Tuesday Tidbit: Your memoir’s takeaways can change lives

 

Where do you put takeaways in your memoir? (If you missed last week’s post on what takeaways are, click on Your memoir’s all-important takeaways.) 

 

“Takeaway happens within a reflection,” point out Brooke Warner and Dr. Linda Joy Myers. (To read more about the importance of reflection in memoir, click on Reflection and the words we use.)

 

“Takeaway can be a reflection, but not all reflection is takeaway,” they continue. “… [W]herever there is reflection, there is an opportunity for a takeaway, but that doesn’t mean that necessarily all reflections are going to be takeaways.”

 

In other words, takeaways accompany segments in your memoir in which you reflect. You will reflect multiple times throughout your memoir. Some if not all of them will be opportunities for you to include a takeaway for your readers—those bits of wisdom to live by.

And don’t beat around the bush! Pinpoint your message. Clarity is your goal. (Please, please, read my blog post about writers who circle all around The Point but never state The Point. Click on What’s the point?)

 

Dedicate quality time to crafting your takeaways. Specify what was the most important message or lesson you took away from that experience (the one you’re reflecting on). Boil it down, write a concise message for your readers.

 

Here are examples of takeaways:

“Life is composed of cycles and seasons. Nothing lasts forever.” Dr. Henry Cloud

“Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, 'I will try again tomorrow.'" (Mary Anne  Radmacher) 

“We find by losing. We hold fast by letting go. We become something new by ceasing to be something old.” (Frederick Buechner)  

 

In this example from Steve Pemberton’s A Chance in the World, I’ve underlined the takeaway: “Looking back, this was a galvanizing moment. The Robinsons had taken away any semblance of my childhood, something I could never get back. But now this new edict, vile and ignorant, threatened my future. At some point in our lives, we all have to make a decision to take a stand, knowing full well the potential harmful consequences. For me that decision came in the fall of 1982, at the age of fifteen.”

 

Most memoirists place takeaways throughout their memoirs. If you have a conclusion, a postscript, or an epilogue in your memoir, reiterate your most important takeaways in them, too.

 

Your takeaways are the most powerful part of your memoir.

They offer readers hope,

or wisdom, or courage, or laughter,

or a solution, or a new way of living or loving.

 

Your takeaways, then, communicate to readers:

“I know this is true because I have experienced it,

I have lived it. It changed my life.

Perhaps it will change your life, too.”

 

 

At first your takeaways will resemble diamonds-in-the-rough. Your job is to cut and polish and make those gems sparkle. Doing so adds to their value for both you and your readers.

 

There you have it: Your Tuesday Tidbit.

 

Using method writing to make ‘em cry: Your memoir must evoke an emotional response

 

“Leave your readers with their mouths open in awe, or laughing hysterically, or crying tears of sympathy and sadness—all three,” writes The Write Life Team.

 

Why?

 

Because that keeps audiences engaged. And that’s important because it enables them to join you in your experience, learn from you, and apply your life lessons to their own lives.

 

I’m talking about offering readers takeaways: your insights that they can apply to their own lives, lessons you learned that will guide them in the future, a resource for living life well, a reason to hope, a reason to trust God, and a better understanding of themselves.

 

And so, your memoir needs to evoke an emotional response in readers.

 

“Take them on an emotional journey which will provoke them to read the next chapter, [and] wonder about you well after they finish the last page,” the Write Life Team continues.

 

“The best way to evoke these feelings in your readers is to connect your emotions . . . with pivotal events happening through your narrative arc [plot].”

 

Regarding that narrative arc, or plot, the Team says, “In school, our teachers used to draw a ‘mountain’ and once we reached the precipice, we were to fill in the climactic point of the book. . . . You need to create enough tension to shape your overall story, as well as each individual chapter, with that narrative arc.” (The Write Life Team)

 

With that in mind, let’s get back to what we’ve been studying in recent weeks, Wilkie Collins’s advice to writers: “Make ‘em cry, make ‘em laugh, make ‘em wait.”

 

Making readers cry means that in order for you to write about your painful experiences, you must re-live that pain. (See Make ‘em cry along with you as you cry.)

 

When you’re ready to write the seared, charred, blistered parts, Bill Roorbach, in his Writing Life Stories, suggests you utilize method writing, a spin-off of method acting.

 

Here’s how method acting works: Before the curtain rises, the actor remembers a time in which he experienced the emotion he needs to act out. He spends time reliving that emotion so that when he steps on stage, he’s all wrapped up in that emotion and succeeds in playing his part.

 

Method writing, then, requires you to step out of the present and into the past. If you’re writing about a tragic event, take time (make time) to remember the event and relive it so you can discover the emotions you felt.

 

Avoid over-the-top hysteria but be honest in admitting your emotions.

 

While reliving that situation and emotion, ask yourself:

 

• What was at stake? What did I have to lose or gain?
• What dreams would never come true?
• At the time, how did I envision my life would never be the same?
• What did I fear most?
• Where would I find courage to live another day?
• What did I pray for??—beg God for?

 

When you’re caught up again in that emotion, get it onto paper or computer screen. Remember: You’re only writing a rough draft. You can revise it later. For now, begin by searching for the best words.

 

Your “emotion should be so realistic and gripping

that the reader can’t help but feel it too.”

(Becca Puglisi)

 

Your memoir’s all-important takeaways

People will read your memoir for its takeaways.

What’s a takeaway?

It’s a gem you unearthed that provided you with clarity and helped make sense of your life—a universal truth you discovered—which you offer to your readers.

Takeaways are what readers “take away” from your memoir, the important lessons they’ll carry with them after they’ve read the last page and closed the back cover.

When a reader stumbles upon a takeaway, a meaningful sentence or two that speaks to something deep inside, he will pause to think, to re-read the words, slowly. He might underline the passage. Or maybe highlight it. Or write notes in the margin.

So how do you create a takeaway?

Think back. At some point you had an A-ha moment and a light came on. Puzzle pieces began falling into place. You were not the same person after that.

That’s good, that’s exciting. Such discoveries can be defining moments, life-changers—but go beyond that. Share the benefits of that experience with your readers by crafting a takeaway. Offer them their own A-ha moment.

In other words, in a concise way give words to the principle you learned—think of the takeaway as a precept, a moral, a proverb, a saying, a guideline, an adage—something readers can live by, a principle that can be life-changing for them, too.

Use your takeaway to offer readers hope,

or wisdom,

or courage,

or laughter,

or a solution,

or a new way of living or loving.

You, the writer, encounter such precepts—such truths to live by—through epignosis. To gnosis (compared to epignosis) is to have head knowledge of something, but to epignosis something is to know it from experience. (Read my earlier post about epignosis: Understanding epignosis can help you write your memoir.)

Your takeaways, then, communicate to your readers: “I know this is true because I have experienced it, I have lived it. It changed my life. Perhaps it will change your life, too.”

Where do you put takeaways in your memoir?

“Takeaway happens within a reflection,” point out Brooke Warner and Dr. Linda Joy Myers. (If you missed our recent blog post about the importance of reflection in memoir, click on Reflection and the words we use.)

“Takeaway can be a reflection, but not all reflection is takeaway,” they continue. “… [W]herever there is reflection, there is an opportunity for a takeaway, but that doesn’t mean that necessarily all reflections are going to be takeaways.”

In other words, takeaways accompany segments in your memoir in which you reflect. You will probably have a number of reflections throughout your memoir. Some if not all of them will be opportunities for you to include a takeaway for your readers.

Avoid Christianese—jargon that might be distasteful to readers, or lingo that might hinder your readers’ understanding.  For example, resist using phrases such as “I’ve been washed in the blood of the Lamb.” Instead, use everyday language to make your point.

And don’t beat around the bush! Pinpoint your message. Clarity is your goal. (Please, please, read my blog post about writers who circle all around The Point but never state The Point. Click on What’s the point?)

Dedicate quality time to crafting your takeaways. Specify what was the most important message or lesson you took away from that experience (the one you’re reflecting on). Boil it down, write a concise message for your readers.

Here are two examples: 

“We find by losing. We hold fast by letting go. We become something new by ceasing to be something old.” (Frederick Buechner) 

“Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the ed of the day saying, 'I will try again tomorrow.’” (Mary Anne Racmacher)

Most memoirists scatter takeaways throughout their memoirs. If you have a conclusion, a post script, or an epilogue in your memoir, reiterate your most important takeaways in them, too.

Your takeaways are the most powerful part of your memoir—

they’re packed with punch.

They’re the part of your memoir that

makes a difference in people’s lives.

At first your takeaways will resemble diamonds-in-the-rough. Your job is to cut and polish and make those gems sparkle. Doing so adds to their value for both you and your readers.

What’s the point?

Let me tell you about three men who try my patience.

Two of them, authors (as part of their professions), are famous throughout North America and Britain. You'd recognize their names but I won't identify them because one is a friend and I don't want to embarrass him.

The third is a friend and, because there's no way he'll ever read this blog post, I'll tell you his name: Len.  

What drives me crazy about these three is a little flaw in communication style.

Let's start with Len. Dozes of times my husband and I have sat around a dinner table with Len and his wife. Len has A Point to make but instead of stating it, he lists stats and tells an interesting little story and gives out more stats and tells another story, all the while circling around and around The Point—but he never states The Point.

A legendary cross country coach, Len often talks about a runner's performance but, since I'm only slightly acquainted with cross country, I can't figure out if Len's stats and tales make The Point that the runner is a potential Olympic athlete or a pathetic has-been with no future in cross country. Len talks all around The Point but never states The Point. It's clear to him, but not to every one of his listeners.

The two authors do the same in their writing. They are passionate about their messages but, like Len, they approach The Point from various angles and talk circles around The Point without ever stating The Point. The point is obvious to them, but not to every one of their readers.

Recently I read a memoir by my friend and in numerous places I struggled to make sense of it. I read many passages several times but rarely figured out the guy's Point.

Honestly, I was worried: Was I showing the first signs of dementia?

I persevered to the end, though, and set the book aside, befuddled. And worried about my brain.

I've read several books since then and had no trouble comprehending them.

Now I'm reading my friend's book again. I'm still having trouble figuring out The Points but this time I'm not worried about dementia. Now I know the problem: It's his communication style.

He doesn't realize he's not fully communicating—he has a blind spot.

We all have blind spots. That's why we need others to read our rough drafts and give us honest critiques.

So here's My Point: Spell out Your Points.

The vignettes—the stories, the accounts—that you write into your memoir are important: They illustrate a principle or lesson you learned, something valuable you want to share with your readers.

It’s fine to list stats and include anecdotes and examine Your Point from various angles but, when the time is right, draw everything together in a specific statement that makes Your Point clear for readers. Jesse Hines says it this way: “… crystallize it in one short, snappy sentence.”

“Many writers have a general idea of what they want to say….

[T]hey start out writing,

touching on their topic from different angles,

and including every bit of information

they think is relevant.

The writing may end up readable

and professional sounding,

but the readers will come away thinking that,

while they understood the gist of the author’s intent,

they can’t precisely say what the take-home point was.

This is usually because the writer

never really knew what it was either.”

Jesse Hines (emphasis mine)

So, while you revise and polish your memoir, focus on clarity: Ask yourself: 

• Do I know what My Point is?/Points are?
• Does my vignette/chapter/entire memoir state The Point?
• Will my readers grasp the take-home point, the takeaway?

When you’ve finished your manuscript, or a vignette or a chapter, ask a fellow writer to critique it. Ask him or her to check for clarity.

Critique partners are valuable allies in this often-mysterious journey called writing. Their blind spots are different from yours, which is a blessing because they help you discover parts of your stories that need changes. Your goal is to make your stories as clear as they can be for the sake of your readers, and a critique partner can help you do that.

Your story matters.

Your memoir can serve as:

• a bridge between you and others,
• a way for others to benefit from lessons you’ve learned and insights you’ve gained,
• an instrument to promote forgiveness and understanding,
• an means of offering hope,
• a way to comfort others with the comfort God has given you (2 Corinthians 1:4).

"At times our own light goes out and is rekindled 

by a spark from another person. 

Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude 

of those who have lighted the flame within us." 

Albert Schweitzer