The Making of a Memoir

ImageAs some of you may know, I’ve been working on a memoir for the last 2 years or so. While I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was 5 or 6 years old, I never intended to write a memoir. I thought they were reserved for celebrities or renowned movers and shakers — great minds, innovators, etc. You know, people who’ve made a contribution to the arts or humanity in general.

I am not a celebrity, nor am I a “mover-and-shaker.” I’m just a woman who was a girl with a story to tell.

I’ve written most of my life, writing my first short story in maybe the first grade. I like stories of all kinds, as long as they’re good stories.

When I began writing my memoir, I was actually elbows deep in another project that had completely captured my heart – a fantasy trilogy. Then, I got the call that my mother had been diagnosed with Leukemia, and my mind drifted back in time, flitting in and out of memories that mama had always meant to write down, but didn’t. I decided I would write them down for her, and quickly realized that I wasn’t able to write her story. I had to write my story, and by telling about my life, I would be able to share her life in mine.

So, I set about writing. Joy, pain, suffering, victories, loss, and change.

It has been difficult. I relive moments of my childhood through my grown up filter, and I’m overcome with respect, compassion and understanding for my family that I couldn’t see before. I see my mother’s actions now as a mother myself, and so many things make more sense. I value the journey, and attempt to honor the past.

But, I doubt.

I doubt my talents and skill. I doubt the value of my words, the significance of my endeavor. Will it offer anything to the world, to my readers? Will I do justice to the past? Will I honor my mother?

Then, a friend asked me a simple question. Why are you writing this memoir? You’re wanting to make a contribution, right?

Yes. A contribution.

It may not be published. It may not be praised. It may not receive a Pulitzer.

But all those things are reactions to my work that are out of my control. My job is to create and give. A part of myself, my history, experience DNA – this is what my experience was, and this was my reaction. Maybe it will help you if I share it. Maybe I can contribute to your life.

An offering. A gift.

Do you have something to contribute? Have you been hesitating? Do you doubt?

Remember that there is a purity to a gift given without expectation. When we do our best and offer the world a bit of ourselves unselfishly, good things happen. How can they not?

Be encouraged. Embrace the journey and the things you learn along the way. As you give, you grow, and isn’t that part of the joy?

 

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3 comments

  1. I really admire what you wrote, that you are a giver. Give whatever you can offer even if it is your story. Often times I forget that there are generations after me who are experiencing life’s trials for the first time. The beauty of age and experience is what can be offered to others!! I love the picture btw!!

    Like

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