Writers in the Storm

by Ericka McIntyre

I’ve spent much of our Covid year learning about, editing, and writing my own memoir. Memoir is a form I think every writer should try to tackle at least once. Everyone has a story to tell. The exercise of writing a memoir can sharpen our memories and force us to write outside our comfort zones—always good practice for a writer at any level. If you want to craft a memoir that is truly a page-turner, you can and should use many of your fiction writing tricks.

First Things First: What a Memoir Is and Is Not

It is important to know what a memoir is and is not. A memoir is not your autobiography. A memoir is a slice of your life at a particular time, in a particular place. It is literally your memories put to paper. Some memoirs cover a year in a person’s life. Some memoirs cover several years. Think in terms of a season of your life, rather than a finite block of days on the calendar.

Many new memoirists hamstring themselves by feeling they need to tell their entire life stories, nose to tail, David Copperfield-style. You do not. A memoir focuses on a theme, on a particular red thread that has wound through your life thus far. It is not a full accounting of all your sins and wins!

A memoir is not a journal entry, even though it is your story. You must write it so that a reader can benefit from it. There must be a compelling reason to keep them turning the pages, such as a lesson they can learn or inspiration for them to find. Memoir can feel navel-gazey in the writing process, but it should never feel navel-gazey on the page. (Yes, I know this is daunting! But persevere.)

What holds a memoir together is a story—your story.

Remember as you write each page that you are telling that story, not making a police report. You can change names to protect people’s privacy. And since you are working from memory, the story will have your slant—don’t feel you have to get every single angle on it. If you ask your family about the picnic you had that one day in 1972, you will get a different story from each member about that day, told from their perspective. Somewhere in the middle lies the truth.

Discover what your truth is and use your memoir to tell it.

An Inciting Incident: You Need One

Telling us about the time you went to the market after work and ran into a friend you hadn’t seen since high school and you exchanged pleasantries with them is not  a gripping inciting incident. Telling us about the time you went to the market after work, ran into a friend you hadn’t seen since high school, and found out they needed a kidney is a start. Deciding to see if you were a match to help them because of that one time in school when they saved you from being assaulted by a teacher? That is a gripping inciting incident.

Don’t invent something that isn’t true, but when you sit down to comb through the sand of your life, you are searching for the pearl that you will hand to your readers. Think of the unusual things. If you don’t think there are any of those pearls, think again. Everyone has as story.

Once I sat in a hotel bar on a business trip and met seven different travelers, from seven different age groups, seven different places, seven different walks of life. Each and every one of them had a compelling story. You do, too. And if you write it well, people will want to read it.

Build Characters

Many new memoirists neglect to see that what they are crafting are characters (who just happen to be real people). You are the “main character” of your memoir.

This is tough for many writers. Do we ever really see ourselves completely objectively? Probably not. But we must do our best. Use the same techniques to craft interesting characters in your memoir that you do in your fiction writing. Make a list of who will appear on the stage of your memoir, and sketch them out, just as you would the players in your novel.

Some prompts:

• Did your fifth-grade teacher always smell of hard-boiled eggs?
• What type of sweaters did your mother wear?
• How did your first husband’s patterns of speech differ from those of the man you left him for? (Yes, we can be the villains in our memoirs.)
• What is your college roommate’s backstory?
• What seemed to make your stepfather abusive/wonderful/hilarious/boring?

Use significant details to build distinctive characters that your readers will cheer and jeer at in your pages. Each person will be painted as you saw them, of course, but make sure they’re unique individuals, and not just slices of your own id on parade.

Paint Scenes

Here’s where the old saw, “show, don’t tell” rears its exasperating head yet again. It applies to memoir just as much as it does to novels. Memoirists can take license to paint scenes for their readers, and they absolutely should. The day you meet the person who changed your life forever? I want to see, smell, hear, taste, and feel everything about it.

Don’t say, “I went to audition for a play and I met the director who later became my best friend.” Craft an entire scene, from the moment you got ready to go, to the way you got there, everyone who was there with you, to what immediately struck you about the director. Did you stumble through the audition or did it go off without a hitch? What was your first conversation with this person?

Show us all of it, with action, with sensory detail, and with your “characters’” speech. These scenes need to have the same kind of active pacing you’d place in your fiction. You can use foreshadowing in them, just as you would in your novel, too. And you can tell the truth while you’re doing all of this.

Craft Dialogue

A lot of first-time memoirists feel that since they’re telling a true story, they can’t use dialogue because they don’t recall everything that was said to a T. Not true! You’re writing your memories of events, to the best of your recollection, not testifying under oath in a court of law.

You remember how the people in your life spoke. You remember their verbal tics. You remember their accents. Stay true to those things and the events as you recall them, and use them to rebuild conversations that you and they had. Your mother may have said “but” instead of “however,” but you’re not going to be called to account for that. You won’t get billed five bucks for every adjective or preposition you don’t get exactly right, so loosen up!

It’s important to note too, that dialogue becomes easier to write the better you know and have crafted your “characters.” When you have drawn who a person is, how they sound, what motivates them, it is easy to imagine what they would have said. Take the layer from your memory and fill in the surface losses, adhering as closely to the truth as you can.

Summing Up

If this all sounds like a lot of work, it’s because it is. But writing a memoir can be some of the most rewarding work a writer can do. Even if you never publish that manuscript, you can use it as practice to hone your writing style, find your voice, and sharpen your skills. That is always worthwhile. You never know what may come tumbling forth from your mind when you try to remember your own life—I have been astonished at my story many times in the process—the themes that have revealed themselves, the synchronicities I never was aware of before. I have even gotten several novel and short essay ideas from the work of writing my memoir. Anything that gets a writer’s mind turning in new ways can be beneficial.

Have you written a memoir? Does the thought excite or terrify you? A little of both? Tell us in the comments.

About Ericka

Ericka McIntyre is a freelance writer and editor. She has over twenty years of experience working in media and publishing, for a wide array of employers and clients. She is also currently Editor-at-Large of Writer’s Digest, a 100-year-old brand serving the writing community. In her current work, she focuses on writing for a handful of regular clients, with a heavy emphasis on editing and book coaching for independent authors. She works on fiction and nonfiction, across multiple genres. She development edits, copyedits, and proofreads. Learn more about her and her work at www.erickamcintyre.com.

by Ellen Buikema

“Music gives a soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination and life to everything.”

– Plato

Music, the art of sound through the use of rhythm, harmonies, and melodies, is food for the soul—divine, effective, mathematical – the science of sound. Its language is universal.

A tuneful writing exercise

Music has the ability to spark our imaginations. Here’s how to channel that muse into inspiration for your writing. Turn on a tune that you love and listen carefully.

• Where does the music take you?
• What memory does the music send you to?
• How does the music make you feel?
• Now use that song to envision a character or setting.
• Then take a few minutes and write what the song inspired in you.

Music to get us motivated

For those weeks full of Mondays when nothing is going right, turn on a get-moving playlist to drag yourself to your writing space.

I’m a fan of “Happy” by Pharrell Williams. This song always brings a smile to my face and makes me feel peppier. One writer and filmmaker recommends “In One Ear” by Cage the Elephant, a very high energy, edgy sound. Here are 52 motivational songs to get you pumped.

Score your novel

Many writers choose music based on the mood of the scene they’re developing. While listening to Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries,” conjure writing scenes of slicing through the waves via tall ships or helicopters soaring through clouds on the way to battle. I’ve tried this but it doesn’t work for me. I always hear Elmer Fudd singing, “Kill the wabbit …” when I listen to this piece of the opera Die Walküre. I guess I watched too many Warner Brothers Cartoons growing up.

For romance, light classical music works well. “Iris” by the Goo Goo Dolls, used in the movie City of Angels, is a fine example. Here are 24 lovely examples in a one hour set to help with the mood.

Soundtracks swell as they maneuver your protagonist through a crime scene. Check out this crime thriller background music.

Australian science fiction author A.C. Flory uses music that fits the mood of what she’s writing. Every once in a while she shares the music she’s found that fits the mood of the piece perfectly. Here’s a recent example.

Music can transport you just about anywhere. I can remember slow dancing (okay, it was that eighth grade hug-and-waddle) to “Knights in White Satin” by the Moody Blues. If I need to return to the emotions of that time all I have to do is hear the tune and it all comes flying back to me. Not that I really want to revisit adolescence and all that teen angst.  Ew. But if I need to make my way there, music is a fast ride back.

Songs from long ago or far away

If your setting is in a foreign land, music from that nation will help you get a feel for your characters and scenes. Let’s say that you are writing a scene that takes place in the American Southwest. An easy way to travel there is to listen to Native American music, deep and hauntingly calm.

If your setting is Spain, the Spanish guitar may lend inspiration. I chose Andrés Segovia for an example as I have seen him in concert and he was marvelous.

For scenes in the Australian outback listen to the drone of the didgeridoo. Lewis Burns, an ambassador of the Aboriginal Tradition, uses circular breathing for continuous sound. I can’t imagine how difficult this is to do.

Should we write while listening to music?

Neuroscientist will answer a resounding “No.” According to these scientists when we try to multitask, like write while listening to a song, or texting a friend and listening to a family member, our brain burns glucose at a faster rate and releases cortisol because our brain tries to give equal attention to all the incoming stimuli. They posit that writing while listening to music induces stress. That said, this does not seem to be the case.

Classical music played at a low volume may increase concentration. Low level ambient sound may improve creativity.

A friend grew up near an opera house in New York City. She did her homework while listening to the loud music emanating from the stage and orchestra pit. She prefers to write while listening to classical music set at a high volume. Experiences differ.

Music with or without lyrics

Instrumentals like jazz and classical can allow the world to slip away. Music with lyrics seems to be the problem child as songs with lyrics cause some writers distraction. There is always the possibility of the lyrics finding their way into dialogue.

An odd music related aside

According to one study published in 2012, people who ate at low-lit restaurants where soft music was played consumed 18% less food than those who ate in other restaurants. Not so good for the restaurant, but I wonder if writing in a low-lit writing cave while listening to soft sounds will cause less snacking.

Whatever you decide, the music you play while writing must inspire you and your book.

Do you listen to music while you write? Which comes first, the tune or the tale? How does music affect your work?  Do you use music local to the story to help you get in the mood for writing those scenes?

* * * * * *

About Ellen

Author, speaker, and former teacher, Ellen L. Buikema has written non-fiction for parents and a series of chapter books for children with stories encouraging the development of empathy—sprinkling humor wherever possible. Her Works In Progress are, The Hobo Code, YA historical fiction and Crystal Memories, YA fantasy.

Find her at http://ellenbuikema.com or on Amazon.

Top Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay

by Lisa Hall Wilson

When you begin to learn about Deep Point of View, one of the over-simplified “rules” that’s taught is to remove emotion words (hate, anxious, happy, sad, worried, etc.), but that leaves you with a BIGGER problem. How do you show the character's emotions once you’ve removed the emotion words?

Emotions become the WHY for everything your character thinks, says, and does, so if you’re getting feedback that readers can’t connect with your character, they don’t understand why your character thinks/says/does certain things – you might have either a WHY problem, or a GAP.

A Shift in Mindset

The goal of deep POV is to remove the writer/narrator voice and create an immersive emotional journey for the reader, where they are with the character in every scene and privy to every relevant thought and feeling. Every word on the page comes from within your character, you’re not telling a story about a character (as you are in limited third person).

The WHY Must Be Specific

Why your character is making the decisions they make or thinking the way they do – the reader wants to be along for that journey. If you don’t know why your character is making certain choices or what they think about everything, then the reader has no chance whatsoever to figure it out without you telling them.

The WHY must be specific to the situation and the stakes made clear to readers. Your character is angry, keep asking them why they’re mad. What else are they feeling? How does being angry help in this situation? Are they free to express their anger in this situation? Why or why not. What’s at stake?

That why-filter shows what’s important to your character -- priorities, what they’re risking or exposing, and gives motivation for decisions. That why-filter contains all their past experiences and current emotions, even the ones they’re afraid to show to anyone.

Mind The Gap

When you hear from beta readers or critique partner to go deeper, one of the problems they may be pointing to (without being able to articulate the problem) is the gap. When the why is missing, the reader pauses at the gap undermining the immersive effect we’re going for.

The gap happens when we summarize, skip, skim, or otherwise leap ahead and leave the reader behind. Either the actual decision isn’t revealed to the reader and/or why the character made that decision is missing.

With GAP:

Jason watched the woman walk towards the bar, her heels clacking on the hard linoleum. Not interested, he thought.

Can you see the gap? There’s distance and telling in this bit with the word “watched” and “he thought” but there’s something missing. Why isn’t he interested? The conclusion is being shared without showing the evidence of how that conclusion was reached – we’re storytelling instead of living out the story as the character. What does Jason see that causes him to dismiss the woman? You might be tempted to TELL here to fill in the gap. Resist!! Use emotions to show why.

Without GAP:

Feminine heels clacked on the hard linoleum. Jason swiveled in his seat. The lanky blond-from-a-box strode towards him with a wink, her hot pink heels competing against her cleavage for his gaze. Trouble, that’s what that was. Pure and simple. He gave her his back and tipped his beer to his lips.

In the first version, he sees her and makes a snap decision, but I don’t know what information he’s used to make that decision – is it based on her appearance, age, clothing, gender?? The reader has no idea. In the rewrite, the reader sees the woman through Jason’s perspective. She’s lanky (not willowy, slender, lean, curvy – she’s lanky – that’s a description that has a negative connotation), and he sees her hair as blond-from-a-box – another negative description. This is all emotional subtext, right. We haven’t TOLD the reader anything.

Then we have the thought. “Trouble, that’s what that was.” Do we need him to describe her eye color, clothing, designer label? Nope. We get a sense of what’s important to him RIGHT NOW based on the details he focuses on and skips over. He doesn’t see anything he finds more attractive than his beer.

Do you see how the missing why creates a gap for readers? Readers can’t see what he sees, the way he sees it – they’re not in the room with him. The gap undermines the immersive effect deep POV aims to create.

Let’s Look At Another Example.

With GAP:

Allison stared at the painting, wondering at the imagination required to create such a stunning portrait. She would never be able to paint like that, she thought.

We know the thinking and emotions have to go (wondering, thought), but can you see the gap? Do you know WHY she thinks she could never make something like that? What exactly is she wondering at? There’s a why here, but there’s no specificity to it, there’s no details that might give greater insight into the character for readers (into who she is, what she wants, what’s important to her, etc.). The why is where readers connect emotionally.

Without GAP:

Allison’s ankles ached from standing still too long, but she couldn’t look away from the painting. The woman in the portrait studied her, like she was worth noticing. Tears welled up in her eyes. She rocked on her heels and looked away, shoulders slumped. She’d never be able to paint such an expression.

To try and show that Allison has been studying the painting for a while, I brought in a sensory detail – her ankles ache. The woman in the portrait makes her feel seen (which implies that ordinarily she feels overlooked, plain, unworthy) and it draws out an emotional response. Now we have a specific reason for Allison’s conclusion that she could never paint an expression (see the specificity?) like that.

Are the gaps clear to you from the examples? Have you found any in your own work? We hope you'll share them with us in the comments!

The next 5 week masterclass on deep POV starts in May 2021. Find more details soon in the Going Deeper With Emotions In Fiction Facebook group.

About Lisa

Lisa Hall-Wilson is a writing teacher and award-winning writer and author. She’s the author of Method Acting For Writers: Learn Deep Point Of View Using Emotional Layers. Her blog Beyond Basics For Writers explores all facets of the popular writing style deep point of view and offers practical tips for writers. 

She runs the free Facebook group Going Deeper With Emotions where she shares tips and videos on writing in deep point of view.