Note: When I moved to Humboldt County, California ten years ago, I signed on to teach an adult education class called "The Stories of Our Lives." I had been teaching creative writing while I lived in Santa Barbara, and I wanted to keep teaching. The life stories class became popular and was a pleasure for me. Alas, a couple of years ago, when the economy tanked and the funds for frills dried up, Adult Education was canceled, and I retired from teaching. I miss the classroom, but I think I've found a way to stay in the business. I'm planning to write a short book on memoir writing, based on the detailed notes I used for my classes. I plan to post chapters on my blog, as I write them. What follows here is my brief introduction to the subject.
Those of us who are writers must write. We storytellers
write stories. Anybody who has lived as long as you have lived has plenty to
write about. In the attic of your memory you’ll find a treasury of tales to put
on paper. The purpose of this book is to help you mine your past, with all its
surprises, narrow escapes, successes, foolish mistakes, your loves and your
fights, and all the wisdom you’ve picked up along the way, and turn all that
fine material into stories. This book will help you make those stories worth
reading.
The stories we tell about our lives form a link between
the past and the future. What happened to you when you were a teenager is still
important to you, and it will be important to your teen-aged great grandchild
some day. How you raised your children will be fascinating to those children’s
children when they’re bringing up kids in the future, kids who will share your
experiences, just as they will share your DNA.
Believe me, what you write will be important to your
family for generations to come. I know I wish I could read a first-hand account
of how my father’s grandfather came from Wales to Wisconsin. He didn’t leave me
a clue. That’s why I’m making a point of writing stories about my adventures
and discoveries, before I forget them. I want to record my personal choices. I
want somebody in the future to know what I thought about rock and roll, about
civil rights in the 1950s, about the Vietnam war; how I married three very
wonderful and very different women; what it was like to work with words as a bookseller, editor, writer, and publisher; what I learned from my own sons; and how I
once hitchhiked through Nevada in the snow. For starters.
You have stories to leave for the future, too. Tell the
world of today and tomorrow how you felt about your yesterdays. What was you
first thought when you stared at the television and watched airplanes crash
into the World Trade Center? Were you overjoyed or appalled when a black man
was elected president? Do you remember a time when children could explore their
neighborhoods safely and unattended? When you could drink out of mountain
streams?
Another reason to write our stories is just for the sheer
joy of it. It can be a delight to revisit the past. Yes, it can also be
painful, but the writing will turn the pain into valuable truth. The secret is
to write with storytelling style. This book has tips on that.
Socrates encouraged us to examine our lives. A good way to
examine your life is to write about the stories you’ll find in your memory. And
a generous, satisfying thing to do with your stories is to share them.
John,
ReplyDeleteGood point! It's important to document today's events because what happens today will eventually become part of history. In the future, people will be reading about what is happening now in our lives, just as we read about what happened in the past. And, most probably, they'll be saying, "Those were the good ole days." :)
YOu're right, Pat. As for the "good old days," I confess that one of the reasons I write about my past is that I'm not quite comfortable in these modern times. Life seemed more civilized when I was younger. This bias comes with being an old crab, I guess.
DeleteA worthy goal, John, and something all of us should do. Helping people with their genealogy, I hear the lament all the time--"If only I had asked..." or "Why didn't my parents write that down.."
ReplyDeleteI agree, John. Blessed are the ancestors who left tracks in the sand. We learn so much from them. It's our duty to do that for those who will come later.
DeleteI look forward to that book when it is written and put me down for a copy. My daughter is always asking me to write about me and my husband's life but the doing is tricky. I can put my experiences in fiction, but to be able to write it from a place of been-there-done-that might be of greater value since it's from experience.
ReplyDeleteCora, fiction is a fine way to tell the stories of our lives. A good memory is a valuable asset, but so is a good imagination.
DeleteGreat intro, John, and I'm sure you'll do a wonderful book. You know that I also teach memoir (almost 20 years) at our community college adult and at libraries; I never tire of listening to the real-life stories I'm privileged to learn from my writing groups. I look forward to your chapters!
ReplyDeleteYes, Eileen, I know you teach memoir, and I know you're good at it. I know what a privilege it is to hear the stories of our students.
DeleteI think this is a great idea, John. I started blogging chapters about two years ago. I wrote a serial mystery novel week by week. The process keeps you honest, because you have to produce, and it's not exactly rough draft material either. I'm on my second serialized mystery now, and I'm planning to release my first in e-book form in about two weeks.
ReplyDeleteBill, I continue to be amazed by how much you produce...and I know you have the chops to do good work, as well as lots of it.
DeleteYou're so right. I often feel guilty because in my hurry to interview, research and write about others' experiences, I've neglected family stories. Where will I find the time? I'm not sure, but will try. Thanks for the nudge.
ReplyDeleteYou should give it a shot, Velda. You're a born storyteller.
DeleteThanks, John. Get 'er down before she goes--like tears in rain.
ReplyDeleteWell put, Clark.
ReplyDelete