Memoir

December 2, 2019

Life would have been easier

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Life would have been easier…

Life would have been easier, certainly, if I had ever positively, finally, decided to give up all my ideas of writing “Trapped”, or indeed, of ever writing anything properly. I never did positively decide not to. The idea just kept creeping up on me until it was irresistible, so I guess memoir writers just have to get used to living dangerously…

And I can’t say that, though life would have been easier, it would have been more fun. I would have had plenty more time to worry whether I was doing the best I could, whether I should be writing and whether I was missing opportunities. I would probably have wilted away to almost nothing. But hey, what’s that, compared to the damage we could do, making the effort to write and perhaps, in the process, offending someone else’s notion of propriety?

Memoir is defined as the story of our memories, written in what the industry categorises as “narrative non-fiction” style; that is, like a novel, but with elements of truth in it. The difference with autobiography and biography is instructive. Biography utilises verifiable names, dates, timelines and events, whereas a memoirist  concerns herself with the recall of her memories, which may have little or no bearing on what actually happened: a crucial distinction which in itself reveals both the dangers of writing memoir, and the defences we can deploy in the interests of harmony and to shield ourselves from adverse comments.

It is possible, indeed probable, that on occasion, and perhaps when we least expect it, we will have to contend with unreasonable people. It’s never those whom we assume are bound to be most offended, who are. And when writing anything that we hope will one day see publication, we must accept the risk that there will be those who will be unhappy both with what we have written, and with the fact that we have bothered – or dared – to publish it.

I’ve never let another person’s lack of reason or self-discipline stop me from expressing myself; and, sensible caution aside, I contend that anyone who lets worries such as these stop them writing, is putting the cart before the horse. Publication – probably the point at which most people will read our work for the first time – as a goal can take anything from two to ten years. Writing – which only we need ever read – we can start immediately.

Thanks for listening.

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November 27, 2019

The dangers of writing memoir

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The dangers of writing memoir

This is a new series about the challenges that attend anyone writing memoir. In this series I will be attempting to address and soothe the largely fictional fears that stop us from writing what we want to about our lives and what has happened to us in the course of them, and more pertinently, what we may have learned through the process of growing older that has benefited us, and may, perhaps, benefit others.

Many writers seem very concerned about the risks of getting their memoirs published, and although there is definitely a good reason why many authors write under a pseudonym – perhaps it helps us to write more honestly, and it can be kinder to others to add that element of privacy – I suspect we can worry too much about the dangers of writing memoir. Our worries may be worse than they need be because we don’t quite know what aspects to consider or where to start.  

Most memoirists fret a bit, especially if family happens to be vocal, numerous or in the public eye. If I write all about this, will my family still be speaking to me once I’ve finished? Isn’t my sister going to be furious at me for washing family linen in public? What right do I have to do that? What about defamatory comments, or even, a totally unreasonable member of the family deciding to take exception to what I’ve written and threatening to sue or cut off contact? Might it be better to not go ahead? Best just forget it?

I haven’t yet met a memoirist who writes under a pseudonym only or mainly because they are concerned that if they were ever to reveal real names and places, they might be sued or disowned. I’ve no doubt there are some. Even in such cases, there are things we can do, well before publication, to ensure that any likely disputes with aggrieved others are resolved before they escalate.

Thanks for listening.

(To be continued)

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November 21, 2019

Why do we write memoir?

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Why do we write memoir?

When people ask me why I wrote my memoir, I can offer many excellent reasons, though it’s never easy to summarise forty years of growing up in a pithy, two-sentence reply.

Though for each of us there will be a differing admixture and flavour, a different weight given to recurring themes, nevertheless the reasons people write memoirs are fairly universal.

We write memoir for many reasons.

~ To share interesting stories and leave a legacy of information for our family.

~ As a way of speaking to others intimately when the thought of conversation is simply too confusing or daunting. I can’t be the only writer who has found it easier to write letters to a boyfriend instead of actually talking to him.

~ To reconcile ourselves to the course of our lives. Coming to terms with our failures and learning to accept ourselves as we are is a major reason why people write. We can, and often do, bury ourselves in fiction as a way of hiding from life, though I’m quite certain that writing short stories, flash fiction and novels also teaches us acceptance.

~ To apologise to others and to ourselves. In the course of writing anything, we do see things more clearly and also from other peoples’ points of view. Even in our fiction, our characters teach us humility and insight.

~ Because we have stuff we need to learn – like empathy and patience – before we can move on.

~ To free us to move forward and make better lives for ourselves. Any writing, be it a diary, a journal, a short story or letters and emails, offers opportunities to lay our ghosts and leave behind a legacy of peace that helps us to go forward.

Thanks so much for listening.

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August 11, 2019

Points of departure

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Points of departure

Following my previous post, I have also cause to reflect, again, that a memoir cannot cover every aspect of a life. Not only would our attempt to cover “everything” make of a memoir an encyclopaedia, but naturally, the scrutiny of a memoir covers certain periods, and stops at certain natural points. Beyond these points of departure, our lives can change, and flourish beyond recognition.

In my memoir, for example, I reflect on every young girl’s dreams of being included, being loved, part of a carefree community of those who enjoy life. I talk about certain on-going traumas that affect people with my abilities – the assumptions, for example, that we will do what we are asked, that we should never be a nuisance, that we should be inconspicuous and no trouble, and, above all, never embarrass anyone. (Can others embarrass us? Well, yes, that is fairly routine.)

“Trapped” also explores some myths of mainstreaming that we all face at some points in our lives. If only you will be good, if only you will work hard and make us proud of you, the myth whispers, you too, can have all that we have: friends, family, a wonderful job, meaningful occupation, a fantastic, fulfillingly amazing emotional life… And, as anyone will tell you, it ain’t necessarily so. We all fall down, at times. We fail exams, we break up relationships, we may even become homeless or destitute. But the common thread in all these low points is that – in more ways than we are usually aware – we are the same. We all have stories to tell, and lessons to learn. And in that, we are, and can always be, bigger than the sum of our parts.

Thanks for listening.

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August 8, 2019

Memoir writers and privacy

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Memoir writers and privacy

Here’s a new idea that I saw voiced on a FB thread recently. That it is rich – and I paraphrase – for a memoir writer to complain about breaches of privacy.

The imposition on online users of various extra security rules and requirements, for example, being asked to supply our phone number for extra security, or told we “must” download our banking app onto our mobile phone, seems to be becoming more widespread. These extra security measures sound harmless enough: if we are in France our holiday, say, and we attempt to log in to Facebook, there are times when we will be blocked from doing so. I assume that the mega computers are suspicious that we are not ourselves, and we are therefore asked to supply extra data for verification before we can access our accounts. (At least I now know what “Please add your phone number for extra security” is all about. I have not and will not give out my phone number. And so, I won’t use on-line networks when away from my usual domicile.)

However, I started this blog post to probe one suggestion made, that it is rich – and I paraphrase – for a memoir writer to complain about breaches of privacy.

Huh?? Memoir writers are people with lives that go well beyond the content of a memoir or even a confessional, weekly newspaper column. And if we write sensitively, no-one else we mention in our memoirs – and other people usually feature tangentially – should not come off too badly. I change names, alter circumstances, and in any case, my recall is often at variance with that of others, which acts as a natural, protective barrier around our personal lives. “What? I don’t remember that!!” is not simply about perspectives: it places our recall at a remove which ultimately, is like a safety valve.

I think, I suppose, probably, that the assumption made, that memoir writers have no expectation of privacy, has two parts. First, that memoir writers have already laid their lives out for public scrutiny, and therefore, they are used to it, expect it, and have somehow forfeited their rights to privacy. Second, that they – I am supposing – have already made reference to the lives of others in, I am supposing, a rather presumptuous fashion and therefore, have a bit of a cheek supposing that they should be entitled to privacy when those they write about have been “outed”.

Both these assumptions are questionable at best. Memoirs are often an attempt by writers to make sense of chaotic or baffling circumstances. They are an attempt to join with others in understanding, to reach out and console, and to get beyond first base and live better lives. That all seems very useful and worthwhile to me, and doesn’t lend me to suppose that memoir writers have skin like rhinos or are uniquely tough and open-all-hours type of people.

Thanks for listening.

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June 3, 2019

Emotional support for writers

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Since all writers borrow from their lives to pen their novels, articles, memoirs and stories, emotional support for writers is essential. Yet the habit which writing breeds of doing things alone and by oneself, can be hard to leave behind.

We write, presumably, because we feel compelled to; and presumably also because some part of us enjoys the process or the sense of achievement from the final product and its outcomes.

Yet perhaps, since reading – so often a precursor to taking up the pen – and writing are silent, we writers may well become accustomed to learning, listening and doing by ourselves, quietly. We may not all begin life as rugged individualists, but I suspect that, in order to write, we may also have to cultivate the art of doing many things tolerably well alone. Words on the page are quiet and perhaps we assume we have to be too?

All of which helps to explain how writers can become isolated. And to excuse the fact that, with all that training in aloneness, it can be very difficult to ask for emotional support. Asking for help isn’t easy, though there is little doubt that having practical and emotional support helps us to stay grounded, relaxed and on top of our workload.

Paradoxically, I’m not sure that I would have managed to write or publish what I have, without the demands made on me by others: I must eat, and yet, when I lived alone I rarely made the effort to eat well. I have to sleep, and there is something in the routines of next day, that encourages me more often to go to bed at a reasonable hour. I know that twenty-four-hour days do not suit me, yet when I live alone, I tend towards exciteable neglect.

I do know, that although it has ultimately saved my life, writing my memoir was a long and very difficult thing to do. Ironically, I wrote it and dreamed about it, and lived through the pain of it alone, because I needed to come out of isolation. I am grateful also to remember, now, that when we need help, we can ask for it, and benefit from precious friendships we make along the way.

Thanks for listening.

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May 30, 2019

Testing my resolve

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There appears to be a belief among authors that of course we enjoy our writing, or else, why would we bother writing anything? And for most writers, that assumption is probably broadly true, though I suspect many of us also have procrastination down to a fine art. But when I began writing, it soon became obvious that doing so was testing my resolve almost to breaking point.

Though memoir reads like fiction, and enjoys elements of fiction, we may not get much enjoyment from writing our life stories.

Interestingly, while writing my memoir, I felt as if I was inhabiting a parallel universe. Writing about something that happened when I was, say, fourteen years old, other forgotten parts of that time would come vividly to mind, prompted, I am sure, by my sojourn with a particular set of recollections. These felt so sharp, as if they happened yesterday, which realisation has given me many occasions to wonder about the nature of time and memory.

Is everything we have ever thought, felt and believed stored in our minds, just awaiting recall; and, like a song learned fifty years ago, never forgotten? Why do our minds work that way, recalling sounds, conversations and scents decades after the event? What a massive repository of experiences our minds turn out to be.

Writing for me started as a compulsion, not at all enjoyable. But it had to be done, both to push against the boundaries of what I thought I knew, and testing my resolve to see how far I could push. Perhaps that was a bit reckless, but it was my version of the physical and emotional risks that we all have to take – the cat climbing the wall may fall to her death, but that doesn’t stop her trying to reach the window above – if we are going to take our personal leaps to the next stage and live life to the fullest.

Thanks for listening.

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May 22, 2019

Reactions to my books

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Reactions to my books have been and continue to be overwhelmingly supportive. I am very touched that my story has reached so many readers, some of whom have contacted me with messages of love and support and to share their own stories.

I’m glad if my experiences can help to inform and console: in navigating our way through life, I find there are few more toxic experiences than being lonely.

Many whom I would count as good friends express surprise, saying, I had no idea. They are astonished that so much can have happened of which they have been unaware, though of course, since I have been introverted, depressed and solitary for so many years, it is unsurprising to me that, until now, the best way I knew to maintain my dignity was with silence: I’m less ashamed of how things were then, and can talk about them. And my shame has a different quality – less, how embarrassing; more how could I tolerate that? which makes me want to advocate, not hide.

Which must be one reason why I started writing. I feared being swallowed up completely by my tendency to silence. So I gave up the unequal struggle to hold it all in, knowing, even as I wrote, that eventually, when I had smoothed it out a bit and found a way to come to terms, I would go public, despite an intense desire to chuck it all in and run away: my reactions to my books are still mixed.

I still think it matters to maintain peaceful dignity. But often that is a way of staying away from the helping arms that others willingly extend towards us. We do need to show our weaknesses, our frailty, and allow others to understand. I’m sorry that, for so long, I have been unable to share intimacies, or to trust that the reactions of friends and family would be supportive. I regret the missed opportunities to share more fully, because, at the very least, sharing would have helped me to notice that we all have stuff to deal with, we all struggle and suffer together in this melting pot called “Life”. Seeing that more clearly would have given me the courage to make more mistakes, be more outspoken, to take more risks so that I might move more freely and enjoy life more.

Thanks for listening.

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May 20, 2019

Time well spent?

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Time well spent?

Recently, I have been asking myself again, has my time – my life – been well invested? Why have I put myself through another difficult, emotionally draining and – let’s face it – financially unrewarding decade?

If I was an outsider considering the pros and cons of writing, on the surface, I would conclude that Fran Macilvey is peculiarly driven: to work early or late; at any rate, while her family sleeps; driven to continue with the next project, the next hope, despite setbacks, illness and puzzlement from those more sober and grounded citizens of her acquaintance who really would prefer that she apply her energies to a proper, reasonable, sensible and obvious job. Why, for goodness’ sake, must she always be different?

Because I am, is all. I make that sound nonchalant, easy to say. But if my life has taught me anything, it is the total futility of trying to keep up with other ‘ordinary’ people who have ‘ordinary’ jobs. I’ve tried that – really, I have – and it has only led to heartbreak and losses of a different kind.

In the old days, the pain was about not belonging, never fitting in, and never really understanding what was going on; I had that sinking feeling which made it plain that I never would understand, no matter how hard I tried. Nowadays, though there have been a few disappointments and false starts, I am increasingly certain that I understand the basics of life, its purpose and meaning, and that I will continue to make progress. On my present path, every difficulty lends itself to a purpose, for a reason and I notice the ways in which unexpected outcomes serve a longer-term goal.

I write to share my experiences. I can write, and so I do. I can explain, and so that is my attempt, in the hope that those who may read my pieces know that I understand something of their loneliness, their anger, even their desolation. It is not unusual to have these feelings, it is not peculiar or suspicious. They are just part of life.

Gradually, writing has revealed that our ‘bad’ experiences can complement the ‘good’, making our lives a contrasting tapestry which, when we look back at it, hopefully fills us with gratitude and optimism. That is how I see myself making the best of life’s knots, at any rate.

Thanks for listening.

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May 16, 2019

Writing is a funny business

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Writing is a funny business

Writing is a funny business: compulsive, open-ended and exhilarating. It is also isolating, solitary and sometimes downright weird. Here we sit with our characters and our ideas, and who else is that bothered about them?

There have been times when I think back and suspect that, if I had known what I know now, about the long hours, the pay rates, the promotion and the nerve-racking waiting to see, I would never have started. As I say, it can be a strangely solitary pre-occupation…

But if I hadn’t bothered to tell my story, and if I hadn’t won the writers’ equivalent of the Lottery and persisted until I found a publisher, I would never have met hundreds of truly wonderful and supportive friends, in Authonomy, but also on Facebook, Twitter, all my on-line networks, within my faith community and simply in the world at large. I would never have known what I was capable of.

Writing is often a way in which we grow through our lessons to something more powerful. We learn that we can do many things, and that we owe it to ourselves to try.

Many writers worry about writer’s block, editing, publicity, promotion and all that goes with it. They worry about revealing their ‘babies’ to the public. They fret about the cost, the long hours and how they can fit in their writing around ordinary life. But many writers are reluctant to trade their obsession for something more ‘ordinary’, and few regret having learned valuable lessons. There are not many authors who find the same buzz in a day job. Because, when the chips are down, there is nothing more exciting, there is no thrill that compares to finding a story, writing it out and finally deciding to call it finished.

Thanks for reading.

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