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!

 

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

 

I’ve heard that people misunderstand about 80% of our communication.

 

Did you know?

 

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

if there is any possible way for readers

to 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)

 

Consider this oh-so-true statement:

 

“I know 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, U.S. State Department)

 

So what are you, a memoirist, to do about that?

 

I offer you the following tips:

 

After you’ve written a vignette—or two or three or ten—set your work aside for a few days (or even weeks).

 

Later, print your manuscript. Reading on a computer screen is different from reading it on paper. I can’t explain why that is true, but it is. I always catch boo-boos on paper that I miss on the computer screen.

 

With printout and pen in hand, read your piece. You’ll be surprised how objective you can be after stepping back for a while. Make notes to yourself about changes to make.

 

Next, make those revisions, keeping in mind that every good writer revises his or her manuscript a number of times.

 

Set aside your manuscript again for a few days. Then print it and read it aloud (or use the Read-Aloud function on your computer). Your ears alert you to what your eyes missed. Repeat this as often as necessary until you’re satisfied.

 

Put yourself in your readers’ shoes and, for their sake, clarify. Simplify.

 

Before you can do that,

you might need to ask,

“What am I trying to say?

What’s my point?”

 

Have you included lingo (Christianese, for example) or unfamiliar language (foreign or technical, for example) that your readers might not grasp?

 

When you’ve pinned all that down, ask yourself, “Will readers understand what I’m trying to  convey?”

 

Here’s good advice from Jesse Hines: 

 

“Use the language your readers will clearly understand. . . .

Don’t confuse your prose’s clarity

by using jargon or stilted ‘intelligent’ words. . . .

Remember, simple, short, and clear.”

 

Reword everything that could cause confusion.

 

If you don’t already belong to a good writers’ group, I highly recommend you join one. Other writers usually offer excellent feedback.

 

Most of all, have fun polishing your rough drafts. Revision is an art: Make your story beautiful.

 

Remember, stories can change individuals,

families, communities, towns, nations

—even the world.

 

Memoirs can change lives for eternity.

Write your story.

 

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!

 

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.

Tuesday Tidbit: You can do this, baby step by baby step

Amber Lea Starfire nails it: “Good writing takes patience, diligence, attention to detail, the ability to identify and solve problems, and—oh, yes—desire.”

Completing a memoir can be an exhausting project because it’s much more than writing. It’s tweaking, revising, rewriting, editing, proofreading, and publishing. (I’m telling you this from experience—my current experience. Sigh.)

But I can do this. I can do this. Baby step by baby step.

You can do it, too! Find advice and encouragement by clicking over to Amber’s post, Writing is Revision is Rewriting is Craft.

Also, check out this humongous list of resources from Becca and Angela at One Stop for Writers. Their materials focus on fiction writers, but almost everything applies to memoir writers, too.

And remember this from April 24's post: Prayer is the secret to writing better than you're capable of writing.

P. S. I just ordered Amber Lea Starfire’s new memoir, Accidental Jesus Freak. Check it out!

There you have it, your Tuesday Tidbit.

Tell yourself rewriting is not punishment

Writing your memoir’s first draft is an experiment. Even your second and third and fourth drafts are experiments.

It’s like trying on for size—like taking five yellow dresses off the rack and heading toward the dressing room. When you slip into them and look in the mirror, you discover only one yellow is the right shade; you look washed out in the other four.

So, you keep only the one yellow dress that’s the right shade—

and in writing,

you keep only the sentences

and words

and paragraphs

and openings

and endings

that fit—those that work best.

You can also compare writing and rewriting and polishing to arranging flowers in a vase. You do your best to create beauty but when you stand back, you see the bouquet is lopsided, or you didn’t distribute the colors well, or you’ve left a gap, so you rearrange it, tweaking it here and there until it’s just right.

With dresses and with flowers and with writing, we need to stand back, take another look, and adjust accordingly.

We can view rewriting and editing and polishing as a pain in the neck, or maybe even punishment—OR we can consider it an enjoyable process of enhancement.

Amber Lea Starfire writes, “As a teacher, it always surprises me when beginning writers resist the revision process, because that’s often when the best writing takes place.

“I think of the first draft as a kind of rough sketch—the bones of the piece,” she continues. “It’s during the revision process that the skeleton acquires muscles and flesh and features. And I often have to do major surgery, restructuring the skeleton, before I can write what needs to be said.” (You’ll enjoy Amber’s post, Writing is Revision is Re-Writing is Craft.)

Good writers revise and rewrite, often many times.

Dinty Moore says, “The difference. . . between writers who are successful in finding an audience and those who struggle, is when and where in the revision process a writer throws in the towel and settles for 'good enough.’” (Read his How to Revise a Draft Without Going Crazy.)

Don't settle for  just “good enough.”

Tell yourself rewriting is not punishment—

instead, rewriting is beautification.

So, beautify! And have fun!

How do you find a good editor? What kind of editing do you need?

Last Thursday we considered publishing options. This week I’ve spent lots of time online looking at options for my next memoir. How about you?

Before you are ready to publish, though, you have a LOT of work to do. Most writers need to line up professional editing—often editors are busy and it’s good to get in line.  

But how do you find a good editor? What kind of editing do you need?

Look over the Editors Guild’s website about finding and working with an editor, costs, and types of editing:

• developmental editing
• substantive editing
• copyediting
• proofreading 

You’ll also find good tips in Elisabeth Kauffman’s Finding the Editor Who’s Right For You.

Before you send that manuscript off to an editor, do your own editing. The more you spiff up your manuscript, the less it could cost—some editors charge by the hour. If you submit a manuscript that’s the best you can make it, your editor can focus on other important parts of it. Why pay someone to do what you can do yourself?

(Critique groups and beta readers can be valuable beyond price in helping improve your manuscript and, frankly, they can keep you from embarrassing yourself in public. Read Belinda Pollard’s What is a beta reader and why do I need one? Also check out Valerie Comer’s blog post, Rewrite versus Revise versus Edit.  Many of us use the word rewrite—“from-the-ground-up rewrite”—when we mean revise. See “I like to rewrite. Sound crazy?”)

Like Ruth Harris said, “Editing can…turn an OMG-did-I-write-that? draft into a book you can be proud of.” Don’t miss Ruth’s 9 Ways Editors Can Make You Look Good…And 7 Ways They Can Make You Miserable. It’s packed with important info for you.

You’ll also find good insights in Karen Ball’s What an Editor Does: Peeling Back the Layers.

Be cautious in hiring an editor. “Though there are a lot of honest independent editors out there, you have to be diligent about looking for red flags,” according to The Writer’s Circle. For example, “If an editor doesn’t want to give out information about their credentials…or info about previously edited work then you have reason to be suspicious.” You’ll also find other excellent tips in How to Find an Independent Editor to Review Your Work.