Saturday, May 18, 2013
This week I’m honored to have as my guest blogger William Doonan, a writer of mystery novels and stories, as well as an archeologist, a professor, and a very pleasant, funny guy. I know many of you are familiar with his work, which includes the Henry Grave cruise ship mystery series, as well as American Caliphate. If you know his work, you’ll agree with me that Bill Doonan is a highly entertaining writer, a real storyteller.
As I do routinely for these blog posts, I asked Bill to tell us what he feels about the Joy of Story. Here’s what he has to say. In the process, he tells the story of his adventure e-publishing his newest novel, The Mummies of Blogspace9.
Thanks, John, for having me on your blog, and thanks to your readers for reading. I’ve been thinking a lot about story-telling recently. As a college professor, I find myself telling stories every day; to illuminate concepts, to break the ice, and to build community. I can’t imagine a life without story.
I’ve written several books and dozens of short stories. I’m a mystery writer at heart, I’ve come to realize. But I’m an archaeologist by profession. And my most recent opus The Mummies of Blogspace9 draws on both of these facets.
It’s a fast-paced, genre-bending mystery involving an ancient pyramid (where I had the privilege of working for five summers) and a number of undead conquistador mummies (whom I have not yet encountered but suspect are real).
I worked really hard on this story, first as a serialized novel on my blog www.williamdoonan.wordpress.com, and then, after meticulous rewriting, as a novel onto itself.
It’s a taut, high-stakes epistolary thriller about a team of archaeologists who inadvertently dig up more than they bargained for. Demons of antiquity are not easily amused, nor are those who’ve sold their souls to protect them. The Mummies of Blogspace9 will fill your heart with terror and with glee (but not at the same time, because that would be very strange, and also pointless).
You’ll laugh out loud, cringe in fear, and shake your head with delight. Here are some plot elements you might enjoy:
very attractive protagonists who you will develop crushes on;
delightful full-color, high-resolution illustrations.
Here’s a blurb from one of Leon’s posts (Leon being a protagonist):
“None of us knew what was at stake. And that’s the thing about archaeology— you never know what you’ll find when you start digging into an ancient pyramid. Maybe some burials, mummies even. But surely not a five hundred year-old secret worth killing for.
“Had I known at the onset that seven weeks later most of my friends would be dead, I would have left Peru in a heartbeat. But of course I didn’t know that.
“I didn’t know that a demonically-possessed Spanish Grand Inquisitor would haunt the crap out of us, or that a pair of undead conquistador knights would help us find the secret to putting down walking mummies.
“And surely, I wouldn’t have just sat around had I known that something was watching from inside that pyramid, some malevolent force that could animate the dead.
“But it’s all true, as you’ll come to realize.”
The Mummies of Blogspace9: Horror has a new URL
It’s an e-book, and that isn’t everybody’s thing. I get that. But I wanted to try something different, and this format allowed me to play around with illustrations. So if you have a Kindle, have a look. If you don’t, you can still see some fun things for the bargain price of 99¢. Here’s a link to peruse, gawk, or buy:
William Doonan is a mystery writer, archaeologist, professor, and purveyor of fine silk carpets. For more information about his work, visit www.williamdoonan.com.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Here, one week late because I was on the road last weekend, are the stories I received in response to my challenge: write a story with the last line, or the title, or the theme, “Yes, You May.” Thanks to the contributors for some fine short-short-short stories!
Remember, I present this feature on my blog every month, usually on the first Saturday of the month. The invitation is open to everyone.
Here are the rules:
1. Your story must be 99 words long, exactly.
2. One story per writer, per month.
3. The story must be a story. That means it needs plot, and conflict.
4. The deadline: the first of the month.
5. Email me your story (in the body of your email, or as a Word attachment) to: email@example.com
Next month’s challenge: Write a story with this first line, or last line: “Take your hand off my knee,” said the Duchess.
Now, may you read the stories sent to me for this month of May? Yes, you may! Here they are:
by C. L. Swinney
My grandmother lived across the country in Wisconsin. I was lucky to see her once a year. Along with her time, her blueberry muffins were priceless.
She was the kindest lady I’d ever met. As years passed, I could tell she was not well, yet she tried to hide it. Some days, she barely moved.
Last time I saw her, I remember a muffin tray on the counter. I looked at her, she smiled at me. I sheepishly asked if I could help her make some.
She replied, “Yes, you may.”
by Jerry Giammatteo
On May 22, 1977, I graduated from St. John’s University. Having been an A to B-plus student all my life, I had never considered it a great accomplishment. I always expected to graduate.
To Mom, however, seeing her only child graduate was a huge event. Her health was failing. A month later, she was diagnosed with advanced stage colon cancer and was given less than a year to live.
At the party afterward, the band began with a slow number. Without hesitation, I approached Mom. “May I have this dance?” I asked.
Beaming, she replied, “Yes, you may.”
YOU MAY GO
by John F. Nolan
She was an English teacher under arrest for DUI.
Accustomed to being obeyed, she tried to take charge.
“Release me from these handcuffs or I’ll sue you, Officer,” she ordered.
“No, handcuffs are for your safety. Can I have your DOB?” The cop asked.
“May I have your DOB?” She corrected.
“I want to use the ladies room,” she demanded.
“No, you might escape.”
“I have to go now,” she whined.
“You had better let me go, Officer.”
She stood, spread her legs and wet her pants.
“Now, may I use the ladies room?”
“Yes, you may!
YES, YOU MAY
by Elaine Polson Shiber
As he was walking by Ben’s Place, he saw her sitting alone at a table by the window, and stopped in his tracks to stare at her.
He paused, and then slowly walked in the door and hesitantly stood by her table. She didn’t see him at first, but then, after a minute or two, she looked up and smiled.
When he finally worked up the courage, he said, “Why would a woman as beautiful as you ever consider dating a man like me?”
She thought briefly. Then she murmured, “Why not?”
“May I ask you?”
“Yes, you may.”
SAY WHAT YOU MEAN AND MEAN WHAT YOU SAY
by Phyllis Povell
Shari was stirring the pot on the stove when two-year-old Brianna came into the kitchen.
“Not before dinner,” her mother answered.
Perhap, two minutes passed when Brianna was back again. “Can I have some M&M’s?”
“No. I told you not before dinner.”
The third request was made in a whining voice, “Please can I have some M&M’s?”
A hard stare with no reply made Brianna slink away slowly.
Brianna appeared in the kitchen again. “Can I have some M&M’s, please, please?”
With a heavy sigh, Shari said, “Yes, you may.”
by Donna Weinheim
You put me on your bed naked and
You admired me when we first met
You made me wear clothes way too big
You made me laugh made my favorite food
You taught me how to drive
You protected my apartment with no front door while I worked
You danced for me sang for me
You told me to take typing in college so I could get a job
You demanded a son-in-law
You passed in the night and made me cry
You never asked me if
You could I would have told
You yes you may.
MAY I KISS YOU?
by Christine Viscuso
When I was in the second grade, Robert, a classmate, asked me, “May I kiss you?”
All I could say was, “Ugh!”
Thirty years later, I was working at an insurance agency. Larry the Oilman stopped in the office. I breathed in the stench of oil as I put away customers’ files. Leaning over the file cabinet, he asked, “May I kiss you?” I suspected he had a crush on me. Not wishing to hurt his feelings, the answer I thought of was, “Larry, what would your wife say?”
He sighed. “I was hoping you’d say, ‘yes you may!’”
YOU MAY NOT
by June Kosier
I was in kindergarten and I asked to be excused to go to the bathroom. Going down the hallway I encountered the Pastor. “May I bless you, my child?” he said to me.
I quickly replied “No, you may not.”
He asked, “But why child?”
“Because I didn’t sneeze, Father,” was my answer, and I continued to the girl’s room.
When I got home, I got a lecture about blessings and being thankful to get one. I would have been thankful to know how my mother always found out about my blunders when we didn’t even have a phone.
THE END OF A TRYST
by John M. Daniel
I caught up with her in the health spa parking lot and grabbed her arm. She clenched her fist, crying, “Why did you invite me here?”
“Midsummer madness,” I said. “Didn’t you like the moonbeams? The baths? The loft?”
“I was hoping for something more substantial.”
“We discussed that,” I said. “I’m married, remember?”
“I don’t mean commitment,” she said. “I just wish you wanted to know who I am.”
“Who are you?”
“I rest my case.”
Touché. “So may I assume that’s it for us?”
As she drove away, I heard her shout back:
“Yes. Yes, you may.”
Next week this blog will feature guest poster William Doonan, who is one fine and funny fiction writer. Don't miss it!
Saturday, May 4, 2013
I am not posting on my blog this week, because I'm traveling and far away from my computer. I'll be back next week, May 11, with a collection of 99-word stories contributed by volunteer writers. The theme for May is "Yes, You May," and I'll be accepting contributions until Monday, May 6. I invite and encourage you to send me a 99-word story with that theme! Pls send by email to firstname.lastname@example.org.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
NOTE: Here is Chapter Three of my book-in-progress called The Stories of Our Lives. In this chapter I present some rules and tools of good storytelling. I realize that most of the readers of this blog are already good writers, and some of this will seem elementary to them, but let them be reminders, then, of the ways their writing is good.
BY THE WAY: I won't be posting on this blog next week, because I'll be traveling and far away from my computer. I'll be back the following week, May 11, with a collection of 99-word stories contributed by volunteer writers. The theme for May is "Yes, You May," and I'll be accepting contributions until Monday, May 6. I invite and encourage you to send me a 99-word story with that theme!
Truth be told, this chapter contains a lot more than ten rules. I’ve lost count of how many rules I’ve written here, but I’ve clumped them into ten groups, so you can digest them easily. Digest them you should.
Should you really? Some people say that art (including writing) should obey no rules. Well, in response to that permissive attitude, I must say that my experience as an editor and publisher has shown me otherwise. I’ve reviewed thousands and thousands of manuscripts, and I’ve found that some work (or play) better than others. In my opinion, some stories are better than others. Moreover, I’ve noticed that there are recurring reasons why some stories fly and some stories thud. I call those reasons “rules.” If you don’t like that word, call them “principles,” “guidelines,” or just regard them as ten clumps of common sense.
I made this list of ten rules for a class I used to teach at UCLA Extension on how to write short fiction. But I find the same rules are valid for writing the stories of our lives, too. I’ve tried to make this point clear in the commentary that follows the rules.
1. Show ’em, don’t tell ’em.
This is the most frequently repeated rule you’ll ever hear or read about writing stories. Usually it’s said about fiction, but this rule is just as important for writing the stories we tell about our own lives. What “Show ’em, don’t tell ’em” means is…
Wait. Why should I tell you want the rule means? I should show you, right? Right. See here:
a. I never could stand my oldest aunt, and I was glad when she died.
b. When I heard that my oldest aunt had died, I sent two dozen roses to the funeral home. She always hated roses, said she was allergic to them.
Which is better, a or b? Which tells more of a story?
Here’s a tip: reread the last sentence of every paragraph, the last paragraph of every scene, the last scene of every story. If you find that you’ve restated or explained what you’ve already shown, you have written too much and have a bit of cutting to do. Rely on plot to do the work.
2. Stay in control.
Although I admit there’s some therapeutic value in letting your mind wander like a free-range chicken while you write, if you want anybody to read your stories and be entertained or enlightened by them, you’re going to have to stay on track.
I suggest that you outline a story before you start writing. Keep in mind your narrative arc, or even draw it on paper. Get your consequential plot points in order, and make the story build to a climax.
Be selective about what to include: make every element of your story support the whole shebang. Edgar Allan Poe, one of the architects of the American short story, maintained that every single word should contribute to the meaning of the story. William Faulkner advised writers to “kill their darlings,” by which he meant to get rid of the fancy details that may show off what a talented writer you are but that yank the reader out of the story. While we’re at it, avoid the clutter of “info-dump,” which makes the story grind to a boring halt. Too much information is a soporific thing.
Another way to stay in control is to be careful with point of view (POV). Generally I recommend that you stick with one POV per story. Usually that POV will be your own, since you’re writing a story inspired by an episode from your own life; but you could get experimental and write a story from the point of your mother, your friend, your spouse, your child… Such variations can be rewarding, but then you should stick in that POV. Whatever you do, don’t shift POV in the middle of a scene. That’s called “head-hopping,” and it’s considered amateurish.
While you’re plotting your story, keep in mind Chekhov’s rule of drama: if a rifle is hanging over the mantelpiece in the first act, that rifle must go off before the final curtain drops. Here’s a corollary to that rule: if a bomb explodes at the climax of your story, you should plant that bomb, ticking, at the beginning of the story.
3. Write strong.
What’s that you say? I should say “Write strongly”? Well, grammatically you’re correct, but I’m illustrating a point, which is: Beware of adverbs. Especially beware of adverbs that end in “ly.” Sometimes they’re called for, but often they’re unnecessary: I swam desperately against the waves, which were pushing me farther and farther from shore. The word “desperately” is a duh word. Cut it.
Especially, especially (look at that: two “ly” adverbs in a row!) beware of “ly” adverbs that modify how somebody talks: “Get out of my room. In fact, get out of my life!” she said angrily. Does the word “angrily” contribute anything we don’t already know? Nope.
What else to avoid: filler words, like “basically,” “actually,” “personally.” Also qualifier words, like “very,” “totally,” “extremely.” Weak words, like “somewhat” and “rather.”
The use of verb constructions is stronger than the use of noun constructions. Example: change the sentence you just read to: For strong sentences, use verb constructions, not noun constructions.
The active voice is stronger than the passive voice: I was taught by my father that honesty is the best policy is weak; My father told me, “Son, tell the truth” does the job better.
Watch out for the static past. That means telling the reader how it was in general, when you could be showing how it was in the context of your story. My sister always borrowed my clothes without asking is okay, but this is stronger: As usual, Sis showed up at breakfast wearing clothes out of my closet.
One more. Short, strong words work well most times. Elongated, erudite vocabulary inevitably aggravates.
4. Love your characters.
Or at least respect them, and that includes the rotters in your story, like the cousin who stole your best girl or the uncle who put his hands where he shouldn’t have.
By “respect them,” I mean show them as real people, individual people with their own quirks and characteristics. Don’t resort to clichés. Moms don’t just bake pies and correct our posture; they also smoke and cough, or sing old songs off-key; dress like a clown or like Katherine Hepburn… In other words, remember people as they really were, and make each character in each story one of a kind, and original. Someone your readers will never forget.
5. Tell a story.
By now you know what I mean by this rule. If you have any questions about what a story is; or what conflict, choice, change, consequence, structure, selection, significance, and style are; take another read through Chapter One.
Here I’ll add that a successful story is one that hooks the reader with curiosity and holds the reader with conflict. Drama is the result of desire plus danger; so when you write stories inspired by your life, take advantage of those risks you took, learned from, and changed as a result of. Another rule of thumb about change: it often result in a shift in the balance of power.
6. Be significant.
I already touched on this in Chapter One, but here it is again. Write about the human condition. The human condition includes buying groceries, just as it includes working for world peace; it’s a need for quiet, and a need to sing and dance. Most of all, the human condition is a matter of love and death.
Novelist Herbert Gold has said that all great writing is about love and death. He’s talking of fiction primarily, but the same statement ccan be made of memoir: all great life stories are about love and death. Herb Gold goes on to say that if you can suggest a piece of great writing that’s not about love and death, he will explain to you why that piece of writing is not great—or, he will show you why that piece of writing is indeed about love and death.
Love and death are essential ingredients to most of the stories of our lives. These stories are, after all, about life, which is miraculously sparked by an act of love. The whole process of life is a search for love and a forestalling of death. Love comes in many variations, of course; and death has many aspects. But to return to the human condition, as defined above, let it be said that buying groceries is either an act of love or a defiance of death, or both.
I will deal more with death in the next chapter, and more with love in Chapter Five.
7. Be honest.
Remember the advice you heard so often as a learning writer: “Write about what you know about”? Well, it’s true. Re-read the first six letters of the word “authority.” That’s you. You’re the author of the story because you’re the one best qualified to write it. No one can retell an event out of your life the way you can, because you’re the only one who knows how much the event changed you, and how.
How do you earn and keep the authority to write your own life stories? By being honest. Tell the truth. You may fudge the details a bit for dramatic effect, and you may even turn that life story into a science fiction tale 2,745 years into the future and place it on the ex-planet Pluto, but at the core of the story is something true. Something you know about, something you learned because of a change that happened in your eventful past. Write honestly about that change and the lesson you learned, and you will do so with authority.
(I will deal with reasons and techniques for fictionalizing your life stories in Chapter Six, but even when you use the tricks of fiction, it’s important that you stay honest.)
Level with your audience, and don’t talk down to them. Don’t explain when it’s not necessary. Imagine that you are writing for readers who are at least as intelligent as you are. That goes even if you’re writing for children. Children may not have acquired as many facts or memories as you, but their brains are just as curious and sharp as yours. They can probably smell out a phony, and they deserve your honesty.
Be original: say something new, and say it as you alone would say it, because you’re telling the truth. Don’t copy the ideas or the words or the style of others. Nor should you rely on stock characters, and don’t write in clichés. Above all, avoid cartoon writing. In spite of what we’ve been led to believe, light bulbs don’t turn on over our heads every time we get an idea. Nor do thunderclouds rain on our heads when we’re blue. These old gimmicks are lazy, and they’re not the truth.
Write with authority. Be honest.
8. Write with style.
I eulogized about style in Chapter One: it gives wings to your words. Style also is what makes your life stories interesting and even entertaining. Your number-one job as a writer is to keep the reader reading, and the way to do that is by serving the reader a generous helping of your own individual style.
Let me recommend to you what may be the most important ingredient of writing with style: irony. Irony comes in two forms. First, there’s irony at the sentence level, where you write a phrase or a word that surprises the reader and then on second reading is curiously accurate: When my mom has nothing to say, she always says it to me. Or: The herd of buffalo wandered slowly around the meadow like sofas at a cocktail party. Or: I crawled under the CRIME SCENE tape, but when I stood up I was confronted by a cop the size of a Buick.
On a grander scale, irony can be the stylistic ingredient that causes the plot to twist in such a way that it makes surprising sense. I offer you the plot you may be familiar with, in which a darkly beautiful queen, jealous of her step-daughter’s beauty, drinks a toxic potion in order to become an ancient crone, so that she can murder the innocent young girl. Ironically, the princess survives, whereas the scheming queen dies horribly, and she dies hideously ugly.
Irony, just one element of style, gives a story the element of surprise, either at the sentence level or at the story level. Either way, it entertains the reader. And either way (extra points to you) irony is a joy to write.
9. All writers rewrite.
Nobody ever wrote a perfect first draft, except maybe Lincoln when he scrawled the Gettysburg Address on the back of an envelope, and chances are he changed a few words by the time he read the piece aloud.
When you think you’re finished, let readers you trust read your work. Ask them to respond honestly and listen with both ears open to their suggestions. You may not agree with all they tell you, but don’t defend your writing out of a sense of pride. If they didn’t “get it,” it’s not their fault, probably.
If you don’t have friends to help you with this, read your story aloud to an audience of nobody. If something sounds clunky or phony, it is, and it needs to be rewritten. Remember, these life stories are how you will be remembered by your family for generations to come.
Don’t be discouraged. Any story can be improved, and the process can be fun.
10. You may break the rules.
But if you do break the rules of good writing, do so on purpose.
Want to write a story in which the point of view switches with every line of dialogue? Go right ahead. Want to write a story in which the employment of lengthy words, a preference for noun constructions and the passive voice are utilized extensively? Do you really, really want to feature “ly” words, filler words, and intensifiers, very, very freely? Be my guest.
But shine a spotlight on your intentional disregard for logic and clarity. Have fun with the experiment, so your readers will enjoy it too.
Because there’s one rule you may not break:
Thou shalt entertain!
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Note. This is the second chapter of a small book I’m writing about how and why to write the stories of our lives. In this chapter I give techniques for mining our pasts for good story material. I know most readers of this blog are not memoirists, but fiction writers. Nevertheless, since I believe that much if not most fiction is to some degree autobiographical, I hope you’ll give this brief essay a read.
One of the reasons writers give for not getting their life stories down on paper is that they “don’t have anything to write about.” Well, maybe they feel that way, that their lives contain no stories, but I don’t buy it. Anybody old enough to hold this book in his or her hands has lived long enough to have experiences, meaningful experiences, to write about. The task is to recall those memories and then shape them into stories.
I recommend three resources for stimulating your memory. I call these the Attic, Rites of Passage, and Archetypes.
The Attic isn’t, or doesn’t have to be, a real attic, upstairs in a dusty loft. The image is just a symbol for where we keep relics and souvenirs we haven’t looked at or thought about for quite a while. It’s the compartment of your memory that opens up and reminds you of an experience, a milestone, a subtle change—in other words, a story to be told. Reminders can come to you from somebody else’s story, or from dreams, or from books and movies; and they’ll hit you by surprise and demand that you remember something that happened to you.
If nothing’s nudging you out of the blue, then feel free to stimulate your memory by climbing the real attic stairs and opening up that real chest of treasures. Don’t have an attic? How about a basement? A junk drawer? Tool box? Glove compartment?
There are all sorts of stimuli at hand: photo albums, scrapbooks, school yearbooks, certificates and trophies, recipe boxes, scars on your body, poems from a love affair that turned sour or bloomed beautifully. A yo-yo with a broken string. A piece of Noxema-blue beach glass from Cape Cod. A favorite stone given to you by a mentor who later killed himself. Old songs, popular when you were a child, or an adolescent, or when you fell in love.
So if you want to write a story from your life and you don’t know where to start, find an artifact. Remember how your life changed when you added that artifact to your collection of odds and ends too precious to throw away.
And start writing.
“Rights of Passage,” a term borrowed from anthropology, refers to those experiences that come as a result of our common biological or social changes. Some of these changes are specific to males, and others to females; but we all either experience them or know people who have experienced them. The important thing about these shared experiences, in terms of the stories of our lives, is not that they happen, because by their nature they’re common to us all, but the psychological changes that happen because of them. The way you experienced a certain rite of passage, and the way it made you different, will be your own story.
What were the rites of passage that changed you and made you who you are, different from before they happened? Here are a few, common to many of us, that may jog your memory and make you itch to write about them:
The Oedipal conflict, the generation gap, sibling rivalry, first friends and best friends, romantic love, sexual love, lasting love, loss of love, courtship, marriage, divorce, children (generation gap redux), toilet training, summer camp, bar mitzvah, first menstruation, learning to shave, first driver’s license, first auto accident, first sex, getting eyeglasses, an abortion, getting religion, getting politics, going too war, passing the bar, being promoted, being fired, grave illness, the joys of grandparenthood.…
Now throw away that list and make a list of your own turning points. Others will relate to them because you’ve stimulated their own memories.
Here are a couple of tips on how to ensure a resonance with your readers. Plug into the story some indication of what was going on in the world when you experienced this rite of passage, this change. The simplest way to do this is by hanging a date on the wall of your story. “I learned a lot about honesty in the summer of 1974.” A more elegant way is to refer to a newsworthy event that was happening at the time: “When Nixon went on TV and told us, flat-out, that he was not a crook, I learned…” It’s also important to let your reader know how far along in life were, either by stating your age or, more interestingly, by referencing your experience: “I learned that love means nothing from the tennis pro I fell in love with, the summer I turned seventeen.”
Archetypes are another rich resource for inspiration when searching in our past for the stories of our lives. Archetypes are those stories we all know from our common cultural lore. Some examples of archetypes in our western culture can be found in Greek myths, Old-Testament bible stories, and European fairy tales. These well-known stories exist as if to illustrate the changes we go through, so in a sense they’re another way of presenting rites of passage.
Have you found yourself in a horrible job situation, doing mindless, meaningless work that you had no hope of completing? So did Sisyphus. (As did Captain Ahab and Wile E. Coyote.) If you’ve ever had a bitter rivalry with a sibling, remember the story of Cain and Abel. Was your senior prom a glorious night for you or an embarrassing disappointment? Either way, think Cinderella. I’m sure that each of us, at some time in our life, has been unable to resist doing something we were told by our elders not to do. We did it in spite of dire warnings, and as a result we had to suffer the consequences. That’s why Eve and Adam got kicked out of the Garden. That’s how Lot’s wife became a salt lick. Why Pandora opened up a box of troubles, and how the Little Mermaid lost her life. And there are hundreds more. Let ancient stories shine a light on your own moments of change. Let them awaken your memories.
The three resources I’ve just discussed, the Attic, Rites of Passage, and Archetypes, are handy tools for stirring up your memories of the changes in your life. These memories are inspirations for stories you’ll want to write.
So now would be a good time to discuss the slippery matter of memory.
Be advised that memory is not an accurate record of the past. Memory is a malleable art form. Every time we remember an event from our past, we’re really remembering our most recent memory of that event. Each time, we edit it slightly, so it changes and usually becomes more meaningful and dramatic. This is especially true for us writers, because every good writer is also a diligent self-editor.
Here’s my advice on this subject: don’t worry about the editing process that goes on when we bring those memories out of the trunk in the attic. The way you remember what happened is good enough, and you don’t need to fact-check. A good memory is a valuable tool for anyone writing life stories, but just as valuable is a lively sense of imagination.