No. 06 | I'm working on a memoir. Here's why.
The better I understand myself, the more clearly I can share myself with you.
When I tell people that I’m working on a memoir, their first reaction is typically surprise. “A memoir? But you’re so young!”
That’s because we tend to see an autobiography and a memoir as the same thing. We think of autobiographies as written by Important People who have lived Extraordinary Lives with many Great Accomplishments.
But a memoir can be written by anybody—even by nobodies like you and me. And we don’t have to have led Great Lives, or even be almost at the end of our very ordinary lives, to write one. All we need is a story.
“An autobiography is the story of a person’s whole life, from childhood to the present day. A memoir, on the other hand, will usually have a narrower focus, detailing a particular event or period.”
(Joelle Fraser)
A memoir can be about a specific event, an aspect of identity or culture, or a phase of life. Where an autobiography is history (objective, with dates and facts), memoir is memory—a creative retelling of real-life events, based on the author’s own recollections, reflections, and point of view.
Did someone say reflection? Well, as an accomplished overthinker, I’ve been training for this project all my life! Kidding aside, I’ve been writing about—and reflecting on—my life for as long as I can remember.
In fact, I’ve written and shared about myself for as long as I’ve been aware of someone on the other side—someone who read, cared, and was interested in what I had to say.
My earliest memory of writing was of picking up a pencil to write a letter to my grandmother in India. I was probably around five or six. It can’t have been more than a few lines at most, written on paper with blue and red lines that I learned to write on in school. I clearly remember writing Dear Dima with gusto, because I could already write the D in my own name easily.
Dima was my first captive audience, ever faithful, interested, and responsive. She always wrote back, ending each letter the same way: No more today. Yours loving Dima.
My letters to Dima started a lifelong habit of thinking about what was going on in my life so I could share it with someone. I would sift through my experiences, find the highlights, and wrap them in words, to be unfolded thousands of miles away.
Dima passed in 2009, but the gift she gave me has become part of who I am and lives on in me.
“Time, which is your enemy in almost everything in this life, is your friend in writing.”
(Tobias Wolff)
In between letters to Dima, I wrote diaries. After reading The Diary of Anne Frank at age 9, I wanted to be just like Anne. It’s amazing that today, I live and work just minutes from where she wrote the diaries that inspired me to start my own.
I had planners for recording and evaluating daily life (I assigned letter grades to each day, with A++++ being a most excellent day), diaries for my secret thoughts and internal mess, and notebooks with half-assed attempts at fan fiction, which usually featured myself in the arms of my celebrity crush of the moment.
Throughout my teenage years, I wrote through all my moods—confusion, frustration, boredom, happiness, sadness. I kept my words to myself like the assorted treasures in the pockets of a curious child.
But when blogs came along, a kind of diary made public, there was only one thing that made me want to write for others, to share with the whole wide world.
And that was joy.
“We write to taste life twice: in the moment and in retrospect.”
(Anais Nin)
I still remember the feeling that made me want to start a blog. I had just begun dating my then boyfriend, now husband, and I was just so damn happy. I was finally dating someone, he was wonderful, we were in love.
My joy could not be contained. It was a joy that filled me to bursting and demanded to be expressed. It needed an outlet; it wanted to be shared.
So I started a blog.
It no longer exists (it lasted almost 10 years!), but my desire to share has since found other outlets. I started an Instagram account after giving birth to my daughter, when I found I no longer had the time to sit down and reflect on the changes in my life, but could use my phone with one hand while breastfeeding.
The medium may be different, but what drives me to share is essentially still the same.
Joy.
It feels like a buoyant energy that bubbles up inside me, that makes me want to do something. Take a picture. Find the words. And make something real to share, the same way I wrapped up the little joys of my childhood in ink and paper for my grandmother who lived an ocean away.
“When I write memoir, I’m undoubtedly in search of wholeness. Maybe I’m trying to resolve something, heal a wound, redeem some part of myself that has been orphaned or lost, or give a voice to what has been silenced. Maybe I’m trying to step into my truth. Maybe I’m trying to reveal myself to myself.”
(Sue Monk Kidd)
Even though this age of performative authenticity demands we “show our mess” and “be real” about our struggles, I write about things that are dark, difficult or uncomfortable mainly for myself, so I can work them out in my own head. But I don’t share them until I’ve made sense of them and arranged them in a satisfying narrative.
When I share something I’ve written, it’s because I want to offer you a gift. I won’t just dump my shit on you, because I know you’re dealing with your own shit too.
Sometimes the patterns don’t emerge until much later; sometimes it takes years for the story to become clear. The better I understand myself, the more clearly I can share myself with you. And that’s simply my nature: to experience life deeply, and share the experience with others.
Why not write fiction? you might ask. My experiments with fiction have been fun; just ask anyone who’s read my short story about a pair of shoes escaping into the night and getting lost on an adventure in Venice.
I have immense admiration for writers who can dream up entire universes from nothing, and make us believe them. But given everything I’ve told you about me so far, I could only ever write about my life.
Stories are complicated, and they’re even more complicated when you don’t make them up.
(Jon Franklin)
As someone with an endless fascination with lived experience, I believe all the different shades of human experience are valid, worthy and beautiful. In writing my memoir, I add my own shade to the mix. It’s a particular slice of my reality, a specific period of my life, and all that it’s taught me about relationships, intimacy, sexuality, honesty, vulnerability, acceptance, commitment, and love.
Along the way, writing has allowed me to reflect on what I’ve learned about myself, what it means to be good and worthy, and what it means to love and be loved. And honestly, that’s a gift that I’m happy I can give myself now, that I don’t have to wait until I’m old and gray to do.
So when I tell people that I’m writing a memoir, their first reaction tends to be surprise. But they also say, “I can’t wait to read it!” I hope you feel the same way too.
Thanks for reading this far! How are we doing? Any guesses as to what my memoir is about? Any burning questions, or something you would like me to write about?
Hit that reply button. You know I love hearing from you.
Otherwise, see you in two weeks!
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As someone who is also slowly writing memoir this post resonates so well with me. You have articulated why it’s an important form of writing. Thank you and keep writing! I have always lived in countries away from extended family and went to boarding school so writing letters was a regular routine throughout childhood. I still write weekly to my elderly parents in RSA (I’m in NZ now) but try always to wrap my happenings in stories and descriptions. One of my memoir blogs if you’re interested is https://abrightspot.blog/2020/05/22/the-lilac-timetable/
I just realised that my first experiences of writing were also the letters I had to send home to my parents from boarding school. I imagine I too was rewrapping my experiences, but in my case sugar coating them. Another lovely read Deepa, and yes, I for one am MASSIVELY looking forward to reading your memoir.