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!

 

Hemingway’s encouragement for you

 

“Don’t be discouraged because there’s a lot of technical work to writing. There is, and you can’t get out of it,” said Ernest Hemingway, advising beginning writer Arnold Samuelson, age 19.

 

“It’s your object to convey everything to the reader so that he remembers it not as a story he had read but something that happened to himself.”

 

Read that last part again:

“. . . so that he remembers it not as a story he had read

but something that happened to himself.”

 

You want readers to experience your story alongside you. That’s how you can make a difference in their lives. That’s how God can use your story to inspire, heal, and mentor your readers.

 

Work hard to make write that kind of memoir.

 

Join (or form) a writing group—a good one. Critique each other’s manuscripts.

 

Attend writers’ conferences.

 

Study the best writing books available:

• On Writing Well by William Zinsser
• The Writer’s Portable Mentor by Priscilla Long
• Writing the Memoir by Judith Barrington
• The Memoir and the Memoirist by Thomas Larson
• Inventing the Truth: The Art and Craft of Memoir, edited by William Zinsser
• Writing for Story by Jon Franklin
• Handling the Truth by Beth Kephart
• Writing Tools by Roy Peter Clark

 

To make your memoir the very best it can be,

you’ll need to make revisions and edits,

but it will be worth it in the end.

 

Remember Jeff Goins’ words:

“Never, ever, ever underestimate the power your words can have.” 

 

Pray about your writing and rewriting.

Ask God to guide your work

and use your finished memoir to bless others.

 

A writer’s prayer for you

 

“Many beginning writers believe

the writing process requires great confidence

and unfaltering courage.

 

I’ve learned the writer’s journey requires

the ability to admit we’re not brave

or altogether perfect.

 

As Christian writers, we fare well

if we possess the wisdom to ask God

for the strength and discipline needed

to buckle down

and type the words He gives us.”

 

Xochitl Dixon

Lord, thanks for this new year and the fresh opportunities You offer us to write our memoirs.

 

Remind us that you’ve given each of us life and therefore you’ve given each of us a story to share with others.

 

Help us believe that writing our stories is not a hobby—it’s a ministry! You’ve told us to always remember what we’ve seen You do and to tell our children and grandchildren (Deuteronomy 4:9).

 

And Jesus said, “Go back to your family and tell them all that God has done for you” (Luke 8:39).

 

Your Word urges us to tell everyone about the amazing things You do, for You are great and most worthy of praise (1 Chronicles 16:24-25).

 

Convince us that we should not look down on small beginnings—and that You, O God, delight to see our work begin (Zechariah 4:10). Lord, give us the courage to begin.

 

Ignite a fire in our hearts to work as disciplined, intentional writers, committed to finishing our memoirs.

 

Take away our fears, Lord, and help us compose our stories with confidence, knowing You will use our efforts to point readers to You and Your love and Your goodness.

 

Motivate us to make time to reflect—to think back and ponder and examine—and to search for Your holy fingerprints, footprints, and heartprints. Enlighten us so we connect the dots and notice connections we overlooked in the past.

 

Enable us to see Your big picture, to recognize what You were doing to bring about Your best for us—often not the easiest, but the best.

 

You have entrusted our stories to us. You want us to tell others so they can see how You fought our battles alongside us, You brought healing and hope—not because of who we are, but because of who You are! Not because we are so great, but because You, God, are so great.

 

You have called us to a sacred task so inspire us, dear Lord. Help us find joy in the process of writing, of retelling our “God-and-Me” stories. Place in us a desire to learn to write well, with clarity and grace, and to persevere through rewriting and polishing and editing and publishing and marketing. Bring good people alongside us to accomplish all that.

 

Help us to embrace fulfillment and purpose and satisfaction in doing what You’ve called us to do.

 

Lord, You can do far more than anything we can request or imagine (Ephesians 3:20) so we humbly ask: Please equip us to write the stories You’ve given us. And once they’re in print, use them to accomplish Your good purposes.

 

Help us remember: All of this is not because we’re so great, but because God, You are so great!

 

Not because of who we are, but because of who You are!

 

May our memoirs and lives bring honor to You, 

our glorious God.

 

Dreaming of a black Christmas

Today I’ll share a December excerpt from my memoir, Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir. The scene takes place on a mission center, Lomalinda (pretty hill), in South America, during our family’s first December there. 

But first, review Your Christmas stories need sensory details, and then notice those that I included in my excerpts, below. (Sensory details: What do you see, hear, taste, smell, and feel?) 

Lomalinda was into the dry season with clean cerulean skies and hardly a wisp of a cloud. Daytime temperatures rose to over a hundred degrees in the shade—cruel, withering. The green scent of the rainy season had given way to the spicy fragrance of sun-dried grasses. Immense stretches of emerald disappeared, leaving grasslands stiff and simmering under unrelenting sun.

      Muddy paths and single-lane tracks turned rock-hard and, with use, changed to dust. Yards and airstrips and open fields turned to dust, too. 

      From sunrise to sundown, a strong wind blew across the llanos, a gift from God because it offered a little relief from the heat. On the other hand, we had to use rocks and paperweights and other heavy objects to keep papers from blowing away. Dust blew through slatted windows and into homes and offices and settled on our counters and furniture and in cracks and crannies and on our necks and in our armpits and up our noses. . . . 

      During rainy season, sometimes laundry took days to dry in our screened-in porch, but in dry season I hung laundry outside and, after pegging up the last garment in the laundry basket, I took down the first pieces I’d hung—the hot wind had already dried them.

      Dry season gave homes and furniture and clothing and shoes and photos and slides a chance to de-mildew. Roads were easier to navigate, no longer gooey with mud. The parched wind gave us a break from the profuse sweating we endured in the rainy season so, in that way, it was a friend.

      But dry season could also be a foe. One sizzling afternoon, Dr. Altig hollered at our door, “Call for help! We have a fire!” Across the road behind Ruth’s house, flames leaped and smoke billowed. . . .

That year, our family’s first there, we learned December traditionally was a time of wildfires in and around Lomalinda, leaving acres of black ashes. Shortly after that day’s fire, the following happened:

One December day I walked a sun-cracked track while that celestial fireball cooked my skin and the smell of charred grassland swirled in the breeze. The school principal puttered up to me on her red motorbike. “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!”

      Pris watched me for a few seconds and then laughed—my face had betrayed my thoughts. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying, “This looks like Christmas? You’ve got to be kidding!”

    To me, Christmas looks like frost-covered evergreens, and snowflakes, and frozen puddles. Heavy coats, scarves, mittens, boots. Runny noses. Sledding. Ice skating. Swags of cedar and pine and holly tied with red ribbons.

      I learned a lesson on that hot, dry December day. “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas” means different things to different people. To most Lomalindians, especially kids, Christmas looked like a bleached landscape, charred fields, hot wind, and a whiff of ashes in the air. Folks enjoyed saying, “I’m dreaming of a black Christmas.”

What are your memories of unique Christmases? 

• Did you spend one Christmas fighting a war overseas? 
• Or did you celebrate the holiday in Hawaii one year? 
• Or did you take a trip to the Holy Land?

What about traditions you enjoyed? 

• Playing fun games 
• Serving Christmas Eve dinner at a homeless shelter
• Going to the Nutcracker each year
• Watching It’s A Wonderful Life or Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer
• Christmas caroling in nursing homes

What memories of traditional Christmas food do you have?

If you have a Nordic background, you might have traditions around smörgåsbords with

• lutefisk, 
• pepparkakor, 
• gubbröra, 
• liver pâté,
• vörtbröd, 
• pickled herring, 
• pinnekjôtt,
• glögg, and
• julekaker.

If you have a Scottish background, you might have 

• haggis 
• tatties and neeps, 
• black pudding, 
• Cock-a-leekie soup,
• clootie dumpling, and 
• Yorkshire pudding. 

Have fun remembering Christmases past.

This is a super busy time of year, but if you keep a pencil and paper handy, simply jot down ideas for now. When things settle down after the holidays, you can spend more time on a rough draft.

And be sure to include sensory details.

What can you offer readers about mourning AND thanksgiving?

 

Some of you remember a past Thanksgiving as a time of grieving. Heartache.

 

We tend to think of Thanksgiving as a joyous time, a warm time of enjoying loved ones and good food.

 

But memories of some Thanksgivings

might be just the opposite for you.

 

Perhaps a loved one was dying,

or you learned your cancer had returned.

Maybe someone dear to you committed suicide.

You lost your job.

Or your spouse left you.

Or an earthquake—

or hurricane or volcano or wildfire—

destroyed your town.

 

And now,

when Thanksgiving comes around each autumn,

you remember that season of sorrow.

And those memories hurt every time.

 

Five years ago this month, my daughter, son-in-law, and three grandkids somehow lived through an earth-shattering few weeks—along with hundreds of their friends and neighbors.

 

The Woolsey Fire started November 9, 2018, and burned for fourteen days, destroying almost 100,000 acres of the Santa Monica mountains and residential areas in Malibu along the Pacific Ocean. It would eventually destroy 1,643 structures.

 

Imagine them evacuating, driving away, fearing they’d never set eyes on their home again, wondering what could possibly remain of their close-knit community and of the church my son-in-law pastors. Imagine racing away, mile after mile, winds blowing flames out of control, and being overcome by enormous rolling clouds of smoke and ash.

 

No doubt you’ve experienced something

similarly destructive, emotionally or physically.

You know the ache, fear, alarm, hopelessness, panic.

 

And yet . . . And yet. . . .

 

Kaitlyn Bouchillon wrote of stepping into an unknown future, of having to “walk through what we never saw coming, walk among the ashes of what was or even, perhaps, will never be. . . .” (You know what that’s like.)

 

She wrote of shaky steps, unable to see more than one foot ahead, feet slipping. Of weariness, “slowly shuffling along for so long.”

 

And yet . . . looking back now,

Kaitlyn could see that was not the whole story.

 

Stacy L. Sanchez at Heartprints of God writes: “I have a question for you. What do you do when life doesn’t make sense? . . . When you are left with a million questions and not one single answer? What do you do?”

 

. . . “When we find ourself experiencing a trial or hardship, our humanness demands to know why. . . . Why me? . . . What did I do to deserve this? . . . Why would God allow this to happen? Why would a God of love let me suffer like this? Why didn’t God step in and do something to stop this?”

 

Stacy continues, “Our questioning only leads to feelings of confusion, anger, or despondency, not the answer we are so desperately seeking.

 

“. . . During a very low point in my life . . . day in and day out I kept pleading with [God] for an answer. I believed if I could just understand the ‘why’ behind what was happening, I would be able to deal with it, accept it, and move on.”

 

But, “God remained silent. For months I wrestled with my emotions and my God.”

 

What about you?

 

What do you remember

of being nearly paralyzed,

broken by an unwelcome blow?

You recognized life would never be the same again.

Wondered how you could live with the pain.

Feared the future.

Doubted you could keep placing one foot

in front of the other.

 

And God remained silent.

 

And yet, looking back now,

you recognize that was not the whole story.

 

Ponder that this week.

 

Your mind will be at work while you rake leaves

and bring woolens out of trunks

and stoke up the fireplace fire.

And while you plan your Thanksgiving menu.

Believe me, more and more details

will pop into your mind.

You still have time

before Thanksgiving’s hustle and bustle

to jot them down.

You’ll be glad you did,

and someday your friends and family

will thank you.

 

We’ll continue this next time—

because there’s so much more to your story.

 

For now,

be thinking about what you can offer your readers

about mourning—

 

but about more than that:

What can you also offer them

about thanksgiving—

about gratitude that eventually became

as life-changing

as the darkness?

Are you discouraged about your memoir’s progress?

 

Have you worked on your memoir in the past few days? Or weeks?

 

Now and then circumstances interrupt our progress—sickness, holidays, visitors.

 

Other times we struggle to find words that can explain an experience or feeling.

 

And sometimes writing a memoir wears us out. Writing can exhaust us, especially when it’s about emotional, painful stuff.

 

It’s easy to get discouraged. Even derailed.

 

If any of that sounds like you, I hope this will give you a little smile:

 

“There’s only one person 

who needs a glass of water 

oftener than a young child tucked in at night, 

and that’s a writer sitting down to write.” 

Mignon McLaughlin

 

Perhaps you know what she’s talking about!

 

If you’re stuck and wish to get back to work on your memoir, take in these glorious words:

 

“Think thoughts of words filling the pages,

dreams being birthed. . . .

Oh how amazing!”

Women of Passionate Purpose on Facebook

 

Now read those words again.

 

Then ask yourself:

 

Is this the year I’ll finalize my manuscript?

 

Is this the year I’ll pin down my memoir’s title?

 

Is this the year my book will get its cover design?

 

Is this the year I’ll publish my memoir?

 

Is this the year people—even strangers—will buy and read my memoir?

 

Is this the year my story will change lives?

 

Now, get off the internet and go write!

 

Your memoir can have an outcome beyond your imagination

 

If you suspect your story isn’t worth sharing with others, this post is for you.

 

If you don’t recognize the influence your memoir can have, this post is for you.

 

If you can’t imagine how God can use your story, this post is for you.

 

Priscilla Shirer’s Bible study, Jonah, caught my attention in relation to memoirs.

 

She is certain that

in the same way other people’s stories

have encouraged and guided you

along life’s ways,

your story will do the same for others.

 

She asks us to think back to the Bible’s characters, pointing out that they

 

“may not have realized the privilege

and certainly didn’t know the eternal impact

they would make.”

 

Does that sound like your thinking, too?

 

“How could they have known

that their names would go down in God’s Word

to encourage us millennia later?”

 

Take to heart what Priscilla says here—take this personally:

 

“Like those holy heroes, you’ve got an outcome you can’t make out. . . .” and:

 

“The fog of your life’s journey will clog your spiritual sight. . . .”

 

(Let me interrupt Priscilla here. That fog she refers to—that’s a holy fog. It keeps us from navel-gazing and pride. By God’s grace, He dims our self-absorbed vision in a blessed fog.)

 

Okay, back to Priscilla and this important point of today’s blog post:

 

“In future generations, your story will be the one that encourages someone else to follow hard after God.”

 

Read that again and believe it:

 

“In future generations,

your story will be the one

that encourages someone else

to follow hard after God.”

 

Priscilla’s insights give ideas for those who write memoir:

 

First, which Bible characters have impacted your life? Abraham? Joseph? Moses? Ruth? David? Esther? Peter?

 

What about other people—just ordinary people not in the Bible: a historical figure, a grandparent, a best friend, a spouse, a professor, a colleague, a coach. . . . The list could go on and on.

 

• How did they point you to God? What did they tell you about His love for you, about His grace and mercy?
• What did they say that helped define your life’s choices and values?
• What did they do that influenced your life’s direction?

 

Craft vignettes illustrating why and how those people inspired you, guided you, and shaped you into the person you are today.

 

But don’t stop there. Don’t keep those stories to yourself. Look to the future. Pass on your stories—the blessings contained in them. Share your memoir with others, especially family members.

 

Always believe that in God’s hands, your stories are important.

 

Savor these rich words by Andrea Sanborn:

 

“In this autumn of my life, I have had to let go of the expectation that my physical body may one day may return to its youthful state. The added weight and wrinkles match my graying hair to render me on the downside of life’s trajectory.

 

“Now, like the falling leaves filling the woods around me, I hope to nourish others with the life given me; with the wisdom gained through the flourishing, green years now past.

 

“I think of the ones who sheltered and nurtured my seedling faith: the pastors and teachers, authors and leaders. I contemplate the ones who welcomed me, encouraged me, and prayed for me. The ones who parted the curtain into eternity before my hungry eyes.

 

“Now it is mine to pass on the glimpses of glory that I have witnessed to the sapling souls around me.”

 

I hope you enjoyed Andrea’s words as much as I did.

 

Let me ask: Do you see your writing as a privilege? As a calling from God? Do you believe your memoir can have an eternal impact on others? How can future generations benefit from knowing your stories?

 

Always remember:

 

God can use your experiences,

joyful and sad, good and bad,

lovely and ugly,

funny and scary,

and He can use your words about them.

 

Together with God, your stories

can help readers cling to hope,

remain strong in their faith,

live in harmony in His ways,

and to delight in His love

now and forever.

 

When you realize God can use your memoir

in people’s lives,

your writing takes on

an altogether new meaning

and urgency.

 

Write your stories.

Writing about your hardships and heartaches

 

You’ve had your share of heartaches. Maybe it seems you’ve had more than your share.

 

I know the feeling.

 

In the midst of our sufferings, we rarely find any good. After all, we thought those things might kill us, or at least leave us permanently scarred.

 

But later—ah, later—can we take another look?

 

C. S. Lewis observed that “Hardships often prepare ordinary people for an extraordinary destiny. . . .”

 

Think about it:

 

What did your hardships prepare you for?

 

(And don’t for a moment think that you

are not extraordinary!)

 

Stand back and mull over—analyze—

the pain and sorrow you’ve experienced.

 

Is it possible they served a good purpose?

 

You’ll find added inspiration from Frederick Buechner in his Wishful Thinking:

 

“The grace of God means something like:

‘Here is your life.

You might never have been, but you are,

because the party wouldn’t have been complete without you.

 

Here is the world.

Beautiful and terrible things will happen.

Don’t be afraid.

I am with you.’”

 

In your memoir, tell readers how God brought beauty from ashes, joy from mourning, and praise in place of despair (see Isaiah 61:3).

 

Write those stories as an act of worship.

God will use your experiences, your words,

and your message to bring hope to others.

Believe it!

 

Writing is easy—or not!

 

“Writing is easy,” wrote Mark Twain. “All you have to do is cross out the wrong words.”

 

Ha! If only it could be that easy!

 

What has been your experience with writing?

 

Some people find writing stress-free at first, but later it becomes a struggle. It can be discouraging. And even mysterious.

 

Some even wonder whether it’s worth finishing.

 

Don’t let that happen to you!

 

Mick Silva at Higher Purpose Writers offers this perspective:

 

“Every writer who’s finished

has taken the axe into the woods

and carved out their path

where there seemed to be none before.

They broke through their blocked way

swinging word after word after word.”

 

So persevere—word after word after word! Your first draft won’t be ready to publish but you’ll definitely be one step closer.

 

Most people who have finished writing their stories and placed them in others’ hands had to work to:

• learn the writing craft,
• apply what they learned,
• join good writing groups,
• revise their manuscripts,
• edit them,
• and refuse to give up, often year after year.

 

Such authors did not likely succeed because they were gifted writers. Getting that story in print was not a breeze.

 

They were always trying. Always growing, always working.

 

You can do this.

 

Envision where you want your memoir to be six months from now, 

and then twelve months from now.

 

Focus. Commit. Persevere. Be steadfast, unwavering.

 

Remember:

 

One story can change a life.

 

Who needs to read yours?