Malleable Memoirs: Ways to Experiment with This Personal Genre
Sometimes an experience resonates so much that it begs to be shared with the world. Memoir is one beautiful genre vehicle which enables writers to do just that. Memoir deals with real life happenings, ones that the writer has experienced first-hand. It is a magical moment when the author also gets to become a character.
However, memories aren't tangible things. They arrive and depart, leaving the barest bits for us to pick up and file away. As writers, no matter how close we try to get to the details of an event, there will always be something we miss or modify, if only to fit our medium. It’s easy to forget that just because memoir is a branch of nonfiction, doesn’t mean that we have to fit our story within textbook-like confines. In fact, memoir, like poetry, can be one of the most personal genres, giving the author the opportunity to crack open that egg and fry it however they deem the most delicious. Lost yet? Let me explain.
Fluid Form
No matter if your memoir is a three hundred page book or a selection of flash pieces, experimenting with structure is always a good idea. Let’s look at an example: Valerie James Abbott’s children’s book, Padapillo, which tells the story of her daughter’s experience with early onset hearing loss. This book underwent a major structural transformation during its writing process. Originally, the narrative was written as many memoirs are, in that conversational, ultra-direct way that can feel the most honest. It was in the heat of that experience with her daughter when Abbott began writing that version of her book, and the emotions were still very charged. Years later, she came back to it with a new approach. Why not turn this story about her child into a book for children? Something accessible and informative that kids and adults can attach themselves to and understand more readily.
While the change from adult memoir to children’s book may not be in your cards, perhaps there is some room for play with the structure you’re using. What would happen, for example, if the memoir was told in full or semi epistolary form, with letters or news clippings? Maybe even a couple real journal entries as a personal touch. How would the impact of your story be elevated by trading long chapters for short snapshots? There are many paths to take, and a little change can go a long way.
Time for Talk
Dialogue can be a tricky thing in memoir, and, like with any piece of writing, will add or detract from the moment depending on how it’s used. Even if no one is speaking, quoted thoughts can fall in the same pit. It’s normal, especially with memoir, to want to write out conversations exactly the way they happened. But it’s not always necessary. Sometimes, the setting and the characterization can speak more towards the meaning of the scene than the dialogue can.
One helpful exercise to find the most saucy lines in a conversation is cropping. It’s not a real technical term, but it conjures up the right idea. Imagine you’re taking a picture of a friend in the park. After you take it, you find there are background subjects that detract from the shot, like someone annihilating a jelly donut in the left corner, or a dog relieving itself on a silver hydrant in the right (though, what wonderful comedic timing). What really matters is your friend and the lush background of the park’s trees. So, what do you do? Crop out the distractions! Try writing out the conversation line by line as you remember it. Then, go back with another color pen or the highlighting tool on your laptop and note the lines which stick out the most. Are there any blocks of exchange which you can skip to when writing your scene? Is there a heart of the conversation that you didn’t notice before? This exercise is also great when figuring out which conversations aren’t worth including.
Illusive Onlookers
When looking at dialogue, it’s also interesting to think about the narrator. I know what you may be thinking: “but the narrator is me, the author.” I raise you this: what if it wasn’t? There isn’t necessarily a rule that states all memoirs must be written in first person from the experiencer’s perspective. Actually, it sometimes improves the piece if it isn’t. Rewinding a bit, Abbott originally wrote Padapillo from her own perspective. Much like the structure and style of the piece, the point of view also changed some years later. Instead, she chose to rewrite the book from the point of view of her other daughter, the older sister to the book’s focal character. Through the young eyes of this sister, Abbott is able to tap into a different set of emotions, ones which focus on the children’s experience of the situation while still acknowledging her own as a parent. It’s a different story, but one that is wider reaching and more unique in its perspective.
Look at a scene you’ve written. Is there anyone else whose perspective might lend more to the moment? Or, would this scene have more intrigue through omniscient eyes? Perhaps the narrator isn’t a person at all, but a piece of the surrounding world, like a tall oak tree or an old family cookbook. Try out the unassuming and strange perspectives and see what it adds to your piece.
It’s so easy to treat memoir as a straight and narrow genre that we often forget its malleability. These are your experiences you’re writing about, no one else's. Forget the rules for a moment, forget the expectations, and experiment with possibility!
