Mini Memoir Moment #4: Looking back—how you changed along the way from there to here

Marcia Moston

The interest in any story, yours included, is not so much what you did, but what you made of it—what you learned, how you changed. That’s not to say if you walked across that bridge in the photo, you wouldn’t have a story to tell. But more than just the fact that you did it, how did you do it? What did you experience when you first saw it? Why did you decide to tackle it? If your feet bolted to the boards halfway across, how did you manage to make it the whole way? How did you feel after you accomplished it? Did it change you in any way?

These are the kinds of considerations that make your personal story become your readers’. We all may not have crossed a chasm on a swaying bridge, but we all have faced a challenge, maybe a fearful one. Reading about how someone else dealt with a situation helps us to absorb his or her experience and apply it to our own. So it’s not “just the facts, ma’am” you want to record when writing your story, but why those moments are important to you. Not only will your reader benefit, but you will too.

Example:

When she was arrested for her former involvement with drug traffickers, Piper Kerman, a Smith graduate from a supportive, well-to-do family traded her designer clothes and comfortable lifestyle for a prison jump suit and fifteen months behind bars. In her memoir, Orange is the New Black, Kerman shares the lessons she learned during her incarceration and how that experience changed her. Including this reflection provides readers with both an intriguing story and insight into the complexities and dynamics of a world most would not ordinarily experience. (*The book is not at all like the TV series, by the way.) Here are some sample passages:

I had learned a lot since arriving in prison five months ago: how to clean house using maxipads, how to wire a light fixture, how to discern whether a duo were best friends or girlfriends, when to curse someone in Spanish, knowing the difference between “feelin’ it (good) and “feelin’ some kinda way” (bad) . . . which guards were players and which guards were nothin’ nice.

However, most of all, I realized that I was not alone in the world because of the women I lived with for over a year . . . .We shared over-crowded dorms and lack of privacy. We shared eight numbers instead of names, prison khakis, cheap food and hygiene items. Most important, we shared a deep reserve of humor, creativity in adverse circumstances, and the will to protect and maintain our own humanity. .  . I don’t think any of us could have managed those survival techniques alone; I know I couldn’t—we needed each other.

Before and After

There’s wisdom in the rear-view mirror. Looking back and examining the pivotal experiences and events—both in our control and out of it—which have impacted our life, helps us to understand our present. As Danish philosopher Kierkegaard says, “Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.” Or, if you prefer John Wayne’s take – “Tomorrow hopes we’ve learned something today.”

Try organizing some of those pivotal moments into pairs of themes. That’s how Bob Goff arranges the stories in his book Love Does. Each chapter is a self-contained story from his outrageously large life. He subtitles each chapter with variations of before and after, following a I used to . . . but now I . .  . pattern:

I used to be afraid of failing at something that really mattered to me, but now I’m more afraid of succeeding at things that don’t matter.

I used to want to fix people, but now I just want to be with them.

I used to think I had to act a certain way to follow God, but now I know God doesn’t want us to be typical.

Times of Reversals

Looking back over our lives also helps to see how we got through times of reversal, when something difficult or downright awful later turned out good. This is a particularly helpful exercise for those who want to pursue their spiritual journey. You might discover recurrent themes in your life. What helped you get through trying times—people, prayer, divine intervention, gut and grit?

The Friday of this post, Good Friday, is a perfect example of reversal for those of the Christian faith. The day Christ died on a cross was a dismal day for those who hoped in him. All their expectations and hopes hung there, lifeless, about to be buried like any other man’s. Little did the people know that in three days the most life-changing, glorious event was about to take place and what looked like death was actually life.

Regardless of your faith or whether or not you want to embark on a spiritual autobiography, you can learn much by noting these times of reversals in your life and examining how you overcame them. Consider what you lost and what you gained.

Your Turn:

1. Model Bob Goff’s pattern to write about a change in your thinking, beliefs, wants, or actions. Explain what happened and why and how you changed.

I used to (believe, think, want, like, etc.) but now I ________________.

2.  Make a timeline of your life. Divide it into periods of time—decades, or childhood, adolescence, etc. Mark some of the turning points, pivotal moments, or life changing events in each period. Write about the event and explore what you lost and what you gained from it.

3. If you could choose one event, experience or specific time of your life to write about, what would it be? Why is it important to you? What would you want your reader to know, experience, feel, learn or take away from it?

I know I said I’d post these mini moments for a month, but as my former students used to say, “Mrs. Moston doesn’t just go down rabbit trails, she goes down elephant trails.” So since I’m having fun doing these and I’ve used up all my mulch and outdoor project supplies, and since several of you seem to be following along, we’ll keep going down this trail for a while longer. Hope to see you here next week. And if you have something to share, contact me.

Blessings,

Marcia

Image: Michael Luenen, Pixabay

Mini Memoir Moment #3: Writing about the relatives

Marcia Moston

If you shake your family tree, you may be surprised at the nuts that fall out. People—both present and past—in your life are a rich source for your personal stories. Even if you are writing a straight genealogical account, try to find an incident, a particular characteristic, gesture, habit, or saying that captures some essence of a person and contributes to the heart, as well as the fact, of your story.

My father gave each of us kids a copy of his research into his family tree. I confess, many of the details were just that to me—long ago names with no meaningful point of contact other than we shared a bit of blood. But then I came upon a news clipping about one of those relatives and suddenly “real” people stepped off the page.

Turns out over a hundred years ago, some relatives—a poor, landless family—made their living ferrying firewood and goods in their canal boat around Lake Champlain. When they were caught in a terrible storm, they tried to take shelter at the nearest dock, but the caretaker refused to let them. He untied their boat, which subsequently crashed. They sued the millionaire owner and won. The case Ploof vs. Putnam is still used by law students today. Heartless as the caretaker was, he did have a reason for wanting to protect the owner’s property: the Ploofs were known as “Pirates of Lake Champlain” with a reputation of stealing from summer cottages up and down the lake.

Pirate thieves. Now that puts some life into an otherwise static name and face in a book. Although we are natural storytellers, so often when we put pen to pad, we write some dry, fact-filled piece which is about as interesting as an insurance contract. Here are a few suggestions and examples how to enliven the people who populate your stories:

1. Follow a general statement with a specific image or action: In describing himself, Bob Goff writes:

“I am always in a hurry. I put my socks on two at a time.”

 He later re-emphasizes this characteristic with an anecdote about impatiently waiting for a slow moving rental car attendant who Goff had seen “glaciers move faster than.”—Love Does

2. Use dialogue to reveal character. Look at how much we glean about Mary Karr’s mother and Mary’s childhood from this passage in The Liars' Club:

Not long before my mother died, the tile guy redoing her kitchen pried from the wall a tile with an unlikely round hole in it. He sat back on his knees and held the tile up so the sun through aged yellow curtains seemed to pierce the hole like a laser. He winked at my sister Lecia and me before turning to my gray-haired mother, now bent over her copy of Marcus Aurelius and a bowl of sinus-opening chili, and he quipped, “Now Miss Karr, this looks like a bullet hole.”

Lecia didn’t miss a beat, saying, “Mother, isn’t that where you shot at daddy?”

And Mother squinted up, slid her glasses down her patrician-looking nose and said, very blasé, “No, that’s where I shot at Larry.” She wheeled to point at another wall, adding, “Over there’s where I shot at your daddy.”

3. Choose descriptive elements that both paint a picture and contribute to character, as Rhoda Janzen does in her memoir The Mennonite in a Little Black Dress.

My mother, unlike my father, is not classically handsome. But she does enjoy good health. She is as buoyant as a lark on a summer’s morn. Nothing gets this woman down. She is the kind of mother who, when we were growing up, came singing into our bedrooms at 6:00 a.m., tunefully urging us to rise and shine and give God the glory, glory. And this was on Saturday. Upbeat she is. Glamorous she is not.

Besides being born Mennonite, which is usually its own beauty strike, my mother has no neck. When we were growing up, our mother’s head, sprouting directly from her shoulders like a friendly lettuce, became something of a family focus. We’d take every opportunity to thrust hats and baseball caps upon her, which made us all shriek with unconscionable laughter. Mom would laugh good-naturedly, but if we got too out of hand, she’d predict that our Loewen genes would eventually assert themselves.

But be careful what you write:

On her deathbed, Pat Conroy’s mother reportedly told him she found it hard to relax while dying because she knew he’d write down every word she said. (He did—Beach Music) Our stories naturally involve others—some living, some long gone. So what can or should we say about them?

Well, first, if it’s true, not some fabricated slant intended to hurt someone’s reputation, then you may be safe in what you say. Without getting into libel legalities here, I think the more important point is to ask yourself why you are including that particular point. Revenge or discredit doesn’t make good memoir. Then ask yourself if you are willing to live with yourself and accept the consequences of whatever it is you’ve chosen to say. You might show the person involved the part that concerns them, but in the end, it’s your story. Be truthful. Be responsible.

And then there’s this advice from writer Phillip Lopate:

1. Befriend only people who are too poor to hire lawyers to sue you.

2. If you plan to write about friendship, make lots of friends, because you are bound to lose a few.

3. For the same reason, try to come from a large family. 

Your turn:

1. Model Rhoda Janzen’s piece about her mother. You could start with “He/she is the kind of person who . . .  and then give an example to illustrate the statement.

2. Gestures, expressions, family sayings:

Make a list of sayings you heard growing up: Who said it? How did it reflect their beliefs or values?

Think about a particular person. How did/do they register different emotions—worry, joy, disapproval? Do they take their glasses off? Twitch their nose? Twirl a curl? Whistle?

3. Sketch a scene, an anecdote that illustrates your relationship with a person. For example, if your grandfather was a quiet, patient man, how did he express love to you? Take you fishing? Patiently teach you how to do something?

4. Think of someone who made an impact on you for better or for worse. Write about a specific incident. Try to capture the emotion of the moment without specifically naming it.

And as always, love to hear from you.

Blessings,

Marcia

photo credit: visualhunt

Mini Memoir Moment #2: Objects as Gateways to Memories and Keys to Stories

Marcia Moston

Anyone who has moved, downsized, or tackled a vigorous spring-cleaning is well aware of how much stuff mysteriously makes its way into our cupboards, closets and garages over the years. We struggle over what to keep, what to jettison, and what to pass on to someone else in hopes they will treasure it as much as we did. Our things not only reveal a lot about us—what we value and treasure, but they also serve as emotional connections to past people and places. Whether they are ordinary or exquisite, objects are rich sources of stories. As British ceramicist and author Edmund de Waal says:

You take an object from your pocket and put it down in front of you and you start. You begin to tell a story.  How objects are handed on is all about story-telling. I am giving you this because I love you. Or because it was given to me. Because I bought it somewhere special. Because you will care for it. Because it will complicate your life. Because it will make someone else envious . . . What is remembered and what is forgotten. —The Hare with Amber Eyes: A Family’s Century of Art and Loss

Mini Memoir Moments #1

Photo credit

 Mini Memoir Moment #1: The Story-Generating Power of Lists

I know. Alliteration is for soup-selling jingles, not titles for writing lessons, of all things! But alliteration comes naturally to me. And that is what these short lessons are about—just getting started naturally. Many of us have a head full of memories we’d like to give form to, but either we don’t know how to get going, or we when we do, we write in such a dry, detached way that we bore ourselves, to say nothing of our intended readers.

 So for my corona-canceled OLLI at Furman participants (and anyone else who’d like to come along), in lieu of the spring class on memoir/creative nonfiction, every Friday for the next month or so I’ll give some tips, examples, and exercises to get you started writing your true stories. I will also include links to resources that will help you develop, expand, and improve your writing. But for here and now our goal is simply to get started.

Punch lists, shopping lists, to-do lists—they keep us organized and help us note progress as we complete each item. However, we can also utilize lists to activate our memory-making muscles, generate ideas, and enrich our stories. Let’s look at a few exercises and examples.

1. Use lists to stir up memories. As one thing leads to another, so does one memory often evoke another—especially when you write them down as they surface without having to worry about form, structure, and grammar. Use the following ideas to list the first memories that come to mind. Later, if one memory captures your attention, go back and fill in more specific details. Maybe you can develop this into an anecdote or illustration for your bigger story.

a. First, Last, Best, Worst—These moments often have a big impact on us. Title four columns or sections on your paper with each of these headings and then use the following topics to generate memories under each heading. You can, of course, add your own topics.

Kiss, Car, Job, Date, Meal, Day of school, Dance, Vacation, Family gathering, Pet . . . etc.

 b. A time when . . . Again, jot down the first memory that comes to mind; later you can go back and explore the event in greater detail. Here are a few ideas for times when something happened that had an emotional impact on you:

Opportunity knocked, You overcame an obstacle, You were lost, You experienced wonder, You became aware of the spiritual realm, You were rescued, You had to forgive someone, You were embarrassed, A bad situation turned out well, Someone made you feel proud, You had to make a big decision, You were scared . . . etc.

           

Here’s an example of how a list was incorporated into a bigger story:

A House in the Sky, Amanda Lindhout’s memoir about surviving 460 days in captivity, opens with scenes from her life as a child. For someone whose story is ultimately about having the courage to transcend and survive, she begins by recounting things she was afraid of as a child:

I was a frightened kid, almost all the time. I was scared of the dark and I was scared of strangers and I was scared of breaking bones and also of going to doctors. I was scared of the police, who sometimes came to our house . .  . . I was afraid of heights. I was afraid of making decisions. I didn’t like dogs. I was supremely afraid of being laughed at.

2. Use lists to inform or explain. We are an information-consuming people and are drawn to articles and books that can deliver what we want to know in 3, 5,7, 10, or 21 easy steps. Numbering points makes them easier to remember—the pastor’s 3-point sermon—and breaks information into tidy, doable units. Usually we remember (for reasons not gone into here) odd numbered lists better. But then, some of us remember there are 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover. Just slip out the back . . .

Exercise:

List 7 things

            I wish I told my husband/wife/children

            I learned by the seat of my pants

            My mother told me

            I’d like to pass on

            I wish I’d never done

            I wish I had done….etc.

So go ahead and play with these ideas. Expand them and make them your own. If you’d like to share some comments here, please do. If you’d like to share some writing here, I’d love to see it, but please keep it brief. Play nice. Play clean. And play short, aware of other people’s space. No more than 5 items per list. And no anecdotal memories over 100 words.

Hope to see you next week.

Blessings,

Marcia

Royalty in the Making: Monarchs and Me

Marcia Moston

A quick, simple stop at the nursery for a couple of knock out rose bushes turned into a month’s worth of worry and wonder.

I was all ready to check out when the attendant, Maxine, held up a pot with a solitary plant. “In two weeks this will be a monarch butterfly.” I stared at the acorn-shaped chrysalis suspended by a tiny strand from the underside of a leaf.

Like any other school child, at some point in my elementary education, I had learned about the four stages of a butterfly, but although I had dutifully memorized diagrams in my textbook, I had never witnessed this transformation. Maxine examined another plant, found a tiny larva on the underside of a leaf, held it up for me to see and smiled.

There’s a time for learning facts, and there’s a time for experiencing wonder. I was ready for wonder.

Calling on the Carpenter of Nazareth for Help with House-Selling Stress

According to a survey in the Daily Mail, selling a house is one of most stressful experiences people go through, topping death and divorce. 

Although I’d much rather lose a house than lose my husband, having sold five houses during the lifetime of our marriage, I can see why people think that way.

Bob’s Barn: When life hands you a carport—but you really wanted a workshop

Nat with shed stuff

Marcia Moston

I used to say the property we bought was “on the tracks”—the lake homes to the right of us were mostly a mix of new and nice, some to the left were tin and tacky. But after living here for the past six months, I’ve had to repent of my uppity attitude toward people who live in homes that are registered with the motor vehicle department. I still don’t appreciate those whose yards are full of trash; there’s a difference between slovenly and resourceful, but I’ve come to see that some of that yard stuff I looked upon as trash is actually someone’s creative vision just waiting to take form.

How to dismantle a mobile home—DIY Rule 1b:Beware the time-lapsed video

Marcia Moston

After we spent several thousand more than anticipated in clearing our newly purchased land, we discovered the old mobile home on it wasn’t so mobile after all. The person who wanted it for his own fixer-upper project abandoned the idea because he couldn’t get the permits to haul it down the road. So there we were with this big old doublewide parked right where we wanted to build. The man we hired to find the septic system offered to take it down. “$5,000,” he said. “You pick up the Dumpster fees.”

Ka-ching. Again. And we hadn’t even started to build. That’s the way it is, isn’t it? There’s always a high price to pay to get rid of the old before you can begin the new.

Downsizing: Letting go of all that Precious Stuff

Marcia Moston

The thing about my childhood home was that even though it was small—with every closet and cupboard packed—to a child there was a potential for the discovery of unexpected treasures.  

I remember the pantry, long and deep, with a wall of upper cabinets and huge heavy bottom drawers I could hardly joggle back into place. Nevertheless, I loved to explore and organize the shelves. I marveled over the ruby-colored dessert cups that caught shafts of light and the stacks of Grandma’s green embossed dishes crammed alongside rougher items like waffle irons, hammers and a gun or two lodged up against the water heater in the far corner.

Why did no one care that these treasures were relegated to such an ignominious fate? Hidden away. Unused. Unappreciated.

I think it was the discovery of my sister’s coconut that shed some light on the matter for me.

A Year of Nest Building

My intention when I walked into Pier 1 that day was to pick up the chairs I’d ordered. It was the picture of the bird with a beak full of miscellany that stopped me. I turned to my ever-agreeable Bob. “Building a nest. That sums up my life this past year. I’ve got to have it.”

This was before I remembered birds build nests mainly to raise their babies. They live (roost) elsewhere. Clearly not my situation. My nest is post–birdlings. It’s an empty-nester’s nest, one that this time around I expect to live in until I die.

 Nevertheless, I bought the picture and hung it on the naked wall of my newly erected house.

The fixer-upper saga continues: The things we leave behind

I was hoping to find what the Bible refers to as “hidden treasures of darkness.” The property we bought included a run-down mobile home and a metal shed. Both very dark and both packed, I say packed (some boxes since 1999) with the left-behinds of what was once a family. Or maybe it was several families—siblings who used the place to store the mementos of a former life.