Back to Basics: Beat back the past with grace and tell your readers “We are not victims”

It used to be that people didn’t include scandalous stuff in their memoirs. We lived in a modest, dignified culture. 

 

But then things changed. Memoirists tossed out gentility and decorum, and our society entered into what William Zinsser calls “The memoir-crazed 1990s.” 

 

It was a time, he says, when people disclosed shocking information, indulged in self-pity, and sought revenge, a time when “no remembered episode was too squalid, no family too dysfunctional, to be trotted out for the titillation of the masses.”

 

But, he points out, those types of memoirs didn’t stand the test of time. (Hooray!)

 

That era did have a few good memoirs, though.

 

“The memoirs we do remember from the 1990s,” says Zinsser, “are the ones that were written with love and forgiveness, like Mary Karr’s The Liar’s Club, Frank McCourt’s Angela’s Ashes, Tobias Wolff’s This Boy’s Life, and Pete Hamill’s A Drinking Life.” (From “How to Write a Memoir” in The American Scholar.)

 

“Anyone might think” he says, “the domestic chaos and alcoholism and violence that enveloped those writers when they were young would have long since hardened the heart.” 

 

And yet they did not have hardened hearts. For example, “The marvel of Frank McCourt’s childhood is that he survived it. . . . The second marvel is that he was able to triumph over it in Angela’s Ashes, beating back the past with grace and humor and with the power of language.”

 

Each of those four authors “look back with compassion. . . .  These books…were written with love. They elevate the pain of the past with forgiveness, arriving at a larger truth about families in various stages of brokenness.  . . .

 

“There’s no self-pity, no whining, no hunger for revenge; the authors are as honest about their young selves as they are about the sins of their elders. (Writing About Your Life)  (If you missed it, be sure to read Don’t start writing your memoir until . . .)

 

“We are not victims, they want us to know. . . . We have endured to tell the story without judgment and to get on with our  lives. . . .”  (Zinsser, Writing About Your Life)

 

If you’re writing about pain caused by others, be cautious and honest about your motives.

 

Avoid writing:

• to get revenge, settle the score, or retaliate,
• to humiliate a person, company, or organization,
• to get readers to pity you,
• to get readers to take sides with you, or
• to indulge in self-pity.

 

Examine your heart and if you find even traces of writing for any of those reasons, stop! That’s not what memoir is about.

 

Extend to others the same forgiveness, grace, and mercy God has extended to you. (See last week’s post, How do you write about your family’s baggage?)

 

Let the following dwell in your heart and mind as you write:

 

“At our best,

memoirists hope it is silence we are breaking,

and not another person.”

(Kelly McMasters)

 

Zinsser counsels us:

 

“If you use memoir to look for your own humanity

and the humanity of the people who crossed your life,

however much pain they caused you,

readers will connect with your journey.

 

What they won’t connect with is whining.

Dispose of that anger somewhere else.”

 

That somewhere else could be in your journal—for your eyes only—or in a fictionalized version of your story.

 

Or it could be a first draft. Dr. Linda Joy Myers advises,

 

“Write your first draft as a healing draft.

Get out what you need to say.

Make it bold and real.

Then stand back and think about

how you want to revise it for publication.”

(Will My Family Get Angry About My Memoir?)

 

In that rough draft, write about the injustices, mistreatment, hurt feelings, anger, scars, and tears. Write about destroyed dreams, confusion, hopelessness.

 

Write it all. Write it as a prayer.

Write until you know God has heard you.

Write it as a way of asking Him

to help you forgive and move on.

 

Since that process usually takes time, set aside your private writing (rough draft) for a week or a month or a year. Listen for God, let Him work in your heart and mind.

 

Your goal is to move from anger to forgiveness, from pain to compassion. When you succeed in that, you can throw away that rough draft, or at least commit to keeping it private.

 

And then rewrite your memoir.

 

Rewrite deliberately to “elevate the pain of the past with forgiveness.”

 

Rewrite with integrity.

Delete the wallowing.

Write not as a wounded victim,

but as one who has triumphed,

as one who has forgiven, healed,

and moved forward in a good way.

 

Write like Frank McCourt did:

Beat back the past with grace—

and maybe even with a little humor.

 

  

“Beating back the past with grace . . . and with the power of language.”

Every human has experienced pain—pain caused by bullies, or unfaithful spouses, or flawed churches, or ill-equipped parents, or egotistical bosses, or cheating co-workers, or jealous siblings. The list could go on and on.

Such experiences shape people, define people. They can result in festering wounds for years. Sometimes people can’t get over the injustice of it all.

And many write memoirs about hurt and unfairness they’ve suffered.

It’s okay to write about such experiences

• if doing so helps you heal and
• if your goal is to help others heal from their own painful pasts.

But you must write your story with the correct perspective and honorable motives. 

William Zinsser, one of my dearest writing mentors, says this:

“The marvel of Frank McCourt’s childhood is that he survived it. . . . The second marvel is that he was able to triumph over it in Angela’s Ashes, beating back the past with grace and humor and with the power of language. Those same qualities are at the heart of all the good memoirs. . . .”

Zinsser mentions three such memoirs, A Drinking Life, by Pete Hamill, The Liar’s Club by Mary Karr, and This Boy’s Life by Tobias Wolff.

He continues, “Anyone might think the domestic chaos and alcoholism and violence that enveloped those writers when they were young would have long since hardened the heart. . . .  

“Yet they look back with compassion. . . .  These books . . . were written with love.

“They elevate the pain of the past with forgiveness, arriving at a larger truth about families in various stages of brokenness. There’s no self-pity, no whining, no hunger for revenge; the authors are as honest about their young selves as they are about the sins of their elders.

“We are not victims, they want us to know. . . .  We have endured to tell the story without judgment and to get on with our lives. . . .”

Zinsser offers advice to today’s memoirists writing about people who caused pain:

“If you must use memoir to look for your own humanity and the humanity of the people who crossed your life, however much pain they caused you, readers will connect with your journey.

“What they won’t connect with is whining. Dispose of that anger someplace else.

“Get your intention clear before you start and tell your story with integrity.” (Writing About Your Life)

Remember Romans 8:28: “We know that in everything God works for the good of those who love him” (NCV).

That verse reminds me of something Chuck Swindoll said many years ago, something along these lines: “God will not waste your suffering.” That fits with this Bible verse:

“I will not cause pain without allowing

something new to be born, says the Lord.” 

Isaiah 66:9 (NCV)

Chuck Swindoll elaborates on that: “Pain, when properly handled, can shape a life for greatness. History is replete with stories of those whose struggles and scars formed the foundation for remarkable achievements. In fact, it was because of their hardship they gained what they needed to achieve greatness.” (Chuck Swindoll, Insight for Today).

Read Isaiah 66:9 again, believing it is aimed directly at you: “I will not cause pain without allowing something new to be born, says the Lord.”

Believe that God can use your pain and injustices

as preparation for exceptional feats and triumphs—

such as, among other life-changing things,

sharing your story in a memoir.

Let’s choose our attitude and our words carefully. “Rid yourselves of . . . anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language. . . ” (Colossians 3:8).

“Let your [words] be full of grace, seasoned with salt [a preservative]. . . ” (Colossians 4:6, NIV).

“Be gracious in your speech. The goal is to bring out the best in others . . . not put them down. . . ” (Colossians 4:6, The Message).

We read this in Henri Nouwen’s Bread for the Journey: “It is so important to choose words wisely. When we are boiling with anger and eager to throw bitter words at our opponents, it is better to remain silent. Words spoken [or written] in rage will make reconciliation very hard. Choosing life and not death, blessings and not curses [Deuteronomy 30:19], often starts by . . . choosing carefully the words that open the way to healing.”

Nouwen also writes: “Often we remain silent when we need to speak [or write]. Without words, it is hard to love well. When we say to [our loved ones] ‘I love you very much,’ . . . we choose to give life.

“It is not always easy to express our love directly in words. But whenever we do, we discover we have offered a blessing that will be long remembered. . . . A whole new blessed place can be opened up, a space where it is good to dwell. Indeed, words have the power to create life.”

Write a memoir full of love, honesty, and grace.

Write a memoir that shines light on not only your own darkness,

but also shines light on the darkness of others.

Offer readers hope and healing.

Offer words with the power to create life.

Avoid writing for revenge

We suffer pain for various reasons—sometimes we bring it on ourselves, sometimes it’s no one’s fault, but other times it’s the fault of another person.

If we’re writing a memoir that includes pain caused by a person or organization, we need to be cautious about our motives. And honest about our motives.

As a memoirist, avoid writing for these reasons:

• to get revenge, settle the score, retaliate,
• to humiliate a person or organization,
• to get readers to pity you,
• to get readers to take sides with you, or
• to indulge in self-pity.

Examine your heart and if you find even traces of wanting to write for any of those reasons, stop!  That’s not what memoir is about.

I have two pieces of advice: (1) Go ahead and write everything, but write for your eyes only.  Write about the injustices, write about your mistreatment, hurt feelings, anger, scars, and tears. Write about destroyed dreams, confusion, hopelessness.

Write it all. Write it as a prayer. Write until you know God has heard you. Write it as a way of asking God to help you forgive and move on.

Because such resolution usually takes time, set aside your private writing for a week or a month or a year. Listen for God, let Him work in your heart and mind.

Your goal is to move from anger to forgiveness, from pain to compassion.

Read William Zinsser’s important words:

“The marvel of Frank McCourt’s childhood is that he survived it…. The second marvel is that he was able to triumph over it in [his memoir] Angela’s Ashes, beating back the past with grace and humor and with the power of language. Those same qualities are at the heart of all the good memoirs of the 1990s….”

Zinsser mentions three such memoirs, A Drinking Life, by Pete Hamill, The Liar’s Club by Mary Karr, and This Boy’s Life by Tobias Wolff.

He continues, “Anyone might think the domestic chaos and alcoholism and violence that enveloped those writers when they were young would have long since hardened the heart…. Yet they look back with compassion…. These books…were written with love. They elevate the pain of the past with forgiveness, arriving at a larger truth about families in various stages of brokenness. There’s no self-pity, no whining, no hunger for revenge; the authors are as honest about their young selves as they are about the sins of their elders. We are not victims, they want us to know…. We have endured to tell the story without judgment and to get on with our lives….”

Zinsser offers advice to today’s memoirists: “If you use memoir to look for your own humanity and the humanity of the people who crossed your life, however much pain they caused you, readers will connect with your journey. What they won’t connect with is whining. Dispose of that anger somewhere else. Get your intention clear before you start and tell your story with integrity.” (Writing About Your Life; emphasis mine)

When you can write that way—

when you can write with compassion 

and love and forgiveness, 

when you can write without self-pity or whining 

or revenge or being judgmental, 

 rewrite your rough draft. 

Strive to write like Frank McCourt: 

Write words full of grace, and maybe even a bit of humor.

This brings us to my other piece of advice: (2) Don’t let anyone read your manuscript until you have rewritten it.

Remember:

Your first draft was for you alone,

but later drafts are for your readers.

“Ursula K. Le Guin,

when dealing with painful subjects,

makes a distinction between ‘wallowing,’

which she says she writes but does not share publicly

and ‘bearing witness,’

which she does share.” 

(Judith Barrington, Writing the Memoir; emphasis mine)

So rewrite. Rewrite with integrity. Delete the wallowing. Instead, bear witness. Write not as a wounded victim, but as one who has triumphed, as one who has forgiven, healed, and moved forward in a good way.

Related posts:

“To live the pain with hope”

Writing yourself to the other side of pain 

What is the point of writing about the hardships of life?

Writing yourself to the other side of pain, continued