leaves the question open, of course, on how to decide which to keep. Here’s my not-very-rocket-science way of doing it.

The obvious

This one is, well, obvious. Spelling mistakes, seasons of the year out of whack, missing one place where you changed the character’s name from Wendy to Sue. These are no brainers but are nevertheless valuable as you need to fix them at some point.

This category you change immediately.

The doubtful opinion

Sometimes you’re not sure whether the feedback is applicable. Here are some examples:

The opinion

Why you’re doubtful

The historical period you’re writing about doesn’t seem real or credible

If you know the period well, you might be unsure that this is a piece of feedback worth taking. Follow-on question might be: Were there particular points which didn’t seem credible to you?

The premise of two cats talking is not particularly funny

Well, you think it’s funny. The definition of funny is wide so you should try it out on others. Follow-on question: Can you point out where you didn’t think the humor worked?

The main character’s constant malapropism is annoying

You think it gives the character an eccentric appeal—at least that’s what you were going for. Follow-on question: Is it the quirk itself that is annoying or its frequency of use?

The subordinate characters take the spotlight off the main protagonist.

This surprises you as you know whom you intended to be the key character. Follow-on question: Where (i.e. what scenes) did you feel that the subordinate characters dominated the main one?

In all these cases, feedback from other readers would be helpful to allow you decide whether or not you agree with the initial feedback.

The rejected

Okay, so you’ve gotten a range of feedback and the consensus seems to be that the cats really aren’t funny.

Generally speaking, it probably makes sense to look at your piece to see if it is salvageable or whether it is destined for the trash heap.

The only exception is if, all the feedback notwithstanding, you still believe in the potential of the piece. You might take some of the minor suggestions but fundamentally, you feel it works.

While I think this category should be used sparingly (i.e. not like Fred), it should be used. You need to think hard on it before you reject the reader reaction (especially consensus) but if you feel strongly about a point, do it. After all, whose writing is it anyway?

Using Feedback Well

Feedback

Using Feedback Well

In the previous post, both the defensive writer and the one who accepts all feedback are not doing themselves any favors.

Dealing well with feedback is a three stage process.

Listen

First of all, when you are receiving feedback, just listen. Take notes if useful but the key thing is to listen. Sheila has this stage down pat. For the Freds in the world, listening is not simply keeping quiet or running counter arguments in your head until the others stop talking. This is not listening—that’s just not putting your hands over your ears.

Try to take in what’s being said. And say nothing. I repeat this for Fred. Say nothing.

Understand

The time to speak is when the feedback is finished. But (Fred) not to jump into the defenses you’ve been storing up. Nor (Sheila) the time to thank everyone and vow to make all the changes suggested.

You want to make sure you understand the feedback, whether or not you agree with it. Possible questions:

  • You said you couldn’t understand Alfonso’s motivation. So the paragraph on page 5 wasn’t enough? What else would be needed?
  • One of you thought the flashback was too long. Does everybody feel that way?
  • Patty thought that Melissa needed to be more wild and crazy while Donald wanted Melissa more introspective. Could you tell me how each of you came to your conclusion?

This is a period of clarification, not defense of the best laid plans of mice and men.

Decide on your own

After the feedback session, and in a quiet time with a glass of wine, go over each comment. Here are some things to keep in mind:

  • Review each comment seriously, making sure you understand the point. If there’s a split opinion, read over why each person felt the way they did and choose the one which makes the most sense to you or ignore both suggestions if you don’t feel they fit.
  • What to do with consensus opinions. If there was general agreement on a point, this is important information. But it still doesn’t mean you automatically make that change. Consider whether this change is taking the piece in the direction you want to go. Will it help or take you off course? If the latter, then even a unanimous view may not be enough to make you change it.
  • This is your work not a composite effort and only you can decide what changes are improvements. If the suggestion helps the piece, great. If it doesn’t, then it’s okay not to take it.

Balancing belief in self with listening to feedback

You are after a Sheila-Fred amalgam. Be Sheila in the feedback session itself, with the addition of ensuring you understand the reasoning behind the comments. But when you are later considering what to change, be a little more Fred (although don’t take it too far). You should take the piece in the direction you feel is right. Hold onto that when you consider what changes you will make.

 The next post will help you make the decisions on which piece of feedback you’ll accept and which you will not.