‘Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy’

January 13, 2020

Trespassing on other lives

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Trespassing on other lives

We will generally avoid controversy if, in telling our story through memoir, we stick to the storyline of our own life and resist, at all costs, the many temptations that will arise for trespassing on other lives or poaching juicy details from others’ life narratives to enhance our own.

By which I mean, we are at liberty to borrow aspects and memories that are relatively uncontroversial and which add colour: I was born in interesting circumstances at a very colourful time. Therefore, I have considerable freedom to highlight how interesting these circumstances were. And if on the way, I find I must refer to personal details about my relatives, say, I will do my best in those colourful times to show them in a good, even flattering light: I use a light hand, and steer clear of anything remotely personal that is not directly relevant to me.

For example, one of my siblings may have encountered interesting, even rather tragic events; but I must not borrow from their narrative to enhance my own, even if what happened with them had an impact on my mental health or gave me nightmares. If someone dear to me was assaulted, say, I may mention my general unhappiness and sleepless nights at the time but would be better to resist the urge to refer back to this particular cause, unless the cause was severe or singular and therefore became part of my own memories and narrative. It’s a matter of degree and it can be hard to make that judgement.

If we feel tempted or entitled to include reference to episodes or stories about others, that will only be because (a) we were also directly part of that experience, (b) we are consumed with jealousy and unhappiness, which suggests that our experiences are still too raw to be written about; or (c) we have not done enough to make our own lives interesting, in which case we should stop writing meantime, and go away and make our lives more interesting.

Thanks for listening.

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December 23, 2019

It can be hard to know

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It can be hard to know

It can be hard to know what episodes of a life to include, and which to omit.

If I saw something which for me was hugely informative – perhaps I saw my mother crying or my father shouting – do I mention that? Or is it part of the “foreign country” past of others that is best left alone?

In general, I would include mention of any or all particularly telling episodes in early drafts as often as I like until I had come to a clearer and more compassionate understanding of the dynamics of, for example, my parents’ relationship and could see it from a more rounded perspective. In writing, I would continue to refine my understanding of any events until I could feel, for example, the reasons for my parents’ frustrations and could glimpse more of the reasons why they found life difficult.

Certainly, their relationship has been formative in my other relationships, and of course I may say so. But any direct attribution of hardship, say, should be avoided. Compare,

~ “Aware of the tense atmosphere between my parents, I became withdrawn and unhappy”.

This may be true, but a statement of this order is likely to cause bad feeling, since we appear to attribute all or most of our unhappiness to the tension in our parents’ relationship: the old, “It’s all your fault” trap. Much better, and far more interesting, to hint at a challenging atmosphere and show all the other things with which we were directly involved that certainly would have made life difficult.  

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~ “Becoming aware of how volatile my parents’ marriage later was, I try to make my own marriage as harmonious as possible, though it’s amazing how often I still fail in this.”

I may know my parents’ relationship had its challenges, and my parents may even have confided in me about that, but that confidence deserves to be respected.

I suspect that my advice would be, that if a person lays a hand on you, you may mention it; if we saw them lay a hand, or exchange cross words with another, perhaps a single, immediate reference to what we saw or felt will be enough. As with other forms of narrative, show, don’t tell, and resist the urge to mine for sympathy.

Thanks for listening.

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December 17, 2019

What I can comment on

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What I can comment on

In writing memoir, when it comes to those whose lives intersect mine, sooner or later I shall have to decide what I can comment on – carefully – and what should remain shrouded in tactful silence. This dilemma is especially challenging when we are forced to borrow aspects of experience in which we have no direct part, a process of necessary borrowing which should be resorted to very sparingly.

It may be that my parents were very loving to each other, in which case I can comment on the evidence I saw of that and how I experienced it, but not that which they experienced together in private. Compare, “My parents were passionately devoted to each other” – how would I know, and to what degree can I comment on their passion? – with “I often saw my father kiss my mother, so I grew up assuming that everyone behaved this way.” But hold your horses, it’s not evidence of love that people tend to get upset about.

So more pertinently, I may know that my parents argued a lot, and that may well have affected the atmosphere round the dining table – which I can comment on, since I experienced that atmosphere and would have drawn conclusions about it. I may have witnessed my parents having a row, and that also I can comment on; but any deeper references or even hints about the reasons why, are my parents’ reasons, and not for me to borrow.

Though I have disagreed with others on this, I do believe that the past is a foreign country, and that, in recalling the past for our own narrative we had best remember:-

~ That we can comment on what we saw or experienced;

~ We can invent or reconstruct likely conversations that took place in an attempt to replicate flavour, atmosphere and likely attitudes;

~ We should omit, in the final analysis, all references to conduct between two or more others about which we have no direct knowledge.

For example, I came to the United Kingdom from Africa when I was three. My siblings did not travel with me on that journey. I can, therefore, comment on my naïve impressions of that trip by ship and can give some idea of why I thought it happened. But I was not aware, or told, what happened to my siblings while I was away, though I can comment on feelings of unexpected estrangement with them that followed my return with my mother to Africa after several months’ absence.

Thanks for listening.

To be continued.

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December 13, 2019

Writing from our own perspectives

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Writing from our own perspectives

When we first write, we do so mainly to recall our impressions, homing in on what we remember. When we start out writing from our own perspectives, our recollections may have a very “interesting” relationship with the facts. Our version of events may be exaggerated or false, especially if we are writing of our infancy or youth. It’s not that youngsters are wrong, but they see the world from a very different angle and are necessarily concerned with their place in the world, and therefore prone to exaggerating their importance to the scheme of things. As we grow up and grow taller, our vision usually widens, and we see that what we thought was true, cannot always have been.

But since in memoir we are writing from our memories, in many cases we are right to record our own very personal impressions, because they can certainly affect our future perspectives. There is nothing wrong in writing from our own perspective. And doing so gives memoirists one of their best defences.

So far, you may have gleaned that there are two main defences to anyone who may be offended by the tone and tenor of your memories:-

~ Authenticity – When we write in our own authentic style and are as true as we can be to our own purposes, though we can be criticised by some, we still have the right to our self-expression.

~ When we write as much from our own perspective as possible, who among even our most offended acquaintances can really take exception to that? I cannot really argue with another person’s experience of life; I can’t tell them they are “wrong” in laying out their perspectives honestly. I can reassure them that there were no snakes under the bed after lights out and the bells that woke us every morning were not a spaceship’s klaxons because these are unusual fantasies; but recounting most activities, who’s to argue with another person’s point of view?

Thanks for listening.

(To be continued.)

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December 9, 2019

A very necessary process

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A very necessary process

Stage one “splurge” writing is, I contend, a very necessary part of what will end up – several years later – as a finished memoir that someone else may read with pleasure. Stage One splurge is the leap of the cliff that may end badly, but since we are writing alone and for ourselves only, we do have total freedom to write and re-write whatever we like, as often as we need to, until our scalding thoughts have cooled enough to be moulded unto something more presentable.

I suspect that without this very necessary process of uncensored writing, our finished product may be very polished, but may lack heart. And since one of the purest defences to any allegations of unkindness, cruelty or falsehood is authenticity, I think that the creative splurge at step one of memoir writing is a vital part of the creative whole. 

So we splurge, and then after acres of scribbling we surface and then what? Well, if you are anything like me, you will rewrite and edit about a million times, because while splurge is necessary for our sanity, it does not always make the best reading. It may be that only very select parts of our original splurge spree will ever get into print. A process of trimming and excision that is particularly true of memoir.

It is not much use asking a memoirist at the early stages in their journey to “stay objective” or “be nice to other people”. If a memoirist is worried about being unkind or subjective or cruel, s/he are nowhere near ready to go public. If, during the process of editing and refining, we are asking a memoirist to reconsider aspects of what they have written, that is either because (a) we are reading an early-stages manuscript that should still be locked-down and private, or (b) we have been invited to give editorial feedback on a manuscript which needs paring back and reorganising.

Thanks for listening. (To be continued.)

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December 5, 2019

Stage One Writing

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Stage One writing

There are many things to consider when writing memoir. And there are things we can do, to make the disclosures we – eventually – publish, easier to live with. But that comes only after we have gone through the initial processes of writing, editing, agonising and re-writing… All of which can take a year or three.

Make a start, because the process itself will, if we approach it in a positive spirit, throw more light on what to do next.

Any writing can be broken down into several stages. The first stage, which I suppose we may characterise very approximately as “splurge”, is not intended to be read by anyone except its originator, the author. At its most useful, it is uncensored, emotive stuff thrown on the page at speed and without thought or plan. It is, in some ways, the purest form of original creation.

Stage One writing is only ever read by the author. And it seems to be particularly applicable to memoir. Therefore, in getting the first scratchings down on the page and out of our system we can be as crass, rude, unfair and unkind in what we write at that stage. Writing memoir is very often about laying our ghosts to rest. So forming something out of thoughts and long-held memories, it is a good idea to excavate hard with the feelings and let the words express themselves as they wish. Which means, we can write anything; which means in turn, that there is a tacit agreement that what we have written is not shown to anyone else.

If what we have produced on the page is “respectable” enough to be read by anyone else at this early stage in the proceedings, perhaps we have not really been honest at all. Or perhaps we really have had a wonderful life and want to share the joy. Cool.

Far too many authors are guided by the gremlin or the ghost that lives on their shoulder into thinking that they must, at all costs, and too early in the proceedings, be dignified and reasonable. Whereas, it is neither dignity nor reason that drives a person – perhaps almost insane with despair – to take that first step and start writing.

Thanks for listening.

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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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November 18, 2019

Books are learning tools

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Books are learning tools. 

Writers know how important reading is, even if we go through periods when reading is not a big part of our lives. Books are learning tools not just for kids and teens, but for adults who write or who aspire to write, as well.

I may dislike the content of a writer’s work – I can’t read Jack Reacher books any more simply because they are too violent for me – but I do learn a lot from an author’s style of writing about how to create tension, how to keep the text minimalist and moving so that we quickly get to grips with a storyline. I have learned a lot from Lee Child’s techniques for writing good fiction.

And similarly, I don’t read Stephen King’s novels though I do respect him hugely for his persistence and for the discipline of his writing habit. I also appreciate that he takes grammar and syntax seriously, not merely writing off these aspects of clarity as fussy, fin de siècle snobbery.

And while I recognise the usefulness of daily word counts, I do still feel free to digress from the writerly discipline of these greats, because my circumstances and priorities are different from theirs. Stephen King suggests, for example, that we should aim to write several thousand words a day, every day: which is something for me to aim for, certainly, but until I make my living by writing, not something I can reasonably set my mind to. Though Nanowrimo might be a good place to start, I seriously doubt being able to keep up that kind of work rate.

There are writers whom – ssshhh! – I cannot read. And again, it is hugely instructive to work out why not, and what and how I would do things differently. Since understanding that I need only aim to write for “my tribe” I am quite relaxed about different tastes in writing. As with most other things, it’s a case of different strokes for different folks.

Thanks for listening.

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