A Risky Piece of Writing
Dear Writers,
This feels like it’s the riskiest newsletter I’ve ever written, so of course, I’ve been putting it off for months.
As background, I want to be transparent and acknowledge that I earn a living from my work as a workshop teacher, an editor, a book coach/mentor, a small press publisher and as a psychotherapist. It’s a pastiche of services. Adding in the volume of volunteer work as Chair of Amherst Writers over the past 4 years, I’m financially surviving, but certainly not well-off.
That’s the first risky thing I’m going to say. We live in a culture that equates money with success. There’s a part of me that’s afraid I’ll be judged for what I’ve just put there on the page.
I’m very good at what I do – that doesn’t mean I’m in a high income bracket. I’ve had times in my life where I was much better off economically than I have been in the last twenty years. But in these later years, I’ve developed a life where I have meaningful work that I absolutely love.
I know my work is meaningful because there have been many clients who have told me that the writing workshops I lead have changed their lives for the better. Through their writing, they’ve come to terms with difficult events in their lives, or have come to see themselves in a better, kinder light. Or the workshops have helped them truly believe in themselves as writers or the value and originality of their particular writer’s voices. Some people have told me the writing they’ve done in my workshops has saved their lives—or at least, their sanity. So I feel really good about my work.
In the days when I was much more “successful” – in a monetary sense – I used to work in fashion, retail and wholesale. Nobody ever told me that a dress I designed saved their sanity or their life.
In the early days of A Novel Approach (our year-long workshop to write a first draft manuscript) we used to mix memoirists and novelists in the same workshop. But after a few years, we split those two up. It seemed to me that memoirists were taking different risks than the novelists, and it felt right to give them their own space.
That’s when I really began to focus on life-review work. I love, love, love the puzzle that is memoir—the work of understanding the events of our lives as significant, meaningful stories in the journey of becoming who we are.
A large part of writing Memoir is understanding the younger version of ourselves as the protagonist in our own story. The same questions we ask to unpack a piece of literature help guide us into our own story. Why did that younger version of ourselves do what they did? What was influencing them? What were their motivations? What was at stake? What were the moments when something important changed? What backstory and flashbacks need to be included to ensure that readers understand the forces at work in the story?
And perhaps, most importantly, how much and in what way did that younger version of ourselves change by the end of the story?
I am passionate about this work. That may be because there’s a lovely dovetail between memoir writing and my other life/work as a psychotherapist.
Here’s the next risky thing I’m going to say: Publication is a possible by-product of this process, but it is not the reason to write a memoir. That’s not wherein lies the primary value of the work.
I have been leading writing workshops since 1998. I have seen over and over that publication is the carrot on the stick that workshop leaders dangle out there to entice writers to register in their courses. (Even though of course the publishing world is a tesseract right now, and no workshop leader can ethically promise that unless they’re going to publish you themselves). So to say that acquiring publication is not the primary motivation for me in leading these workshops is true — but scary.
That said, if it matters to you, I’m very happy to support you in the publishing process. I know a lot about publishing in this new world of traditional, self and hybrid publishing. I know a lot about standalone pieces and getting your work out there in the literary marketplace. I keep up with developments in that world, and I am happy to support you in your publication journey, if you want that. But for me, the value in this work is in the process itself.
Several memoir participants over the years have said to me some version of: “I have been in therapy for most of my life, but writing my memoir was the most therapeutic thing I have ever done.”
THAT’s why I love facilitating memoir workshops. I totally get it. Both therapy and writing are all about insight. As a therapist said to me years ago: “You can wish you could change, and intend to change, and vow you will change; but you cannot change until you understand why you do what you do.”
It’s all about insight. And you might not even know what it is you want to write about as you’re starting out. But there it is — that urge to investigate. That urge to say something about what you’ve been through and who you’ve become.
A Novel Approach to Memoir (ANA) is a 10-month adventure of sailing into discovering the stories of your own life (Yes I said stories, because writers often discover they have several memoirs layered throughout the years of their lives.) It’s detective work. It’s an investigation. It is, in many ways, a spiritual endeavor, examining as it does, the larger meaning of the experiences you’ve been through.
And finally, because A Novel Approach to Memoir is based in the AWA method, you travel this landscape with companions. There are many asynchronous craft workshops out there where you beaver away on your writing in response to craft lessons in isolation—which is fine—but I believe the presence and witnessing of the group is crucial. Because (and here’s the final risky thing I’m going to say) writing a true memoir is hard work.
To have the presence of an ongoing group over 10 months, where everyone has the intention to be present and supportive to the process, and to offer feedback about the strengths of what you’ve just written, is so nourishing.
Over the years I’ve recognized that most writers encounter the same doubts and questions during the year of writing.
- Who’s going to care about this?
- What does this even matter?
- Is my story boring?
- What will my family think?
- What will my friends think?
- How can I possibly put this out in the world?
So this is an accompanied journey into hard territory—but you will not be alone and you will know that the doubts and challenges you’re encountering are part of the process, and almost everyone encounters very similar issues.
So there you have it. I’ve put it all out there. If you’ve ever been tempted to tell the story of your life and discover the deeper story of how you’ve become who you are, then this is your invitation. Please think about joining me with this year’s A Novel Approach cohort.
You can read more about it here:
My warmest regards to you,
Sue