Mary Karr once told me:
“Memoir is knocking yourself out with your own fist.”
Okay, I romanticize; more accurately, I read it in her book, The Art of Memoir. After having created 80 pages of my own pedestrian prose for what was to become my first memoir, though, it seemed as though she had written that line for my eyes only.
More likely, though, I was delusional at 11:00 PM with my laptop perched in its namesake position, opened to her audiobook. Nevertheless, I had a good skeleton of an idea, a desire to better understand my inner self, and a new inspiration to dig into the meat of the story to fill out my bag-of-bones manuscript.
The power of memoir (and truthier truth)
Memoir has some obstacles to overcome in capturing readers’ attention. We don’t have the luxury of creating fantastical worlds, perfect heroes, or wildly concocted plot twists. But what we do have to offer is the real world, real and flawed humans, and what really happened (paired with, of course, some quality self-reflection). In short, the “flaw” of memoir is its strength: truth. Hopefully.
I think the truth can be even more intriguing, if it’s done right.
“How can it be done wrong?” one may ask? “Don’t you just tell it?”
Have you ever argued with family or friends over what really happened ten, twenty, or thirty years ago? And assuming you do come to agree on the veracity of events, did they all matter? Being truthful is certainly about accuracy of events, but it’s also about which events are included and the manner in which they’re told. Likewise, the narrator’s tone and voice must be true as well.
Not showing a certain event because it’s too embarrassing, gut-wrenching, revealing, or depressing can change the context of the story and the characters in it so that the finished memoir isn’t “true.” It doesn’t give readers an accurate impression of characters or plot or the meaning of it all. And if you can’t effectively get the reader into your head – either from the past version of you during the event or the current perspective looking back – you can’t reach an effective level of truth.
Accuracy is only the first level of truth
This was how I came to see my unfinished manuscript after 80 rough pages, accurate but not true enough. I was subconsciously avoiding difficult but formative events of my life and slightly missing the tone and a cohesive voice that would inject my feelings into the reader’s soul.
I didn’t think my parents’ divorce had anything to do with my chasing a passion career in the fishing world until I understood my abandonment issues and how they steered me toward making “safe” choices to gain the approval of others.
I had discussed my grandpa’s awful bout with Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s along with my dad’s courage in taking him into his own home, which, on its own would surely have left a mark on the reader. The truer story to me, however, was my own shame and self-doubt as to whether or not I’d have the same courage to take care of my dad should the roles be passed down generational lines.
And as I wrestled with my mental and physical struggles and sense of feeling stuck in the only career I had known (investments), I didn’t know how to move forward until I learned to let go of the past. I hope I offered readers just enough self-reflection – sometimes rumination – for them to understand and perhaps relate to my pain without feeling as though the book itself got stuck.
In short again, I hadn’t knocked myself out with my own fist enough yet. So, I stepped back into the ring and prepared for the punching.
Taking one for the team
There were many a night where, after typing and reliving scenes I had stuffed down for decades, I put down my MacBook, laid down on the floor, and wept alone during a pandemic that left me with no way out of confronting such thoughts, feeling as broken as the moments in which the events first occurred.
Then came the internal monologue of doubt. Why am I doing this? Who is this for? Perhaps it’s therapy. Maybe I just need to write this. No one else needs to read this. No one else SHOULD read this, or why would they want to?
Perhaps I wouldn’t even publish it, but I now felt compelled to continue writing. There is a certain freedom in that mindset, knowing you have the option rewrite, delete, or simply choose to keep it to yourself in the end.
Seeing the value in the work
As I let it all settle, it didn’t seem so inflammatory. And then I wrote and rewrote, tweaking words and tone until it became truer and less inflammatory still. Intimate, yes, but not so inflammatory. And then I tried to make sense of it, first for myself, then for the other characters, and finally in words for the reader. That’s where I saw the value in the work. Yes, it was emotional therapy, but everyone – including me – has a story to tell, and surely someone can relate. We’re not all that different.
Sometimes stories are captivating because of the events themselves, and sometimes they are fascinating merely because they are about a well-known person of intrigue. That said, if you can reach a certain threshold of true in any story, it has a mysterious super power of making the reader feel exactly what you felt, even if they’ve never heard of you or have no experience with your specific trials and tribulations of life. Real truth is universal. It’s hard to fake, so when you achieve it, it shines like a rare, precious metal.
A (hopeful) move toward authenticity
I think there is about to be a shift in the world. Tensions have been high for many reasons the last number of years. There is plenty of blame to go around: politics, social media…pick your poison. Popular fiction seems to grow more fantastical and dystopian, likely to offer escape. Post-pandemic, though, I think humans are longing to reconnect. Many have an appetite for reality, honesty, authenticity.
In the beginning of any creative project, it’s easy to fall prey to imposter syndrome. It’s easy to not write – especially memoir – because who are we? Who am I to tell a story? Maybe that’s exactly why we should write it. They don’t know us yet; but they will. And they’ll certainly want to know what was so important that we were willing to knock ourselves out with our own fists to finish it.
About the author
Brett Bloemendaal is an author of memoir, essay, and other nonfiction, including his Bert Betterman blog. He left his 14-year career as an investment professional to become a full-time fishing guide on Lake Sakakawea in North Dakota, where he spends half the year. He spends his winters in Iowa focusing on writing and other content creation, including his YouTube channel for his fishing business.
You can follow Brett’s business as a fishing guide, watch his YouTube channel, read his memoir, or connect with him on social media (links will open in a new tab)
Bloemendaal Guide Service on Facebook
Bloemendaal Fishing on YouTube
Bloemendaal Fishing on Instagram
Check out my review of Fishing For More followed by an interview with Bloemendaal about his book here: https://laurasbooksandblogs.com/fishing-for-more-review-interview/
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The name of this piece is so utterly true! I love this short, crisp read and how it captures the essence of what goes into writing truth.