All in the Family: Memoir Q & A

As promised, here is an interview with today’s memoir expert, Linda Joy Myers. Dr. Myers was kind enough to answer six questions about specific cases concerning what, if anything, an author owes to family and friends in a memoir. This post is also Day Two of the giveaway. If you leave a comment below, you will be entered into a chance to win a copy of The Power of Memoir. The drawing will be held at noon on Friday March 26. Your comment can be in the form of your own question to Linda Joy, who just might answer you, also.

Q.  Annie Dillard thinks that any relative or friend who becomes part of a memoir you plan to publish should have the right to see and respond to what you write before it gets published. She says it isn’t fair to them not to have this right, since they don’t have access to a publisher for their own stories. If that criterion were used for writers whose families are estranged/dysfunctional, they might never publish. It seems that authors with relatively happy childhoods might be very different from those who are exposing great secrets or painful childhoods. Your thoughts?

A. Yes, it seems true that the challenges faced by a writer who has a more or less intact, healthy family will be different from someone whose family is difficult, combative, critical, or otherwise “dysfunctional.” However, that’s the kind of family most people write about! Perhaps memoirists who are from problematic backgrounds are drawn to writing memoir as a way of sorting out the past. Of course, no family is perfect, and more than likely various eccentricities pop up even in the most loving of families, which could create situations for the memoir writer to handle if the book is published. I think it’s an unspoken, or more likely understood, ethic that if you put real people in your book, especially if the names are the same or they are identifiable, they should be notified. Even if all the portraits are positive, as memoirists, we are exposing a real person to the eyes of the world. The convention is to have people read the sections they appear in, if you are on speaking terms. If not, change names and identifying characteristics, even if that means changing names for the character, the streets, town and anything that exposes them. If published, the legal branch of the publishing company can vet the manuscript as well, but since so many memoirs are self published, I think it’s important for people to keep these ethics in mind.

 Q. Some writers who tell horrendous tales (Mary Karr in all three of her memoirs, Jeanette Walls in A Glass Castle), bring the conversation with their mothers into the story itself. “Tell the truth,” said Jeanette Walls’ mother, if I recall correctly. That comment has probably given a lot of fearful writers hope that they too will be forgiven for telling the truth as they experienced it. Also, readers relax when they know the story has been vetted.

A. I think we’d all love the blessing of our mothers as we expose the family heart and its quirks, but for many that is not going to happen. And yes, I think it’s a memoir writers dream that once we have expressed our inner selves that everyone else who misunderstood or abused us will come around to see things from our point of view. If you are lucky, that might happen, but I don’t think memoirists should write a memoir counting on these outcomes. All you can do is to write your truth, digging deep inside to find the essence of your story, and then behave with compassion and good listening as best you can when others in the family react. I’ve heard wonderful stories and not so great ones about the outcome of writing a memoir and its impact on “real” people who were characters in the story.

Q. Rhoda Janzen, author of Mennonite in a Little Black Dress, was worried about the home reception of her memoir.  According to a podcast interview with her on Writers on Writing, her publisher advised her to show advance copy to two people, which she did. Those two were supportive, but several others, treated less sympathetically, have not been happy with their portrayals. If you don’t show the manuscript to all actors in your drama, but you do show it to some, how do you deal with the fallout?

A. This brings us back to question number one—how to handle the memoir with family. I don’t know the exact details of Rhoda’s decisions about showing her book to her family, so I can’t comment on her. Clearly, each writer needs to decide how to be ethical with the fallout from publishing a memoir, and can’t afford to be in denial or some fantasy world about it. Let’s face it—the very problematic people that you were writing about are still the same people they were. Maybe you have been changed and transformed by the memoir, but things still putter along in the rest of the world as they always have. Deep change is possible, when a person wants it and works on it in themselves, and sometimes our words can effect change in others. This is what we might hope, but we need to remind ourselves of the realities of the human personality and be prepared for whatever might arise after the book is out.

 Q. What has been your own journey with this issue? Has your understanding of memoir as healing journey for the writer and readers expanded to include healing for the antagonists in the story itself? Do you know of any such healing stories following the publication of a memoir?

A. For myself, I believed that some members in my extended Iowa family were positively affected by my portrait of them and their families, partly because I chose to leave out such details as sexual molestation and other family secrets. The theme of my book Don’t Call Me Mother was about three generations of mothers who abandoned their daughters, so I didn’t include details of sexual abuse into the mother theme. The Iowa family had reacted strongly when I confronted a family member about past abuses a few years earlier, and the goal of the book was not to expose that family’s dark secrets, but to offer a portrait of the Iowa family as supportive and loving to me, giving me a sense of family that I’d never had.

However, in the end, I was ousted from the circle because I had shined light into the issues of abuse and had written about the family, though positively. Yes, I changed names and identifying labels as well. I think they couldn’t handle the idea that I’d written a memoir about any of them. I discovered that every one of them knew of that particular person’s molesting tendencies, and that when they were young, some of the girls had been protected and told to stay away from him. Others of us were not protected. In the end, the memoir and who I am resulted in estrangement, which was a huge loss, as it was the last remnants of family that I had. But if there had been some kind of love and empathy there, we all could have come to terms. Alas, that was not the case.

I know a woman who developed much deeper connection to several sisters and her mother because of her memoir, and who came in contact with beloved old friends and other family members. Her book was composed primarily of amusing stories about the family, with a few harsher truths woven in. Another of my students received wonderful accolades from her siblings when she published her memoir. They all learned new things about each other they’d never known, and shared more stories and intimate details of living in an orphanage and what that was like for all of them. Her memoir, worked on for several years and many drafts, brought them together even more.

Q. Forgiveness seems to be a big theme in a healing memoir. Forgiveness of self and forgiveness of others. Do you agree? What can a writer do to increase the likelihood of both kinds of forgiveness through the telling of her or his story?

A. Ahh, forgiveness, my favorite topic! One of the most challenging emotional issues is forgiveness—of others who have wronged us and especially, I think for ourselves. I own five books on forgiveness, and think and talk about the subject a great deal with clients and writing students. Some people think that forgiving means forgetting, but it does not. Forgiveness can’t be forced, nor does it work to try to “fly over” the issue or problem and just pretend you have forgiven, because the body/mind knows its own truths and it can’t be fooled. Exploring our truths and story allows us to find perspectives we never had before. I teach all my students to write in scene—putting themselves back in time, inhabiting the body and point of view of who they were then as a way of repairing the past. We become witnesses to ourselves and to others in this process—like an observing ego able to see with perspective. We also slow down and unravel who other people were/are to us through writing in scene, and as we write about them, we may discover traits, feelings, and reactions anew. Each person has a story and a unique point of view. Though memoirists are accused of being “navel-gazing” and narcissistic, I think that being contemplative and reflective about life and relationships is a spiritual endeavor, bringing us closer to the possibility of redemption. We need to open up the dark stories, even if we don’t publish them, and write through the pain to get to the other side. All of the mystics and teachers through the ages share this wisdom, and I’ve seen it to be true. How people do that, and what they discover are part of the mystery of the journey.

Q. How to deal with the family member or friend who was left out of your story and feels offended not to be playing a starring role?

 A. Again, this is another family issue that requires skills from the writer that has more to do with communication, empathy, and good listening than any general comment I can make. Each person has his or her own path with family. If someone is offended, just listen, empathize, and blame the publisher for what is left out! If you are self-publishing, it’s more on your own shoulders, but in the end, as you finish your memoir, all the ghosts both living and dead will swirl around and haunt you, so it’s good to practice to consider how you will handle their accusations. In the end, it’s your story, not theirs, and you have to claim it.

How To Write Your Memoir and Still Go Home for the Holidays: A Guest Blog

The day has come for both the guest blog by Linda Joy Myers and the first day of our giveaway contest. Below is the guest post that addresses the question of how to deal with our fears of offending family members from Dr. Myers, a therapist, writer, and teacher. I invite you to offer your own comment at the end, which will automatically enter you in the giveaway. On Friday, March 26, 2010, at noon I will draw a name from all the commenters on this post and on the interview with Linda Joy posted here tomorrow. You could win your own copy of The Power of Memoir. So comment early and often–like a voter in Chicago.

How to Write Your Memoir and Still Go Home for the Holidays

Linda Joy Myers, Ph.D.

 Every time I offer a memoir writing workshop, people raise their hands to ask questions and share their worries about writing a memoir. “What about revealing the family secrets?” The young man shook his head. “Maybe I shouldn’t write my story at all.”

A middle-aged woman added, “When I told my family I was writing a memoir, everyone got silent. Now, I feel ostracized because they’re so worried about what I might say. Some of them know it won’t be pretty. Maybe I should just stop. I don’t want everyone to get mad at me.”

One woman shared that her family ordered her not to write her stories until everyone was dead! This caused quite a stir and even more questions.

The fear that leads to silencing ourselves is a powerful force, one that needs to be monitored if you want to write your stories. At every memoir workshop I hear worries about what family and friends will say when they’re published. They feel loyal not only to the living, but to the dead.

I ask, “Have you started writing yet?”

“No.” Or they might say that they’ve made a few notes, or they have box loads of journals they’re afraid to look at.

My response, “If you haven’t written a draft of your memoir yet, there’s nothing to worry about. If you haven’t told anyone you’re writing a memoir, don’t tell them now. Just keep writing and keep your stories private for a while.”

Sighs of relief and smiles relieve the tension around this fraught topic when I remind them that no one will know about their memoir if they don’t confess they’re writing one. Many people, particularly women I’ve noticed, feel a strong obligation to silence themselves in order to protect those who appear in the memoir. They spend years worrying about it while the story they want or need to write simmers and haunts them. They are silenced by the guilt-inducing voices of family, whether real or imagined.

Revealing other people’s lives can even be a problem if you decide to fictionalize, as the main “characters,” if they’re based on real people thinly disguised, are going to be easily recognizable to friends and family.

It is important for memoirists to take into account the fact that we’re offering up other people’s lives in our work. But we are not offering these secret stories to the public for a long, long time. First, we have to write, we have to claim our story. Many writers get ahead of themselves, and imagine all the terrible troubles of being published when they don’t know yet what the story is. Until you write it down and commit it to paper, you don’t have a story. The story that we imagine does not necessarily match up with what ends up on the page.

I advise that you write your first draft in complete privacy, only showing it to your therapist or your writing group. Ask for confidentiality in your writing group. If you live in a small town, take online classes. If you write about family and friends in your local writing group, everyone already knows all the characters, and can’t offer objective feedback. They might give skewed feedback, based on their own biases and loyalties. But having a supportive writing group is very helpful in setting deadlines and making sure you come prepared with a new story. The group witnesses you and your stories, offering compassionate feedback, which is a valuable part of the process.

Another factor is the ever present inner critic. It can channel the old family rules: “Don’t air the dirty laundry. How dare you talk about the abuse of your dead uncle—he can’t defend himself. If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”

These critiques can be more subtle though, showing this way: “This is boring, no one cares  about the details of your life.” Another famous one: “Who do you think you are (to dare write anything.)”

Notice the discouraging inner voices in your mind and write down what they are saying. Are they familiar phrases you grew up hearing? Label them as inner critic static, get the phrases out of your head and in your journal. Close the journal and go back to writing your memoir stories.

Give yourself permission to write in secret, in the “safe sacred space” of creativity. In this space, no one knows what you are writing. Keep this space for yourself to protect yourself and your early creative seeds.

Research about writing shows that writing creates a new perspective and changes the brain. It helps you to review, reflect, and sort out old, toxic memories. Sometimes you can literally feel the chains of the past that once bound you lifting away.

Take care of yourself and your seedling stories, protecting them from the taunts and darts of others, and revealing them only when you’re confident of your story and your truths. If you do this, then showing up for family holidays won’t be a problem. While you’re there, scribble notes as people share the family stories. You’ll get even more information if you gather around the photo album and ask questions about what others remember. Draw upon the family to help you piece together holes in your narrative and answer questions about your great-grandmother. Be curious, but mum about why you are asking so many questions!

Be patient too. I’m always assuring my students that writing a memoir takes courage, perseverance, and the willingness to explore what is not known. Writing a memoir is a long journey into the unknown as you travel the road of memory. Start your story today!

My Mother’s Pulpit: Published Memoir, Contest Winner, Ethical Dilemma

Ask memoir writers what their greatest challenge is and many will say, “how and when do I share my writing with the relatives and friends who are part of my story?”  Up to now, when I finished a personal essay, I sent it off to my family to make sure there were no gross inaccuracies and because I thought they would enjoy seeing what I wrote.  They did, and I appreciated their corrections and suggestions.

But this week I am going home to see most of my siblings and my mother.  I will be carrying a story that won first place in the Kalamazoo Gazette Literary Award competition and was published in a special literary edition on March 29, 2009.  It’s called “My Mother’s Pulpit,” and you can read it here.  I chose not to tell my mother about this story or to send a copy to her.  I want to deliver it to her in print and read it to her in person.  I think, hope, pray she will love it and see it for what it is–a tribute to her indomitable spirit.

But since the story reveals that she embarrassed me, like most mothers do to most daughters at some point, I am a little nervous about her reaction.

Some memoir writers have written about this dilemma.  Annie Dillard shares her work with family members in advance of publication.  Jeanette Walls, in The Glass Castle, amazingly, has the full support of her mother in telling the story of how she became Park Avenue daughter who has a baglady mother.

Other writers, such as Augusten Burroughs in Running with Scissors, however, have been sued by family members or friends or have become estranged from them because their versions of the truth clash, or they simply don’t want the family dirty laundry put on the line.

Truman Capote alienated nearly every friend he had left after the publication of Answered Prayers. No amount of fame or literary achievement would be worth that to me.

Another way, oddly enough, that friends and relatives can take offense results from not mentioning them. Memoir writers probably ought to place gargoyles on their houses to protect themselves from all potential hazards of the calling.

I take comfort in the case of the residents of Willa Cather’s hometown of Red Cloud, Nebraska, which at first did not like the way she portrayed them in her stories and novels.  Now Red Cloud proudly displays itself as the place that fostered Cather’s imagination, and the economy of the whole town is heavily dependent on the devoted pilgrims who come to visit the places she described in book after book.

I am hoping that Mother, who gave all her children a love of stories, will understand both my motive and my structure and characterization in the recently published story. I have counted on her unconditional love all my life, and I know I can count on it one more time.  She plays the same role in my memories of childhood that she played in all the war-time Manheim Township High School dramas–leading lady.

Do any of you have advice for me?  Personal experiences to offer?