Introducing book inc’s “Ask Tina” column!
Having wrestled with writing dilemmas for over 20 years as an educator and lifelong writer, Tina Goodyear brings her expertise to “Ask Tina,” a new advice column in the book inc Journal that tackles writers’ most pressing challenges. From memoir timelines to writer’s block, Tina draws on both her experience as a writing instructor and the collective wisdom of the book inc community to provide thoughtful, researched answers that go beyond the typical “just write” advice – send your questions to asktina@projectwritenow.org.
Dear Tina,
I am trying to write a memoir about a deeply personal issue. It’s hard to remember all of the details since it was over twenty years ago, but what I do remember isn’t always pretty. I am struggling with telling the ugly truth about my culpability in this issue. If I tell everything, I’m afraid the reader won’t like me. Am I obligated to include the not-so-virtuous things I did?
Signed, Big Little Lies
Dear Big Little Lies,
One of my favorite Emily Dickinson poems advises, “Tell all the truth but tell it slant — Success in Circuit lies.” I like this idea of “slant” and “circuit” for memoir. Dickinson suggests we be truthful but dance around it a bit. Present the truth gently, with nuance. Share your ugly truth with the same tenderness you would with other characters’ truth.
Where Dickinson’s advice veers a bit from memoir, however, is this idea to tell “all the truth.” A memoir is not an exposé, an autobiography, or a tell-all confession. It’s a slice in time with a story arc: a clear beginning, middle, and end. The writer decides what details are germane to that arc. As writer Dani Shapiro explains, “My motivation, in writing, is to connect. To say: this is me, my truth, my world… We all know there is no such thing as the truth, one truth. We are also aware, in writing memoir, that we are telling a story. We’re not setting down a historical account.”
However, I am sorry to report that when the ugly bits are vital to the story, they must be included lest your reader lose trust in you. Your fear that the reader won’t like you is valid, but readers don’t want to hear how great you are. The truth makes you real and relatable. I can think of two memoirs I’ve put down midway because I was put off by the author’s seeming infallibility. Consider, too, that memoir is an exploration of how you wrestled with the ugly and got to some sort of beauty; therefore, the ugly is a vital part of the transformation.
For example, if you are writing a memoir about a troubled marriage and during that marriage, both you and your spouse had an affair, it would be dishonest to only reveal your spouse’s infidelity and claim 100% victimhood. However, you don’t need to let the reader know that you also once cheated on your ninth-grade boyfriend when you French kissed your lab partner behind the bleachers. Unless, of course, you are writing a memoir solely about your struggle with monogamy, then the bleacher kiss may serve as foreshadowing.
Your question also brings up the larger issue about that fine line between omission of facts and lying. Omitting an affair may create a noticeable hole in the story and weaken the narrative, but outright stating you didn’t have an affair, if you did, would be a grave misrepresentation. If you want to know what happens when memoir and fiction get muddled, read up on the controversy over James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces.
Writer Beth Kephart goes so far as to advise against embellishing even the smallest of details to make your story more interesting, like changing the weather or the drink in someone’s hand. She implies these are akin to gateway lies, perhaps enticing the writer to bigger lies.
But it is also true that memoir represents your perception and your memory, which, of course, can stray from other people’s perceptions and memories. Memory is a tricky thing, so it is appropriate to let the reader know you are hazy on some details. For example, you might write, “I may be rewriting history here, but I want to believe Daniel said I had the bluest eyes in all of Texas.” You can even blame your age and attribute a memory to someone else’s rendition: “I had just turned five that year, so my memory is cloudy, but my sister claims my illness was the reason we canceled our trip to Disney.” You can also find a way to admit that you regret your choices, such as, “I was seventeen, alone and pregnant. If I could go back in time, I would have told Sam about the baby.”
So, though she never wrote a memoir, Emily Dickinson was on to something: “tell the truth.” The writer Stephen Whitacre might agree and go one step further: tell the truth even if it makes you look bad. I’ll conclude with his sage observation:
“As human beings we tend to want to present our best face to the world…We want to write a deeply moving book that affects others without showing our own weaknesses, without others seeing anything other than the hero inside of us.
I have bad news for you. You can’t.”
P.S. If you’d like some examples of writers who courageously told the truth in service to their story, check out Dani Shapiro’s memoir, Slow Motion, and Cheryl Strayed’s essay, “The Love of My Life.”
Please send your writing-related questions to asktina@projectwritenow.com.
Sources
Kephart, Beth. Handling the Truth. Penguin, 2013
Shapiro, Dani. “On Telling the Truth.” Dani Shapiro. 12 Feb. 2011. https://danishapiro.com/on-telling-the-truth/ Accessed 19 Nov. 2024
Whitacre, Stephen. “Baring Your Soul While Writing Memoir,” Writing Lessons: Writing Your truth. Marion Roach Smith, https://marionroach.com/2014/08/writing-your-truth/. Accessed 19 Nov. 2024.