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.

 

“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!

 

“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.

Writing your memoir: “A lump in the throat and a deep, wordless feeling”

Prolific writer Frederick Buechner says that when he writes books, they “start—as Robert Frost said his poems did—with a lump in the throat . . . with a deep, wordless feeling for some aspect of my own experience that has moved me.” (Now and Then: A Memoir of Vocation)

Do you know that “deep, wordless feeling” that longs to find its way from within you and into black and white on paper?

If so, you’ll find encouragement and inspiration from Donald Murray’s words in The Craft of Revision:

If you haven’t yet begun to write your memoir,

begin today!

Write so you can discover what you want to say,

and then rewrite to make sense of that

“deep, wordless feeling,”

and share your story with others.

Tuesday Tidbit: Are you overwhelmed with writing your memoir?

Isn’t this the truth?!

Sometimes writing overwhelms us, but here at SM 101, we press on.

We keep searching for the right words, rearranging until each is in the right place. We litter our desks with writing books, dictionaries, and a thesaurus or two.

We write and rewrite and edit and polish.

Why?

Because we have important stories to tell.

You have an important story to tell.

Someone out there needs to know your story. Maybe lots of someones.

Your story might be the one God will use

to heal a broken heart,

or restore faith,

or save a marriage,

or conquer fear,

or spare a child from abuse,

or inspire hope,

or head someone in a new and better direction.

So write on, dear writer friends! Write on!

There you have it, your Tuesday Tidbit.

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!

Tuesday Tidbit: “A lump in the throat and a deep, wordless feeling”

Frederick Buechner says that when he writes books, they “start—as Robert Frost said his poems did—with a lump in the throat . . . with a deep, wordless feeling for some aspect of my own experience that has moved me.” (from Now and Then: A Memoir of Vocation)

Do you know that “deep, wordless feeling” that longs to find its way from inside you and into black and white on paper?

If so, you’ll find encouragement and inspiration from Donald Murray’s words in The Craft of Revision:

Begin! 

Write so you can discover what you want to say, 

and then rewrite to make sense 

of that “deep wordless feeling” 

and share your story with others.