Memoir Writing: Self Congrats Are Never in the Mail

by marionroach on February 3, 2010

SOMETIMES I CAN BE SUBTLE. And while no particular incident of that comes to mind right now, I maintain that I can be. Sometimes. I’m sure of it. Though never when teaching memoir writing, and so I know for certain that I was not a bit subtle in a recent class when I simply declared a total moratorium on the self-congratulatory. Let me explain.

Let’s say you’ve embarked on a piece that you think will interest women. The topic: how you’ve never been romantically swindled. No man has ever taken advantage of you in any way. It’s a claim you like to make, are comfortable making, and think others should know about.

Well, that’s not enough to make it a piece.

First off, self-congratulatory is very bad. Think about it. Who would really choose to listen to another monologue from the “And then I saids,” those bores who quote their own supposed retorts to a battered series of people they dominate every day? The “And then I saids” should have to wear buttons, so I can bolt for the canapés as they make their way toward me in a cocktail party. We learn nothing in these encounters, after all, so why listen?

Can you edit that piece on never being had by a cad and make it interesting to others? Maybe. Consider teaching your teenage niece to be gigolo-proof. Now that could be good.

Wanting to have some role in raising a sibling’s child is the very business of aunts, and as you retool the topic, the voice will change. Your original version would have been smarmy, and if self-congratulatory is bad, smarmy is dead-skunk-dreadful. Being the only one who’s right is the tough sell it should be. And as you search through that smarmy vomit draft, you must start feeling your way toward a voice of authority that is more meritocracy than fascist state. That, coupled with your status as an aunt, will make us want to read you, listen to you, or perhaps even buy your book.

My father, a fine sportswriter, used to say that you should try to write everything like a letter home, a suggestion that’s both graceful and correct. In a letter home you rarely tell those people who raised you how very great you are, or right you are, or unique. You tend to write about the ideas you are trying on, or the things you’ve tried and failed; how scared you are, or how lonely. You are the small dog when you write a letter home, telling how you’ve changed or what you’ve witnessed, and while you might wish they were here, they’re not, so get your facts right and put the bold, brash bragging aside, because these guys knew you when, and they can still kick your emotional ass if you get out of line.

So can readers, though they do so by not buying your books, not listening all the way through to your piece on the radio, and never again clicking on your blog.

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{ 6 comments… read them below or add one }

CopyStrands February 3, 2010 at 4:55 pm

Well said, Marion! Just because someone lives through an experience doesn’t make it interesting. The right presentation does.

marionroach February 3, 2010 at 5:12 pm

Hi there, Copystrands. Thanks for this. Yes, presentation is everything. I always tell my students that just because something happens doesn’t make it interesting, fully realizing both how hard it is to hear, as well as how difficult it is to follow as writing advice. Thanks for the confirmation. I appreciate you stopping by. Please come back soon.

lynn druskat February 4, 2010 at 5:31 pm

Is it possible that I live in a world of, and then I said’s? I never realized that is why I have become a hermit. I have more fun listening to my dog breathe than hearing, yet another sad soul, tell me how amazing their world is, their kids, their husband, their perfect granite counter tops, their vacations, is it ok to say, I quit??? I have to thank you for sharing with such honesty. Searching for some meaning, L

marionroach February 5, 2010 at 9:34 am

Hi, Lynn. And welcome to TSP. I thought that I was the only one somewhat driven underground by the “And Then I Saids” until I floated the concept to the sisters here at TSP, and they said, “Uh, huh. Write it.” It seems those people are all around us, so let’s not let them run the show, ok? OK. Lovely to meet you here. Hope you’ll come back soon.

RachelRose February 5, 2010 at 11:04 am

Hi Marion, Thanks for the tips. I really appreciate your latest advice. And I will try my best to put it to good use. I have a blog of my own, although its a bit more slow moving than the Roach blogs. :-)
Any advice for keeping on track and continually adding to the blog? I seem to get great ideas for new topics while I’m in the shower. And you say to always write things down. But its hard to write it down in the shower. I also struggle with becoming too overwhelmed to even sit down and start writing. It takes so much time to write well and thoughtfully. That sometimes keeps me from getting it done. Urghhh.

marionroach February 5, 2010 at 11:18 am

Hi, RachelRose. Welcome to TSP. Thanks. I’m so glad the tips help. I recent read that Jeff Bezos, Amazon.com founder and CEO, reads his Kindle in the tub. How? He places the thing in a plastic bag. Well, there you go, sister. Though seriously, I know, I know. Sometimes I chant my shower ideas to myself until I’m dry enough to get them to paper. There are notebooks in every room of my house, index cards in my jeans pocket, and in my wallet. Be hospitable to your talent. It’s one of my number one memoir tips. Be hospitable. You’ll get there. Lovely to meet you. Do come back for more, please.

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