Back to Basics: Are you paralyzed by the thought of writing your memoir?

 

“Most people embarking on writing a memoir are paralyzed by the size of the task,” writes William Zinsser.

 

“Where to start? Where to stop? How to shape the story?

 

“The past looms over them in a thousand fragments, defying them to impose on it some kind of order.

 

“Because of that anxiety, many memoirs linger for years half written, or never written at all.” (William Zinsser, How to Write a Memoir)

 

Does that describe you?

If so, take a deep breath.

Let me offer you some help.

 

I recommend that you begin by coming up with a structure for your memoir.

 

“The structure is the framework you write into,

your security blanket, your assurance that all your hard work

will result in a completed manuscript.”

(Priscilla Long, The Writer’s Portable Mentor)

 

When we talk about structuring your memoir, then, we’re talking about its organization. You’ll need to determine the best sequence of events.

 

Remember our earlier post about story arc? Click on Your memoir’s all-important story arc and Your memoir’s middle and end.

 

To jog your memory, let’s review a story arc, as well as the basics of story:

 

Memoirs read like novels (but unlike novels, they are true accounts). Jon Franklin (Writing for Story) explains: “A story consists of a sequence of actions that occur when a sympathetic character encounters a complicating situation that he confronts and solves.”

Franklin says, in other words, that a quality story “will consist of a real person who is confronted with a significant problem, who struggles diligently to solve that problem, and who ultimately succeeds—and in doing so becomes a different character.”

Dr. Linda Joy Myers says it this way: “The main character . . . —in a memoir it’s you!—is changed significantly by events, actions, decisions, and epiphanies. The growth and change of the main character is imperative in any story, and is the primary reason a memoir is written—to show the arc of character change from beginning to end.”

 

The story arc is like a thread, a path from beginning to end, making clear that character change.

 

Okay, back to your memoir’s structure:

 

I recommend that you tell your story chronologically—with a beginning, a middle, and an end. It’s straightforward: Arrange chapters according to date. That will be your structure.

 

With that in mind, let’s talk about flashbacks.

 

Tiffany Yates Martin offers this succinct definition of flashbacks: “. . . [S]eparate, self-contained scenes that serve to fill in essential backstory. . . . [They are] events . . . that happened before the events of the current story. . . .”

 

So how, specifically, could a flashback work in your memoir?

 

Two ways.

 

The first way: Some memoirists, even though writing a chronological account, begin their books with a flashback.

Here’s how that works: Place a compelling segment of your story in Chapter 1 (or perhaps in the first part of Chapter 1)—something intriguing or mysterious that will hook your readers. Something riveting or gripping.

 

After you’ve sufficiently developed that attention-getting opening, flashback to what led up to that experience—to where and how it all got started.

 

Note:

Often writers signal to readers

that they’re entering a flashback scene

by using the word “had.”

 

Here’s an example from my friend Shel Arensen, who was a college kid at the time, trying to get home for Christmas. Notice the word “had” in the sixth paragraph. That signaled to readers that the paragraph was a flashback—he was offering readers some background info.

 

Alone in Amsterdam, by Shel Arensen

 

I opened my eyes, suddenly awake. An eerie sense of uneasiness crept over me. Had I heard someone moving in the room? It was too dark to see. Then I heard the door click.

 

I sat upright in bed, straining to see who might have invaded the barracks-style hostel room where I was staying in Amsterdam, Holland. I sat perfectly still, hardly breathing, for several minutes. No one else stirred.

 

“I must have been imagining things,” I told myself. . . .

 

I decided to lie on my stomach. . . . When I turned over, I noticed what was wrong!

 

My pants, hanging on the wall near my bed, were twisted, and the lining of my pocket was hanging out. . . . I reached for my wallet. It was gone!

 

My misfortunes had started the day before when I arrived at Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam. I was to make connections there for Kenya, where my missionary parents lived.

 

“I’m sorry,” the voice of the ticket agent had grated in my ears, “but tonight’s flight to Nairobi is full. We can’t take any more passengers. . . . I will confirm your ticket for the next plane to Nairobi.”

 

“When will that be?” I questioned.

 

“Next Thursday—Christmas Day. Here’s your ticket. Enjoy Amsterdam. Who’s next in line, please?”

 

. . . Stunned and bewildered, I wandered over to a bench to collect my thoughts. . . .

It was Sunday night. . . . Now I would be unable to leave Amsterdam until Christmas—four days later. . . .

 

Did you notice the word “had” in the fifth paragraph? Using the word “had” in your manuscript will alert your readers that you’re going to take them back in time and offer significant information.

Here’s the second way of using flashbacks: While writing a chronological account, you can insert flashbacks throughout your memoir.

In other words, at key places you’ll interrupt the chronological order by flashing back to something that happened earlier—because you want to explain something to readers about that.

 

Here’s an example of a brief flashback from my memoir, Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir. I was sitting in the co-pilot’s seat next to the pilot, Roland, in a small plane in the skies over South America. 

 

Dipping low, three or four seconds from touchdown, the wing on my side catapulted into the air and we veered to the left, the lopsided plane convulsing, engines roaring. Red lights flashed in the cockpit. A buzzer bawled somewhere. Roland jerked levers and slapped switches and punched buttons.

 

Dear God! I prayed, but I couldn’t say more. I couldn’t breathe. Of all the potential dangers I’d worried about—kidnapping, murder, drug cartel and guerrilla activity—I’d never imagined a plane crash.

 

Because our pilots often flew into the riskiest places on earth, they had been trained to have the engines at full throttle when approaching an airstrip in case they had to abort the landing. Grazing animals, curious children, or downed trees were common reasons to abort. Some landing strips clung to mountainsides and others were dangerously short. And sometimes armed insurgents swarmed remote airstrips. All were good reasons to be revved up at full throttle and ready to liff back into the air.

 

So, when that wicked horizontal wind shear jerked the plane vertical and tried to smash us to the ground, Roland wasn’t about to let that happen. His extensive training kicked in and he yanked the plane, vibrating and throbbing, into a steep climb heavenward.

 

After a brutal thirty seconds or so, Roland leveled the plane and it stopped trembling. “Whew,” he wheezed, sucking in a breath. “That was a sharp side wind. It blew in from nowhere.”

 

Notice the word “had” in the third paragraph. That’s how I pointed toward the upcoming flashback.

 

Here are phrases that could give you ideas for announcing you’re taking readers into a flashback:

 

“Before I had been invited on the trip. . . .”

“The year before, she had. . . .”

“Seven weeks earlier we had. . . .”

 

Question: Did you notice where I transitioned out of the flashback? It began with “So, when that wicked horizontal wind. . . .” With that phrase, I alerted readers that we were transitioning out of the flashback and returning to the chronological story.

 

That’s what you’ll want to do, too. Toward the end of your flashback, make it clear you’re transitioning out of it. Avoid confusing your readers: Write your way back to the scene you and the reader were in before you began your flashback, and then continue the chronological order of events.

 

Flashbacks can be very effective, but they’re not easy to pull off well. After all, you’re interrupting the reader’s involvement in your story.

 

Your job is to take readers back in time with you, and then smoothly, gracefully invite them to re-enter the main flow of the story.

 

Your desired outcome is

to hand your readers a coherent,

organized, satisfying memoir.

 

So set aside time to experiment with your memoir’s structure. Remember: You’ll no doubt revise your rough draft several times before you find the best structure.

 

You can do this! Yes, you can!