“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!

How one old photo led me to write a memoir

Let me tell you how an old photo led me to transform a scrapbook into my soon-to-be-published memoir.

Like I was telling you Thursday in The power of pictures, years ago I put photos in three-ring binders—photos from three years our family spent in South America when the kids were just starting school.

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 picture I took on day one at our new home in South America and it’s always been one of my favorites. I had made copies of that picture and passed them out during speaking engagements. And I had framed it and hung it on the wall. A magnet holds another copy on my refrigerator.

But one 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 thinking it over, this became clear: In the letters to my parents, which I had based my stories on, I never told them about the scary stuff.  

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

And with that realization, I knew my story was 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.

And now those stories will soon be ready to publish as a memoir. (Its working title is Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go!)

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

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

Reread our previous post, The Power of pictures, and peel back layers, asking yourself:

• What is the deeper story behind this 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.

The Power of Pictures

Photos 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, like your memoir’s theme.  

Don’t believe me? I discovered something profound in an old photo, something I’d never noticed before, and it propelled me into writing my soon-to-be-published memoir.

Dig out a key photo related to your story. Take a few minutes to 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 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 emotions 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 that person in the picture change you?
• Or prepare you for the future and make you the person you are today?
• Or warn you?
• Or inspire you?
• Or make your dreams come true?

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

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

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

Years ago, as keepsakes for my kids, I compiled photos of our family’s three years in South America, and the stories that went with them, and snapped them in three-ring binders.

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.  

I had based those stories on letters I’d written to my parents from South America, but those accounts were just the facts. Just the surface stuff, the day-to-day events.

Here’s what the snapshot showed me: It foreshadowed stories that made ongoing international news—events that touched our family and friends. Events that changed lives, forever.

The photo begged me to write additional stories, much bigger than the ones I’d already written, and make them into a memoir.

Come back next week and I’ll tell you how that ordinary old photo took my three-ring binder accounts and transformed them into my soon-to-be-published memoir, Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go!

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!”

My photo of Mt. Kilimanjaro as seen from Kenya