Taking a break from writing might be the best thing that could happen to your memoir

 

Did you work on your memoir over the holidays? If not, don’t be too hard on yourself because taking a break can help you make progress!

 

My friend Beth told me she took a two-year break from writing her memoir—but she also said she wanted to get back to writing it.

 

When I was writing my second memoir, Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir, two-thirds of the way through I took a break for about six weeks.

 

I didn’t even look at my rough draft, let alone work on it. And it felt good. It was a healthy break, a time for my thoughts to settle and gel. A time for me to catch my breath.

 

But like Beth, I eventually wanted to get back to work.

 

I suspect most of you can identify with Beth and me. How long has it been since you worked on your memoir?

 

It’s good to take a break, to stand back

and give yourself time for your thoughts to come together,

time to catch your breath.

 

But this is important:

Beware of getting stuck in a non-writing rut!

 

Here’s what works for me when trying to get out of that non-writing pothole and I suggest you give it a try:

 

Instead of nagging at yourself

 —or even bribing yourself—

 into sitting down to write,

 simply get out your manuscript.

 

Are you writing your memoir on your computer? If so, sit down, turn it on, and open that document.

 

If your manuscript is hand-written and stuffed in a filing cabinet, go get it.

 

Whatever format your memoir is in, get it out. Read it.

 

Take in what Zadie Smith says:

 

“. . . If money is not a desperate priority,

if you do not need to sell it at once

or be published that very second—

put it in a drawer.

For as long as you can manage.

A year or more is ideal—

but even three months will do.

Step away . . . .

The secret to editing your own work is simple:

you need to become its reader instead of its writer.”

 

That’s it!

(1) Look at your manuscript as if you were a reader

—reading it for the first time—

rather than as the writer.

 

And then, later,

(2) look at your manuscript through the eyes of an editor.

 

Think about it:

You know what you want to communicate

but if you’re too close to your story,

you don’t recognize the gaps

you’ve unintentionally left.

 

In your mind,

you know all the subtle things

and the back story

and where the story is going—

so, in your brain, all the info is there.

 

But the problem is this:

too many of those details are still only in your mind

and not on the paper or computer screen.

 

If you’re too close to your manuscript,

it’s easy to overlook holes and cracks—

those details that will trip up readers

and interrupt the story.

 

If you are too close to your manuscript, you can’t read it as if you’re reading it for the first time.

 

So, if you’ve set aside your writing for a while, take advantage of this opportunity—take a fresh look and fix details that need fixing.

 

Believe me when I say this:

 

Taking a break from writing

might be the best thing

that could happen to your memoir.

 

Hooray!

 

“I’ve failed dreadfully if you have to read a sentence twice to figure out what I meant”

 

I have one more important tip for you, following up on last week’s post about the need for clarity in our writing. (If you missed it, click on “If there is any possible way for readers to misread or misinterpret what you write, they will.”)

 

To communicate effectively with readers,

aim your writing at an eighth-grade audience.

 

You read that correctly.

 

Years ago, when I studied journalism, instructors taught us to write in a way eighth-grade students could easily understand.

Recently I saw the same advice so it must still be the best practice.

 

What’s true for journalists is true for memoirists: Aim at an eighth-grade audience.

 

Ken Follett, Welsh author, says his goal is to make his prose “utterly easy to understand.” He calls it “transparent prose.”

 

“I’ve failed dreadfully,” Follet says, “if you have to read a sentence twice to figure out what I meant.”

 

You know what Follett means.

You have had the unpleasant experience

of reading a sentence or a paragraph

two or three times

before you could figure out the writer’s message.

Don’t be that kind of writer.

 

Revise your sentences and paragraphs

and chapters until they are

“utterly easy to understand.”

 

Have fun!

 

“Before you can write clearly, you have to be able to think clearly”

You labor and toil to write your memoir and place it in the hands of others. I know you do—because I’ve done it myself. Twice. I want to encourage you: If you persevere, in the end, you’ll find your effort worth it!

 

Remember significant motivations for telling your story: You want to bless your readers in any number of ways—you want your story to inspire them in their lives:

• to never give up, never quit fighting, and always hope
• to make good choices and be trustworthy people of integrity
• to speak up when something’s not right
• to always love, always forgive, and always extend grace
• to grow in their faith
• to laugh and love—to love God and others. 

The list goes on and on.

 

But all that depends on whether they can understand—really understand—your message. That’s why lately we’ve been talking about clarity. We need to write clearly and concisely if we want readers to (a) read our memoirs and (b) understand them—to get all the richness and wisdom and blessing out of them.

That means you and I need to find—have a good grip on—that clarity ourselves first.

Sometimes that’s a problem.

I’ve read thousands of passages

written by others in rough draft form

and it’s very revealing. And convicting.

Because here’s the deal: In reading someone else’s writing, we spot all the gaps in communication, the ambiguities, the words and sentences that leave us confused.

When that happens, I stop and re-read sentences, paragraphs, and maybe even pages, trying to make sense of the writer’s message, trying to figure out what his point is.

Here’s what I’ve learned: The writer doesn’t always know what he’s trying to say. (And by the way, that makes it pretty much impossible for me to edit or critique the person’s writing.)

Jesse Hines says it this way: “Before you can write clearly, you have to be able to think clearly. A big reason [writers fail to convey] their message is that they were not focused on a clear message. Good writing usually stems directly from clear thinking.”

Ask yourself, then, “Am I thinking clearly?”

• Do you know the point of the paragraph you’re writing? What purpose does it serve?
• Where do you want it to take your readers—that is, does it take readers from one significant point to the next significant point? In the right order?
• Does the passage hold relevance for the main point of the larger vignette or experience?

 

If you’re confused, your readers will be confused, too.

Outlining your paragraphs

(the ideas and points within each)

should help you think more clearly,

rearrange words and sentences, and delete others.

Figuring out what you want to say is only the first step. Next, you need to write with clarity.

“Take great pains to be clear,” wrote C.S. Lewis. “Remember that though you [can] start by knowing what you mean, the reader doesn’t. . . . It is terribly easy just to forget that you have not told the reader something he wants to know—the whole picture is so clear in your own mind that you forget that it isn’t the same in his.” (C.S. Lewis, Writing Advice, “To a Schoolgirl in America”)

Think clearly, write clearly.

  

In penning your memoir, don’t “discount simple writing”

 

Last week we considered how important it is for you to communicate clearly with your readers. (If you missed it, click on Put yourself in your readers' shoes.)

This week I have tips for you on how to accomplish that.

 

Years ago, when I studied journalism, instructors taught us to aim our writing at eighth graders—that is, to write material that eighth-grade students can easily understand.

Recently I saw the same advice so it must still be the best practice.

 

What’s true for journalists is true for memoirists: Aim at an eighth-grade audience.

 

Ken Follett, Welsh author, says his goal is to make his prose “utterly easy to understand.” He calls it “transparent prose.”

 

“I’ve failed dreadfully,” Follet says, “if you have to read a sentence twice to figure out what I meant.”

 

Write clearly.

Concisely.

Transparently.

Simply.

 

Shane Snow says it this way: “We shouldn’t discount simple writing, but instead embrace it. . . .

 

“We should aim to reduce complexity in our writing as much as possible.

 

“We won’t lose credibility in doing so,” Shane says. “Our readers will comprehend and retain our ideas more reliably. And we’ll have a higher likelihood of reaching more people.”

 

“Writing text that can be understood by as many people as possible seems like an obvious best practice,” write Rebecca Monteleone and Jamie Brew. “But . . .

 

“ . . . from news media to legal guidance to academic research, the way we write often creates barriers to who can read it. Plain language—a style of writing that uses simplified sentences, everyday vocabulary, and clear structure—aims to remove those barriers.” (Read more at “What Makes Writing More Readable?”)

 

Read your manuscript aloud.

Listen for words or sentences or paragraphs

that could confuse readers.

 

Rewrite them,

fixing anything that’s not precise.

Make your writing easy to understand.

Your readers will thank you.

 

Come back next week. We’ll look at additional ways to write your memoir with clarity.

 

Tuesday Tidbit: Put yourself in your readers’ shoes

 

A few days ago, I was reading an award-winning book when I got stuck on a paragraph—only two sentences long—that made no sense.

 

I stopped and re-read that paragraph, but I still couldn’t figure out what it meant.

 

I read it again, and again, but it still made no sense.

 

On about my fifth try, I realized the word “him” was referring to a different male than I originally thought. Also, the author had used a noun that had several definitions, and I had interpreted the word in a different way than she intended.

 

The experience reminded me how important it is for us memoirists to put ourselves in our readers’ shoes.

 

Because . . .

 

“It has long been a guiding principle of writing that,

if there is any possible way

for readers to misread

and misinterpret

what you write,

they will.

The purpose of laborious

and tedious editing

is to make the writing so precise

that it cannot be misread

and misinterpreted.”

(Kendall Haven)

 

That means that, for the sake of your readers, you, the writer, must, clarify.

 

Choose words carefully.

 

Give specific details.

 

Be accurate. Unambiguous.

 

Explain.

 

Simplify. Simplify. Simplify.

 

Ask yourself, “Will they understand my story? Is it clear?”

 

Refine your story. Enhance it. Polish it. Make it shine.

 

And enjoy your writing!

There you have it, your Tuesday Tidbit.

 

Tuesday Tidbit: “I’ve failed dreadfully if you have to read a sentence twice to figure out what I meant.”

 

Continuing with your need to strive for clarity in your writing. . . .

 

After you’ve set aside your rough draft for a while, read it with fresh eyes, checking for ways to make your wording perfectly clear for readers.

 

One of your most important goals

is communicating effectively with your readers.

 

Here’s one way to do that:

Aim your writing at an eighth-grade audience.

 

You might be asking: “What?!?”

 

You read that correctly.

 

Years ago, when I studied journalism, instructors taught us to aim our writing at eighth graders—that is, to write in a way eighth-grade students could easily understand.

Recently I saw the same advice so it must still be the best practice.

 

What’s true for journalists is true for memoirists: Aim at an eighth-grade audience.

 

Ken Follett, Welsh author, says his goal is to make his prose “utterly easy to understand.” He calls it “transparent prose.”

 

“I’ve failed dreadfully,” Follet says, “if you have to read a sentence twice to figure out what I meant.”

 

You know what Follett means.

You have had the unpleasant experience

of reading a sentence or a paragraph

two or three times

before you could figure out the writer’s message.

Don’t be that kind of writer!

 

Revise your sentences and paragraphs

and chapters until they are

“utterly easy to understand.”

 

And remember,

“revision is not punishment”

(Donald Murray)

 

There you have it:

your Tuesday Tidbit.

 

Writer’s block? No problem. You can still work on your memoir.

 

Writer’s block: You know how to write. You want to write. But for some reason, you can’t write.

 

Take heart. Everyone gets stuck from time to time. Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Charlie Schultz, and Mark Twain struggled with writer’s block, too.

 

If “writer’s block” describes you today, don’t despair!

 

I have good news for you:

 

Writer’s block is temporary.

 

And here’s more good news: You can still make progress on your memoir.

 

This is your opportunity to spiff up your already-written segments, those chapters still in rough draft form, those beautiful stories that will someday—soon, we hope!—be compiled as your memoir.

 

By “spiff up” I mean to tinker, to rearrange, to polish—to revise.

 

“Revision is not punishment,” says veteran writer Donald M.Murray in The Craft of Revision.

 

“Writing evolves from a sequence of drafts,” Murray says. “Scientists . . . experiment . . . . Actors and musicians rehearse. Retailers test markets, politicians take polls, manufacturers try pilot runs. They all revise, and so do writers. Writing is rewriting.”

 

Professional writers know the benefits of revision.

 

So . . . Be like the pros: If you’re stuck with writer’s block, use this time to revise the chapters you’ve already written.

 

Revision, Murray says, is “re-seeing the entire piece of writing.” That’s so important.

 

This is your opportunity to re-see what you’ve written. Re-seeing will show you where, specifically, to revise.

 

Revision involves checking punctuation, grammar, spelling, diction (word choice), sentence length, rhythm, conciseness, organizing, and so on. I suggest you consider each separately as you evaluate your rough draft.  

 

If you’re stuck in writer’s block,

this is a perfect time to revise because

distance and time are a writer’s friends:

They do wonders for objectivity.

The fresher the story is in your memory,

the harder it is to catch things you need to change.

 

Today, let’s consider clarity.

 

“Clarity depends . . . on your ability to put information together so that readers know at every point where they are, where they’ve been, and where they seem to be going,” writes Peter P. Jacobi.

 

“When we read, our minds work in linear fashion. We cannot grasp jumps and jerks or even the sudden shifts of scene. . . .” Jacobi continues. “We [readers] have to be moved carefully, smoothly, through the [story].”

 

Donald Murray encourages a writer

to read a rough draft the first time

as the maker of that piece,

and then read it again as a stranger—

as someone reading the piece for the first time.

Good advice, Don!

 

So, put yourself in your readers’ shoes. Does your vignette or chapter make sense, or does it cause confusion?

 

Does your story have “jumps and jerks or . . . sudden shifts of scene”?

 

Look for gaps:

Did you leave out information

readers need to know?

If so, they’ll have trouble grasping

your story’s message.

 

Remember, it’s not in your story

until it’s in black and white on your page.

 

Strive for clarity.

 

Also remember: “Revision is not punishment.”

 

Enjoy making your revisions!

 

“When you say something, make sure you have said it”

 

After you’ve written a chapter for your memoir, set it aside for a week, or for at least a couple of days. Don’t think about it for a while. Instead, work on another chapter.

 

Distance and time are your friends—they do wonders for objectivity—because the fresher the story is in your memory, the harder it will be to catch things you need to change.

 

Later, print that chapter. Reading on paper is different from reading on a computer screen. I haven’t yet figured out why, but it’s true. I always notice glitches and hiccups on a written page that I miss on a computer screen.

 

Read your story aloud. Read it as if you were a stranger. You’ll be surprised at the changes you’ll want to make—changes that will improve your story for your readers.

 

“When you say something,

make sure you have said it,”

says E.B. White.

“The chances of your having said it are only fair.”

 

He’s right. Rarely do we write a clear message the first time, or even the second or third times.

 

I’ve heard that 80 percent of what we communicate is misunderstood.

 

In other words, we communicate accurately only 20 percent of the time.

 

That’s scary.

 

Read over your stories to be sure they’re clear. Be sure you’ve said what you meant to say.

 

Listen to this advice from a long-time mentor of mine:

 

“You write to discover what you want to say.

You rewrite to discover what you have said

and then rewrite to make it clear to other people.”

Donald Murray

 

And remember:

 

“Revision is not punishment,” says Murray in The Craft of Revision.

 

“Writing evolves from a sequence of drafts,” he says. “Scientists . . . experiment. . . . Actors and musicians rehearse. Retailers test markets, politicians take polls, manufacturers try pilot runs. They all revise, and so do writers. Writing is rewriting.”

 

Instead of thinking of revision as punishment, think of it as an art—it’s polishing your manuscript and making it sparkle.

 

Remember, your stories are important. They can change individuals, families, communities, towns, nations—even the world!

 

Write your stories!

 

“Before you can write clearly, you have to be able to think clearly”

You’re slaving away to get your memoir in the hands of others. I know you are laboring, toiling, grinding away—because I’ve done it myself. Twice. It’s a lot of work but if you persevere, in the end, you’ll find your effort so worth it! 

One motivation for telling your story is this: You want to bless your readers in any number of ways—you want your story to inspire them in their lives:

• to never give up, never quit fighting, and always hope
• to make good choices and be trustworthy people of integrity
• to speak up when something’s not right
• to always love, always forgive, and always extend grace
• to grow in their faith
• to laugh and love—to love God and others

 The list goes on and on. 

But all that depends on whether they can understand—really understand—your message. That’s why lately we’ve been talking about clarity. We need to write clearly and concisely if we want readers to (a) read our memoirs and (2) understand them—to get all the richness and wisdom and blessing out of them. 

That means you and I need to find—have a good grip on—that clarity ourselves first. Sometimes that’s a problem. I’ve read thousands of passages written by others in rough draft form and it’s very revealing. And convicting. 

Because here’s the deal: It’s easy to read someone else’s writing and spot all the gaps in communication, the confusion, the words and sentences that leave me confused. 

When that happens, I stop and re-read sentences, paragraphs, and maybe even pages, trying to make sense of the writer’s message, trying to figure out what his point is. 

It often comes down to this: The writer doesn’t know what he’s trying to say. (And by the way, that makes it pretty much impossible for me to edit or critique the person’s writing.) 

Jesse Hines says it this way: “Before you can write clearly, you have to be able to think clearly. A big reason [writers fail to convey] their message is that they were not focused on a clear message. Good writing usually stems directly from clear thinking.” 

Ask yourself, then, “Am I thinking clearly?” 

Do you know the point of the paragraph you’re writing? (Click on What's the point?) What purpose does it serve? Where do you want it to take your readers—that is, does it take readers from one significant point to the next significant point? Does the passage hold relevance for the main point of the larger vignette or experience? 

If you’re confused, your readers will be confused, too. Outlining your paragraphs (and the ideas and points within each) should help you think more clearly, rearrange words and sentences, and delete others. 

Figuring out what you want to say is only the first step. Next, you need to write with clarity.

“Take great pains to be clear,” wrote C.S. Lewis. “Remember that though you [can] start by knowing what you mean, the reader doesn’t. . . . It is terribly easy just to forget that you have not told the reader something he wants to know—the whole picture is so clear in your own mind that you forget that it isn’t the same in his.” (C.S. Lewis, Writing Advice, “To a Schoolgirl in America”) 

So, there you have it for today: Think clearly, write clearly.

 

 

“If there is any possible way for readers to misread and misinterpret what you write, they will.”

 I still remember the first time I read the following: 

“I know that you believe you understand what you think I said, but I’m not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant.” (Attributed to Robert McCloskey, State Department spokesman) 

That statement stunned me. It had never occurred to me that human beings could be on such different wavelengths despite making an effort to communicate. In fact, that statement shook me up. I began wondering how many times other people had misinterpreted my words, and how many times I had misunderstood others. 

Here’s something else that upsets me: I’ve heard that eighty percent of what we communicate is misunderstood. Eighty percent! The ripple effects could be staggering. 

And here’s this from Kendall Haven: 

“It has long been a principle of writing that, if there is any possible way for readers to misread and misinterpret what you write, they will.” (Kendall Haven, A Storied Career) 

I had no idea. How about you? 

And, perhaps even more important: What’s a writer to do? 

Well, I gave you a few tips last week. (Click on Will readers find your writing clear and concise?)

Here are a few more: 

Ask yourself if you’ve used technical or foreign terms your readers might not understand. 

Eliminate lingo—Christianese, for example—which can be distasteful for some readers because it’s an insider language; it can make others feel like unwelcome outsiders. 

For other readers, the meaning of the Chritianese jargon might not be clear, even if it’s clear to you and your circle of Christian friends. Avoid phrases like “I’ve been washed in the blood of the Lamb.” Instead, use everyday language to tell your story clearly and precisely. 

Here are more examples of Christianese to avoid: 

• living in darkness
• redeemed from a dark past
• decided to follow the Lord
• cast your burden
• bear fruit that lasts
• climb the mountain
• walk through the valleys
• ruled by the flesh
• washed by the blood of Jesus
• the enemy
• slave to sin
• washed as white as snow
• nothing but the blood of Jesus
• walk of faith
• taking your quiet time
• put a hedge of protection around [a person]

Set your story aside for a few days, then read it aloud, putting yourself in your readers’ shoes. Be alert to what might confuse or cloud. 

Then reword everything that could send an ambiguous or confusing message. Make it easy for your readers to understand. 

Kendall Haven also said this: “The purpose of . . . editing is to make the writing so precise that it cannot be misread or misinterpreted.” (Kendall Haven, A Storied Career) 

And please be convinced of this: Rewording and rewriting and editing are not punishment. Embrace the art and craft of it! (Click on Tell yourself rewriting is not punishment.)

Most of all, have fun!

 

 

 

 

Will readers find your writing clear and concise?

One of your most important goals is communicating effectively with your readers. 

Years ago, when I studied journalism, instructors taught us to aim our writing at eighth-graders—that is, to write in a way eighth-grade students could easily understand.

Recently I saw the same advice so it must still be the best practice. 

What’s true for journalists is true for memoirists: Aim at an eighth-grade audience. 

Ken Follett, Welsh author, says his goal is to make his prose “utterly easy to understand.” He calls it “transparent prose.” 

“I’ve failed dreadfully,” Follet says, “if you have to read a sentence twice to figure out what I meant.” 

You know what Follett means. You have had the unpleasant experience of reading a sentence or a paragraph two or three times before you could figure out the writer’s message. Don’t be that kind of writer! 

Write clearly. Concisely. Transparently. Simply. 

Shane Snow says it this way: “We shouldn’t discount simple writing, but instead embrace it. . . . 

“We should aim to reduce complexity in our writing as much as possible. 

“We won’t lose credibility in doing so,” Shane says. “Our readers will comprehend and retain our ideas more reliably. And we’ll have a higher likelihood of reaching more people.” 

Look over your manuscript. Read it aloud, listening for words or sentences or paragraphs that could confuse readers. 

Rewrite them, reducing complexity and confusion. Make your writing easy to understand. Write transparently. Your readers will thank you. 

Come back next week. We’ll look at additional ways to write your memoir with clarity.