More inspiration for beginners: And then I remembered the weevils . . . .

“I didn’t know you had these pictures, Mom!”

Matt’s face beamed. He grinned his biggest grin, spellbound by the photos he held in his hands.

Hushed, he studied one snapshot after another.

“These will be great, Mom, to show my girls the people and places I’ve been telling them about all these years.”

Matt was talking about pictures I took in South America when he was age six through nine and our family lived in a remote mission center at the end of the road in the middle of nowhere. 

Because of Matt’s delight in discovering those old pictures, I scanned old slides by the hundreds, getting prints, scrapbooking them, and placing them in three-ring binders among written stories from those years. (And eventually, I wrote a memoir, Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir.)

What are the takeaways for you?

Point #1: Include photos with your memoirs. Your children and grandchildren will be at least as delighted as my Matt was to see our old photos.

Point #2: Photos can help you discover, and then add, detail and richness and depth and breadth to your memoir—and those are important ingredients for (a) capturing readers’ interests and (b) helping them live your stories with you. 

Readers can get inside your stories when you recreate them through the five senses—sight, sound, taste, touch, and smell. Photos can help you do that. (Remember Peter Jacobi’s words, “No story has a divine right to be read.”)

For example, here are two photos of the little commissary at our mission center in South America. That's me in the red shirt. (Oh, my, I was much younger then. And slenderer.  Sigh . . . .)

When I stumbled upon those pictures many years later, I remembered the commissary’s smells: ripe, tropical fruit. Powdered laundry detergent. Broccoli. And rancid bread—if the bread man had come.

And then I remembered the burlap bags. Since we had no paper bags, one of our options was to lug groceries home in colorful locally-made burlap totes. They were coarse and scratchy and had a dried-grass-burlap-ish smell.

And then I remembered the flour I bought at the commissary, hand-scooped (by someone, somewhere—I probably didn’t want to know the specifics) into tiny little plastic bags, usually a bit grimy. 

And then I remembered the weevils that lived in that flour.

And then I remembered that at first, I didn’t know what to do about the weevils. I must have led a very sheltered life because I didn’t even know what weevils were, let alone that they could live in flour.

When I first arrived at the mission center, no one taught me that I could (a) put the flour in the freezer and freeze those little critters to death, or (b) spread the flour on a cookie sheet and bake them to death. Then all I had to do was sift out their lifeless little bodies.

And then I remembered that before I knew how to murder weevils, I fed them to a big crowd. I was asked to bring cinnamon roles to an event and, you guessed it—they were speckled inside with little black, crunchy dots—dead weevils. (You can read more in my memoir, Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir.)

See what I mean about the value of photos? I knew those stories—but I had forgotten them. I needed to rediscover them. Taking another look at those photos did that for me. And then I could include them and their stories in my memoir.

Sharon Lippincott, too, knows the value and joy of old photos. Reading her "Photographic Memory Jolts" was pure enjoyment for me. From only one photo, she listed dozens of memories.

Take, for example, Sharon’s memories of saddle oxfords. Her post reminded me that every morning before school, I spent a lot of time polishing my own saddle shoes—the white part and the black part.

And I’d forgotten all about my Ivy League saddle shoes with the oh-so-cool little buckle in the back.

And then there was Sharon’s memory of Natalie Wood using Scotch Tape to keep her bangs in place while they dried. Yes, I did that too.

Sharon’s post is a fun read, a treasure trove of history especially if you’re around my age—and all from just one photo!

How about you? Pull out an old photo related to one of the stories in your memoir.

• What emotions does it stir up?
• What songs were popular at that time?
• What styles of clothing, eyeglasses, hairstyles, shoes, furniture, and architecture does the photo capture?
• Does the photo raise questions?
• What happened just before the photo was taken? Just afterward?
• Was something significant brewing at the time, even if you didn’t know it until later?
• In later years, what happened to the people in the photo?
• Does it remind you of additional stories?

Go beyond looking at your old photos. What smells come to mind? Textures? Sounds? Tastes? Sights?

Listen. Smell. Feel. Taste. 

Relive. 

Unravel.

I have a hunch you’ll discover details 

that will add gusto to your stories.

Have fun!

 

More tips for beginners: “Each photo has a prologue, a theme, and an afterword.”

 

A young man I know was looking at pictures his friend took of their childhood neighborhood thousands of miles away.

 

He held up just one. “Of all your pictures, this is the one that makes me tear up.” He went on to tell a whole story related to that one picture.

 

Just one photo—so powerful!

 

Notice the expanding memories my daughter, Karen, had upon looking at a picture taken when she was age four, sitting on a porch with friends:

 

“I remember that day, and it looks as fun in the picture as I remember—the sweetness of childhood, friendship, and ice cream. And the foggy beauty of contentment and excitement from long ago. I remember the color of the floor inside, the voices of moms, the sliding back door, and the thrilling smell of someone else’s bedroom and toys, and the tingling of imagination, and ‘Let’s pretend. . . .’”

 

A few years ago, my kids and I messaged back and forth about the photo below of my son, Matt, holding a piranha (piraña) he had just caught in South America.

 

Matt: “Nice. I still have the teeth from that very fish. Sweet hair, too.”

 

Karen: “I love so many things about this photo.”

Mom: “Me, too, Karen—a glimpse of the Branks’ house, the steep hill, the basketball hoop.”

 

Karen: “ . . . the hair, the facial expression, how un-steep the hill looks now. . . .”

 

Matt: “Hill still looks steep to me.”

 

Mom: “The sunburnt, blistered, peeling nose, the gigantic freckles.”

 

Using that one snapshot and the memories it stirred up, I wrote the following in my second memoir, Please God Don’t Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir:

 

The three boys [Matt, Glenny, and Tommy] went fishing, too, catching pirañas and barracudas. One day Matt came home with a piraña on a line dangling from his hand—a piraña more than ten inches long. A dead piraña. “Let me take a picture,” I called, running for my camera.

 

Then Tommy and Glenny’s dad, George, moseyed over to inspect the prize. “Ah,” he smiled. And paused. Did I catch a hint of a gasp?

 

“Those teeth are sharp enough,” George said, “and those jaws powerful enough, to slice off a man’s finger with just one bite.”

 

And suddenly I looked at my son, and myself, through different eyes. What kind of mother would let her child do such a dangerous thing? I tried not to make a scene, but I couldn’t help glancing at Matt’s fingers. They were all there. I could only pray silently, Thank you, God, for keeping my boy safe.

 

But Tommy, George, and Glenny took it all in stride. “Now Matt,” Tommy said, “cut off its head and bury it in the dirt. Come back in a day or two. Only the jaws and teeth will be left—ants will eat everything else. You’ll have a great souvenir.”

 

Tommy turned to me. “You can fry that fish for dinner. It’ll have lots of bones, though.” We did, and it did. But that was okay. The memories were worth it. All these years later, Matt still shows those razor-sharp teeth and jaws to his daughters and nephews.

 

When you look at photos, roll back the layers beneath the event and the people. Go high. Go wide. Keep in mind what Julie Silander says:

 

“As we crack open the dusty albums of our memories, we take a few minutes to stroll through the snapshots that comprise our lives. Each picture has a story. A prologue, a theme, and an afterword.”

 

Julie also finds words for what you and I know so well but might not want to admit: “We would like the smiling snapshots to represent the total picture of who we are. Yet there is more….”

 

How true.

 

While you read what Julie says next, think of a specific photo related to your memoir. Better yet, hold it in your hand while you read:

 

“Veiled behind the surface, there is always a deeper story. The argument that happened hours (or minutes) before the picture was taken, the deeper ache just below the surface of the smile, the unexpected turn of events that was to come just around the corner.”

 

What is your photo’s prologue?

 

What is its theme?

 

What is its afterword?

 

What is the deeper story that pops out of your photo?

 

Give yourself plenty of time 

to ponder that deeper story and,

when you discover it, put it in writing!

 

More tips for beginners: The power of photos

 

“Listen to the music of the carousel,

The tinglelingle, lingle of the ice cream bell,

The splishing and the splashing of a moonlight swim,

The roaring of the waves when the surf comes in. . . .

 

Summertime is here, wake up and come alive,

Put away the scarf and glove.

Here come summer sounds,

The summer sounds I love.”

(excerpts from “Summer Sounds,” Roy Benett/Sid Tepper)

 

The day my mother died, my daughter Karen sent me those song lyrics in response to a picture I had posted of her and her brother Matt with their grandma a year earlier.

 

To my surprise, that photo generated one of Karen’s most vivid memories of happy times with her grandma.

 

Several times when my kids were little, Mom loaded them into her car and drove across the state to Spokane, Washington, to visit their great-grandmother and other beloved relatives.

 

Mom sang all the way across the state and the kids sang with her. Especially memorable was “Summer Sounds.” All these years later, my kids can still hear her singing those words.

 

Upon seeing the picture and reading Karen’s words, Matt wrote, “When I hear this song, I can also smell Grandma's Mercury Bobcat and hear the crinkle of brown paper sacks that had rewards in them for each fifty miles of the Seattle-to-Spokane trip.”  

 

My kids’ memories led me to other memories: I could picture my mom behind the wheel singing at the top of her lungs—and she would be leaning forward. She rarely sat back against the seat, being the high-energy, intense person that she was.

 

And that led me to another memory. Mom sprinted through life. If the phone or doorbell rang, she jumped up and jogged to see who was there.

 

And that led me to another memory: Her fellow schoolteachers used to call out during recess, “No running on the blacktop!” But they weren't hollering at students—they were calling out to Mom. She hurried through life at a trot—until she had one leg amputated, but that's another story.

 

Just think!

That one photo generated all those memories.

 

Pictures can trigger your memories too,

memories that are crucial in the development

of your memoir’s significant people.

 

That's important because you don't want—

and especially your readers don't want—lifeless characters,

what Carly Sandifer calls “cardboard characters.”

 

So, find a photo of a prominent person in your memoir. Take time to study it and let it stir up memories.

 

Rediscover—and find words for—that person's quirks, gestures, body language, habits, appearance, and talents.

 

Let the picture remind you of the five senses: sights, smells, taste, feels, and sounds.

 

Set the picture aside and let your brain and heart work in your subconscious for a day or so.

 

Then get the photo out and let it inspire you to dig deeply into your story.

 

Who were you back then?

 

What was going on under the surface?

 

Find words to describe the person’s heart, mind, character, and faith.

 

What difference did that person make in your life?

 

What if you hadn't had that experience with him or her? How would you have turned out differently?

 

What emotions does the picture bring to mind?

 

Photos can help you write life and personality and depth

into your story’s key people.  

 

Create multidimensional, memorable, compelling characters.

 

Your readers will thank you.

 

And then I remembered the weevils that lived in that flour

 

 “I didn’t know you had these pictures, Mom!”

 

Matt’s face beamed. He grinned his biggest grin, spellbound by photos he held in his hands.

 

Hushed, he studied one snapshot after another.

 

“These will be great, Mom, to show my girls the people and places I’ve been telling them about all these years.”

 

Matt was talking about pictures I took in South America when he was age six through nine and our family lived in a remote mission center at the end of the road in the middle of nowhere.

 

Those were formative years for my boy. He experienced adventures most kids in North America couldn’t imagine, and they define the man he is today.

 

Because of Matt’s delight in discovering those old pictures, I scanned old slides by the hundreds, getting prints, scrapbooking them, and then placing them in three-ring binders among written stories from those years. (I told you about that last week and about the memoir I eventually wrote, Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir. Click on How one old photo led me to write a memoir.)

 

What are the takeaways for you?

 

Point #1: Include photos with your memoirs. Your children and grandchildren will be as delighted as my Matt was in seeing our old photos.

 

Point #2: Photos can help you discover, and then add, detail and richness and depth and breadth to your memoir—and those are important ingredients for (a) capturing readers’ interests and (b) helping them live your stories with you.

 

Readers can get inside your stories when you recreate them through the five senses—sight, sound, taste, touch, and smell. Photos can help you do that. (Remember Peter Jacobi’s words, “No story has a divine right to be read.”)

 

For example, here are two old, old photos of the little commissary at our mission center in South America. I’m wearing the red shirt. (Oh, my, I was much younger then. And slenderer.  Sigh . . . .)

 

When I stumbled upon those pictures many years later, I remembered the commissary’s smells: ripe, tropical fruit. Powdered laundry detergent. Broccoli. And rancid bread—if the bread man had come.

 

And then I remembered the burlap bags. Since we had no paper bags, one of our options was to lug groceries home in colorful locally made burlap totes. They were coarse and scratchy and had a dried-grass-burlap-ish smell.

 

And then I remembered the flour I bought at the commissary, hand-scooped (by someone, somewhere—I probably didn’t want to know the specifics) into tiny little plastic bags, usually a bit grimy.

 

And then I remembered the weevils that lived in that flour.

 

And then I remembered that at first, I didn’t know what to do about the weevils. I must have led a very sheltered life because I didn’t even know what weevils were, let alone that they could live in flour.

 

When I first arrived at the mission center, no one taught me that I could (a) put the flour in the freezer and freeze those little critters to death, or (b) spread the flour on a cookie sheet and bake them to death. Then all I had to do was sift out their lifeless little bodies.

 

And then I remembered that before I knew how to murder weevils, I fed them to a big crowd. I was asked to bring cinnamon roles to an event and, you guessed it—they were speckled inside with little black, crunchy dots—dead weevils. (You can read more in my memoir, Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir.)

 

See what I mean about the value of photos? I knew those stories—but I had forgotten them. I needed to rediscover them. Taking another look at those photos did that for me. And then I could include them and their stories in my memoir.

 

Sharon Lippincott, too, knows the value and joy of old photos. Reading her PhotographicMemory Jolts was pure enjoyment for me. From only one photo, she listed dozens of memories.

 

Take, for example, Sharon’s memories of saddle oxfords. Her post reminded me that every morning before school, I spent a lot of time polishing my own saddle shoes—the white part and the black part.

 

And I’d forgotten all about my Ivy League saddle shoes with the oh-so-cool little buckle on the back.

 

And then there was Sharon’s memory of Natalie Wood using Scotch Tape to keep her bangs in place while they dried. Yes, I did that too.

 

Sharon’s post is a fun read, a treasure trove of history especially if you’re around my age—and all from just one photo!

 

How about you? Pull out an old photo related to one of the stories in your memoir.

 

• What emotions does it stir up?
• What songs were popular at that time?
• What styles of clothing, eyeglasses, hairstyles, shoes, furniture, and architecture does the photo capture?
• Does the photo raise questions?
• What happened just before the photo was taken? Just afterward?
• Was something significant brewing at the time, even if you didn’t know it until later?
• In later years, what happened to the people in the photo?
• Does it remind you of additional stories?

 

Go beyond looking at your old photos. What smells come to mind? Textures? Sounds? Tastes? Sights?

 

Listen. Smell. Feel. Taste.

 

Relive.

 

Unravel.

 

I have a hunch you’ll discover details that will add gusto to your stories.

 

Have fun!

 

How one old photo led me to write a memoir

 

Last week we considered photos—rich resources to help you write your memoir. I mentioned that:

 

. . . years ago, I put photos

in three-ring binders

—photos from three years

our family spent in South America

when my kids were ages five and almost seven.

 

I also typed stories from letters

I’d sent my parents,

adding them to the photos.

 

I thought the story was finished

—until one day I noticed something

in one picture,

something I hadn’t noticed before.

 

It was a photo I took on Day One at our new home in South America, and it’s always been one of my favorites. I’d framed it and it was hanging on the wall. A magnet held another copy on my refrigerator. I had made copies of that picture and passed them out during speaking engagements.

 

But that day, long after I’d assembled the scrapbook, I saw in that photo something deeper and broader. The earth lurched when I recognized it, and I asked myself,

 

Why did you never notice this before?

 

After pondering that question, this became clear: In the letters to my parents, I never told them about the dangers, the scary stuff.

 

That meant the narrative in the scrapbook, based on those letters, was a list of selected facts, just the everyday surface stuff.

 

And with that realization,

I knew my story was incomplete—

not yet finished.

 

That photo foreshadowed stories that made ongoing international news—events that touched our family and friends and changed many lives forever.

 

I had a bigger, deeper, richer story to write—a story about hostility from guerrilla groups—their bombings, ongoing threats of violence, kidnappings, and murders—and what God and courageous people did in the midst of it all.

 

So I got to work, and those stories

soon resulted in my published memoir,

Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go:

A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir.

 

Enough about my discovery and my story. What about you?

 

Did you examine one or more key photos related to your story?

 

Reread last week’s post, Photos: A rich resource for writing your memoir, and peel back layers, asking yourself:

• What is the deeper story behind this photo?
• What is the deeper story about the people in the photo?
• What is the bigger issue?
• Does the photo symbolize or capture a theme in my memoir?
• Does it contain a secret or solve a mystery? If so, do others now need to know about it? (If someone would benefit—if that would help heal an old wound, right a wrong, or bring forgiveness or hope—think and pray about revealing it.)

 

Maybe you still haven’t pinned down the real meaning, the central idea or message of your memoir. Perhaps a photo will help you discover it.

 

For a few days,

think about a key photo

and what it represents.

 

It might hold more significance

than you now realize.

 

Photos: A rich resource for writing your memoir

 

Photos can play a big role in your memoir. Among other things, they help you, the writer, remember details. But they can also help you recognize big stuff, the deeper story, the weighty repercussions.

 

Don’t believe me? I discovered something profound in an old photo, something I’d never noticed before, which propelled me into writing my most recent memoir, Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir. (More about that next week.)

 

Because of that experience, I encourage you to dig out a key photo related to your story. Examine it and jot down what comes to mind.

 

Let’s start with the easy stuff: 

• When was the photo taken?
• Why were you in that place?
• What did you do there?
• What was the weather?
• Who was with you? If it’s a main character in your memoir, note his or her relevant characteristics: physical appearance, quirks, tone of voice, attitudes, values, talents, endearing qualities, maybe even odors.
• What emotion does the photo stir up?

Jot down sensory details: What did you smell? What did you hear? Taste? Touch/feel? See?

 

Next, dig deeper. Look at those photos with fresh eyes. Read between the lines. What’s lurking (or percolating) under the surface? What are the vibes? Is there an elephant in the room?

 

How did the event or place or person in the picture:

• change you?
• or prepare you for the future and make you the person you are today?
• warn you?
• inspire you?
• make your dreams come true?
• break your heart and your spirit?
• send you in an altogether new direction?

 

But don’t stop there. What’s the bigger picture?

 

Does the photo symbolize or capture the theme in your memoir? —the central idea or meaning or message? Ask yourself, What is the big picture here? What’s my story about?

 

For a few days, think about the photo and what it represents. It might hold more significance than you now recognize.

 

Here’s my experience: Years ago, I used three-ring binders to compile photos of our family’s three years in South America, and the stories that went with the photos, as keepsakes for my kids.

 

I assumed I had tied everything together and that the story was complete. But I was mistaken.

 

“Sometimes you think a story is completed

and all wrapped up.

But then, decades later, something happens

and you realize that it’s not done yet,

it’s still in process.”

(Lawrence Kushner,

Invisible Lines of Connection: Sacred Stories of the Ordinary)

 

Decades later, I looked at one of the photos—one of my favorites, one I’ve framed, one I’ve used in speaking engagements. That day I looked at it and saw something I’d never noticed before.

 

Why had I never seen it?

 

And suddenly I knew there was much more to my story than what I’d included in the scrapbook for my kids. 

 

Come back next week and I’ll tell you how that old photo took my three-ring binder accounts and transformed them into my recent memoir, Please, God, Don’t Make MeGo: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir.

 

Between now and then,

look at a couple of photos pertaining to your memoir.

 

Perhaps you, too, will find clues that shout,

“Your story is not yet finished!”

 

 

 

Are you having trouble remembering details about your memoir’s key people?

Reading time: 1 minute, 36 seconds

Have you ever forgotten specific details about a person dear to you?

I’ve been thinking about my sweet little mother. She died five years ago last week. During her memorial service, my brother Douglas told about one of Mom’s possessions, which she used to pull off many pranks: an inflatable, life-sized woman’s body—but only from the waist down. Mom would put pantyhose, shoes, and a skirt on it and slide it part way under our guests’ cars. Her prank always got squeals and guffaws.

One time she pushed it part way under our youth minister’s car. After Mark’s visit, he descended the dozen front stairs, only to burst through the front door a few seconds later, a blubbering, sobbing mess.

“I think I killed someone! Call an ambulance! Call the police!”

Mom explained it was just a prank, but he persisted.

“I don’t know how it happened,” he bawled, “but I ran over a woman in your driveway! I think she’s dead!”

Eventually, Mom calmed him down and showed him they were fake legs. Poor dear guy. I wonder if he ever forgave her.

Mom visited us in South America

My brother’s story during Mom’s memorial service made me laugh aloud. I’d forgotten about that season of her life.

That, in turn, sparked more memories, like the time Mom, an elementary school teacher, snuck into the principal’s private bathroom one day when he was gone and stretched plastic wrap over his toilet bowl. (I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.)

Don’t get me wrong: My mother was more than a prankster.

She was named Washington State Teacher of the Year. She went on to become a finalist for National Teacher of the Year and enjoyed a reception on the White House lawn with First Lady Pat Nixon.

Washington State Teacher of the Year

She was on a first-name basis with our governor and first lady.

She held state-wide and nation-wide positions on various boards and commissions.

She founded a museum.

But all that’s kind of dry, isn’t it?

If you were reading stories about my mother, wouldn’t you enjoy knowing that beyond her professional accomplishments, she was also a prankster? Doesn’t that information make her seem more real and alive? More fleshed out?

Are you trying to give life and personality to one of your memoir’s key characters?

If so, strike up a conversation with someone who knew him or her well. Start telling stories to each other and see what memories come to mind.

Also, look over old pictures. Photos can trigger memories, too. (And be sure to include pictures in your completed memoir!)

Memories are crucial in the development of your memoir’s significant people. That’s important because you don’t want—and especially your readers don’t want—lifeless, vague, colorless characters.

Your readers will thank you for 

making your memoir’s significant people 

come to life.

The value of photos: Brains process images 60,000 times faster than text

Did you know? Approximately 83 percent of human understanding occurs visually, and our brains process images 60,000 times faster than text—at least that’s what I read in an ad.

Wow! That means photos reach readers in ways your words can’t.

Photos add depth and dimension to your words.

They foster intimacy with your readers by introducing them to your memoir’s important people. Photos can help a character come alive. The right pictures let readers tag along with your family or companions. Pictures can even enhance a reader’s sense of attachment to you and your main characters.

Photos also allow readers to live within your setting, your geography, your building, your culture, your weather, and in your action.

Photos, then, make you, your main characters, your setting, and your experiences more relatable, more memorable. 

Danielle Lazarin writes of the impact author Stuart Dybek’s I Sailed with Magellan had on her, saying that the book took her, “a Jewish girl raised in the ‘80s and ‘90s in New York City, who’s never touched the waters of Lake Michigan, [and enabled her to] see some of herself in his boys in Chicago. He . . . did a bang-up job of showing me around, so that I felt like a local, comfortable and sure of where I was going.”

That’s precisely what you want to do with both your words and your pictures—show your reader around, convince him he’s a local.

Pictures can multiply such opportunities for readers.

The right photos can yield big results. They can help your stories stick.

In other words, photos offer readers opportunities to enter your story, to experience it alongside you, and feel involved.  

Do you want proof? This is fascinating: Check out Karen Keagy’s account, “Vintage Photo.” Do a little experiment: Don’t look at the photo until after you’ve read the whole story.

While you read, picture yourself living her story with her. Afterward, let yourself study the picture: Notice how much the photo enhances Karen’s words. (How cool was that?)

Photos can reach readers in ways your words can’t

so be sure to include key photos in your published memoir.

Have you decided where, in your memoir, to place your photos?

If you self-publish, you’ll decide which ones to include and where to put them.

Some authors group them together in the middle of their memoirs.

Others place their pictures at the end.

Other authors scatter images throughout their memoir.

Which is best?

Denis Ledoux of The Memoir Network writes:

“Where you place photos . . . will influence how readers appreciate your story…. There is in reading and writing a phenomenon called ‘suspension of disbelief.’ If I as the reader am constantly saying, ‘This is only a book. This isn’t happening as I read,’ then it impossible for that reader to get ‘lost in the story.”

Our goal as writers—and as designers of our layouts—is to avoid suspension of disbelief and, instead, to invite readers to live the story while they read. Strategic photo placement can help readers get “lost in the story.”

If we place photos throughout the memoir, within the chapters/vignettes (instead of grouped together in the middle or the end), we will increase readers’ likelihood of entering our stories—almost like seeing events on a movie screen, but better.

Photos can help readers learn from your story, remember it,

and change in positive ways because of it.

So plan ahead:

Which photos will you include?

 Where will you place them?

Do you have additional tips on photos?

If so, leave a comment below or on SM 101’s Facebook Page.

“Each photo has a prologue, a theme, and an afterword.”

A young man I know was looking at pictures his friend took of their childhood neighborhood thousands of miles away.

He held up just one. “Of all your pictures, this is the one that makes me tear up.” He went on to tell a whole story related to that one picture.

Powerful. Don’t you agree?

And my daughter Karen said this upon looking at this old picture taken at the home of our friends, the Randles:

“I remember that day, and it looks as fun in the picture as I remember—the sweetness of childhood, friendship, and ice cream. And the foggy beauty of contentment and excitement from long ago. I remember the color of the floor inside, the voices of moms, the sliding back door, and the thrilling smell of someone else’s bedroom and toys, and the tingling of imagination, and ‘Let’s pretend….’”

A few years ago, my kids and I messaged back and forth about the next photo of my son, Matt, holding a piranha (piraña) he had just caught in South America:

Matt: “Nice. I still have the teeth from that very fish. Sweet hair, too.”

Karen: “I love so many things about this photo.”

Mom: “Me, too, Karen—the Branks’ house, the steep hill, the basketball hoop.”

Karen: “…the hair, the facial expression, how un-steep the hill looks now….”

Matt: “Hill still looks steep to me.”

Mom: “The sunburnt, blistered, peeling nose, the gigantic freckles.”

Using that one snapshot and the memories it stirred up, I wrote this in my soon-to-be-published memoir (working title, Please God Don’t Make Me Go!):

The three boys [Matt, Glenny, and Tommy] went fishing, too, catching pirañas and barracudas. One day Matt came home with a piraña on a line dangling from his hand—a piraña more than ten inches long. A dead piraña. “Let me take a picture,” I called, running for my camera. 

Then Tommy and Glenny’s dad, George, moseyed over to inspect the prize. “Ah,” he smiled. And paused. Did I catch a hint of a gasp? 

 “Those teeth are sharp enough,” George said, “and those jaws powerful enough, to slice off a man’s finger with just one bite.” 

 And suddenly I looked at my son, and myself, through different eyes. What kind of mother would let her child do such a dangerous thing? I tried not to make a scene but couldn’t help glancing at Matt’s fingers. They were all there. I could only pray silently, Thank you, God, for keeping my boy safe. 

 But Tommy, George, and Glenny took it all in stride. “Now Matt,” Tommy said, “cut off its head and bury it in the dirt. Come back in a day or two. Only the jaws and teeth will be left—ants will eat everything else. You’ll have a great souvenir.” 

 Tommy turned to me. “You can fry that fish for dinner. It’ll have lots of bones, though.” We did, and it did. But that was okay. The memories were worth it. All these years later, Matt still shows those razor-sharp teeth and jaws to his daughters and nephews.

Julie Silander writes, “As we crack open the dusty albums of our memories, we take a few minutes to stroll through the snapshots that comprise our lives. Each picture has a story. A prologue, a theme, and an afterword.”

Julie also finds words for what you and I know so well but might not want to admit: “We would like the smiling snapshots to represent the total picture of who we are. Yet there is more….” How true.

While you read what Julie says next, think of a specific photo related to your memoir. Better yet, hold it in your hand while you read:

“Veiled behind the surface, there is always a deeper story. The argument that happened hours (or minutes) before the picture was taken, the deeper ache just below the surface of the smile, the unexpected turn of events that was to come just around the corner.”

What is your photo’s prologue?

What is its theme?

What is its afterword?

What is the deeper story that pops out of your photo?

Give yourself plenty of time to ponder that deeper story and,

when you discover it, put it in writing!