Writing itself is a therapeutic tool and can help us gain insight on the past and our patterns of behavior in order to coach ourselves towards the future. Telling our stories gives them meaning and validates who we are; they connect us to each other and the human community. But the dedicated composing and editing that is the core of how we get it down on paper (or on the screen) is where many of us give up, blocked, frightened, or exhausted.
To write from a deeper place of
vulnerability and to become open to the pain of one’s memories, to remain with
a soft heart despite the feelings of rage, guilt, grief, and denial that might
arise, to allow the process to take you over the edge to where you might see
the threads of your life in an intricate weaving instead of a tangled mess,
this takes patience, practice, and using all the writer’s tools you know:
writing in a group, taking a workshop, using writing exercises from books such
as Pain and Possibility by Gabriella Rico or any of the Artist Way
series by Julia Cameron, or a writer’s retreat. Or it may be as simple as reading
back through your journals or calling someone to confirm details, playing a
song from that era, flipping through a photo album, or returning to the place
where the memories were born. Recording your dreams, meditating, and even
eating the same foods might trigger something. Memories are built from our
senses--the crunchy taste of falafel in Israel, the scent of garbage in the
Mercado in Oaxaca, the day everyone in the circle wore blue, how the sea washed
cold against our feet, the perfume of our grandmother’s garden, the rumbling of
buses below the window.
“What would happen if one woman told the truth about
her life?
The world would split open.” --Muriel Rukeyser
There
is a time for gathering memories and putting them down on the page and there is
a time to craft the words into an art form. What makes good writing? What makes
a memoir refreshing and accessible? What makes readers connect to your story?
Honesty, vulnerability
and courage
Good
writing comes from a place of both courage and vulnerability. To show our human
side: our failures, mistakes, doubts and fears, our desires, fantasies, and hopes and dreams, is a way to connect with readers.
We must be a sympathetic character and we may have to step back from our story
in a more objective way to ensure that we are revealing ourselves as flawed and
yet determined or resilient human
beings. We must have the courage to tell the truth, despite those nagging
voices that worry what others might think, in particular the other people in
our story. Will they be offended, will they be shocked by our revelations, will
they be hurt? You must write the story as if no one else will read it but you
must edit the story for the whole world to hear.
In other words, if you are writing about real people, you must be aware of your motivations. Tracy Seely , author of My Ruby Slippers: The Road Back to Kansas writes that it is essential to have clean motives and transparency. If the person in your story is necessary and yet his/her actions are shown in an unfavorable light, what are the possible ways to handle this?
Some
writers change the names and identifying characteristics of secondary characters. Some writers let
the people in their stories read about themselves ahead of time. Some ask permission.
If you are writing about a well-known public figure or place or business, your
publisher may want to have you consult a lawyer. If you are writing about close
family members that can be identified, you may want to consult a lawyer or ask their permission. But ultimately it is why you are telling this story that will influence the outcome.
At
the 2015 AWP conference panel on writing personal essays, each member of the
panel had a different answer to the question of how to deal with this issue,
ranging from “I did not ask permission ahead of time and I was surprised by the
support I received” to “Yes, my family member was upset, but not for the reasons
I thought he would be.” When you publish, reactions from those you wrote about may not be supportive or someone may be hurt and it is up to you as the writer to decide if it is something
you can live with. Are you compelled to tell this story? Should you
change it to fiction? Personally, I believe if you write with the intention of
sharing your healing or transformation or overcoming and surviving, the power
of the story will transcend other people's reactions. By the way, the panel also mentioned that you must never assume someone will not read your work because they don't read literary journals or small magazines or on-line journals. The internet spreads our words everywhere and you never know where they will pop up.
Mark
Fowler in his blog “Rights of Writers” writes: "Remember, to be actionable, the
disclosure must be of private facts that would be highly offensive to a
reasonable person. Most memoirs don't
venture into that territory. Moreover,
book editors often tell their authors to write the truth and let the in-house
lawyers figure out how the truth -- or at least most of it -- can be safely
published."
Here is full disclosure: I changed everyone's names in Flowers in the Wind. Many of the people I wrote about are no longer alive but their family members are. I did not assume that anyone who once was a part of our alternative lifestyle would want publicity. I told my story through my own interpretation and take full responsibility for that. However, I choose not to ask permission. I feel that this is a story that speaks to those who tried alternatve lifestyles and they will understand our flaws and failures came from youthful immaturity. The "leader" who betrayed us was someone I loved as well as grew to resent and despise....but he is no longer alive.
Next blogpost:
How does memoir writing differ from fiction? How do I find my voice?
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