I’m asked to be a judge of memoir writing contests from time to time. As I sort through the pages, I notice certain patterns and bad habits that lead me to put a manuscript in the “no” pile. Let’s look at some of the ways that a contest judge views the early pages of a manuscript. Note: if you have a lot of errors on the first or second page, your judge will not read on.

1. Misspelled words and incorrect grammar suggest carelessness or ignorance, suggested that you are not ready to be  a professional.
2. Incorrect placement of periods and quotes, and the framing of dialogue means the person was either careless or doesn’t know correct usage. “My mother loved the new dress,” Betty said, taking off her hat. Note that the comma is just in front of the quote, and the attribution is simple, using the word “said.” “Screamed, shouted, muttered”—are almost never necessary in creating believable dialogue, and it shows that you’re a beginner.
3. Misuse of “it’s” and “its,” ‘your” and “you’re” “there” and “their” are my pet peeves. These mistakes show up all over the internet and even in newspapers—shocking! But just because it is everywhere doesn’t make it right.
4. Flat language, such as using “there is, there were, there are”—too much of the verb form “to be” leaves the work listless. Nothing is happening when things are just “being.” Find active verbs, work on reconstructing sentences so they are moving along and interesting.
5. Dangling participles that don’t modify correctly show the person doesn’t understand how to diagram a sentence. Remember, in the old days, you had to know how things hooked together and you knew what modified what! “Driving in the car, the dog hung his head out the window.” Here, the dog hopefully was not driving! Correction:  “As I drove the car, the dog hung his head.”
6. At the beginning of a shorter essay or vignette, it’s best to bring in the action, characters and situation early in the story. Long rambling explanations of the back story or hard to follow pieces of history confuse the reader. What is the through line of the story? Where does it begin and end through the character’s eyes and experience?
7. What growth, change, insight, or new revelations does the main character—in a memoir it’s you!—have by the end of the vignette? Too often stories meander unfocused to the last page, and the reader does not get the point.

Final suggestions: As you write your first draft, allow yourself time to add in details and ask yourself questions: did I use scenes and sensual detail? Does the reader, who does not know me, see and experience my world through their senses? Does spell check give the correct answer for every word—often it’s incorrect for the default setting in grammar and spelling, and you have to check each word yourself.

Think of your work as having layers, each encounter with your manuscript leading to a more polished story. And, don’t forget to enjoy the process!

Writing to heal yourself is a very powerful process. If a writer has a deeply personal and painful story, how should he begin to get it onto the page?

Start by considering the special moments in your life, the turning points that changed the direction of your life in a significant way. Make a list of these moments, at least ten to twenty, and write down the significant event and when it occurred. Memoirists can feel overwhelmed by the large number of memories they have, so the turning point and timeline tools that I talk about in the book help to organize memories. We need to sift through to find the most important stories as a spine around which to build a longer work.

I also suggest that writers keep track of the “dark” and the “light” stories so they are not so overwhelmed by the more painful memories, and make sure they follow a “darker” story with a happy one that allows them to sink into the fullness of a delicious pleasant memory.

Learning about story structure and scenes is another way to contain and put in perspective the events of our lives. A story, unlike a journal entry, has a structure—a beginning, middle, and an end, and is constructed with a goal in mind and a plot with dramatic action.

When we write a scene, we find ourselves in the places and times of our lives in a kind of creative hypnosis. A story uses scenes to bring the past to life. A scene takes place at a particular moment in time, and draws upon the use of sensual details—smell, sound, texture, description, color, and taste, along with characters, dialogue, and action. In a story, we are both the narrator and the “I” of the story—the main character. This dual point of view helps to create a witnessing experience of ourselves as we write from our current point of view about who we once were, an artful weaving of then and now, past and present.

Alice Miller, a Swiss psychiatrist, said that being witnessed is a significant part of the healing process, and points out that while we need others to witness us and our stories, we can witness ourselves by becoming self-aware.
Writing allows us to witness the stages of our lives, and when we read others’ memoirs, we witness and empathize with them, thus deepening our connection with humanity and giving us new ways to think about our own lives.

If you have memories you don’t want to detail in your memoir, create distance. Write about what happened in the third person: “she” or “he” instead of “I.” Write as if you are watching the event unfold in a movie. Write a scene about a difficult incident, but make it turn out the way you wanted it to, ending it positively. Tell what happened before and after a difficult incident. Write around it, but not about the event itself. These techniques are protective–when you are ready to go deeper, you can do it later.

To tune into this powerful work, keep adding to your list of turning points. And remember this: the researchers that explored writing to heal found that writing happy stories was nearly as healing as writing about painful moments.
Remember that when you write your memoir, you are weaving a new tapestry of your life one story at a time.

Research has shown that writing positive stories about ourselves is as healing as writing about bad memories, but I’ve observed big changes when writers dig in the darkness for deeper levels of truth. We all want to avoid unnecessary pain, yet healing comes from balancing our system and not staying trapped in memories and negative feelings about the past. Our fears, anger, jealousy, insecurity, and hurt are real, but they can interfere with living with a sense of peace, forgiveness of self and others, and juicy creative energy.

Writer’s I’ve worked with find it helpful to weave back and forth between the dark and the lighter stories to create balance, and recover from the heaviness of writing painful stories. The path of emotional healing is like cleaning out an old wound: it hurts while we are cleaning it out but we feel better afterward.

Make a list of the dark topics that you suspect are important, but aren’t yet ready to write. List them by title or theme. Write down the age you were when these difficult times happened. Write down what you did to cope with the event at the time. How do you feel now about the incident? What would you have liked to happen differently? Place these stories on a timeline so you can get a perspective on the clustering of events.

Make a list of the light stories, stories that bring you a feeling of well being, happiness, contentment, and safety. They may include memories about love, spiritual experiences, and miracles. Stand fully in the light of the positive stories and feel them in your body. Hold the images of the positive stories while you consider the dark stories list. This technique helps to integrate the polarities of our psyche.

The reader needs relief too, as most readers will put a book down if there are uninterrupted dark stories. I alternated dark and light chapters in my memoir Don’t Call Me Mother so the reader could enjoy moments of lightness and joy while also learning about the story of abandonment that weaves through the book, and I brought the reader to an ending with forgiveness and healing.

The power of writing a memoir is that the truth really does make you free. You don’t have to share your story with anyone. Having the freedom to express yourself freely and fully can release you from the story you have lived, and allows you to move forward with grace and forgiveness. Keep writing!

Many writers are torn between the desire to tell the truth and the internal/external pressure to keep family secrets. What do you recommend they do?
It’s important first for the writer to get her story on the page, to write her own truth. Each person has a point of view and his own story that no one else can tell, so he needs to claim it and discover its wisdom by writing about it. This process creates a new perspective that brings forth layers of memories and insights. Exposing these layers is part of the healing process.

And there’s the hot topic in all my workshops: secrets. Secrets are energy magnets. The force it takes to keep secrets hidden is energy that could be used for growth and creativity. So often though, the shame and guilt associated with secrets keep feeding the darkness and the fear. Secrets maintain a great power over us, and we are diminished by them. We become co-conspirators to family dynamics that we don’t agree with and want to break away from. So we get caught in a conflict—to speak or not to speak? Do we remain closed and complicit, or open up and take the risk of losing friends and family, of being ousted from the family, or shamed once again into submission? These are choices that we need to make consciously and with care.

I tell my students to be open to writing two versions of the story: first, write for yourself, to clear out your emotional closet and sort the events that are jumbled up in your mind. Research has shown that writing the unadorned truth is powerful and creates changes in the brain—in other words: it’s healing.

When you put real people in your book, especially if they are identifiable, they should be notified. Even if all the portraits are positive, we’re exposing a real person to the eyes of the world. The convention is to have people read the sections they appear in, if you are on speaking terms. If not, change the names and identifying characteristics, even if that means changing names for the character, the streets, town and anything that exposes them. If published, the legal branch of the publishing company can vet the manuscript as well, but since so many memoirs are self-published, I think it’s important for people to keep these ethics in mind.

Putting the publishing concerns aside for a moment, I think the writer first needs to listen to the voice within, the true author of the story–yourself. Write what you have to say as if no one will read it–you can review it later. You will be different from the writer who began the story. Writing the story will transform you, heal you, and give you a feeling of empowerment.
Be brave–write your story!

Mary had much more to share, and the NAMW members that were on the line were mesmerized by her suggestions and even inspired to begin writing poetry. They can tune into the audio on our website to hear the whole teleseminar.
I agree with Mary–through my own experience writing poetry, reading to groups, and freeing my imagery
that my writing was enhanced by reading and writing poetry. I recommend that everyone try it!

Writing a story has a different kind of power. A story has structure—a beginning, middle, and an end, and in a story, we use scenes and other writing techniques to bring the past to life: characters, dialogue, and action.

A scene takes place at a particular moment in time, and draws upon the use of sensual details—smell, sound, texture, description, color, taste. In a story, we are both the narrator and the “I” of the story—the main character. This dual point of view helps to create a witnessing experience of ourselves as we write from our current point of view about who we once were, an artful weaving of then and now, past and present. Alice Miller, a Swiss psychiatrist, says that being witnessed is a significant part of the healing process.

To start creating stories from your memories, list the ten most important events or turning points, moments that changed your life. Write each vignette one by one, focusing on your emotions and the meaning the story has for you. This will give you a good start to a memoir or life story. After you have several stories, you can quilt them together in whatever order you desire.

Dr. James Pennebaker, one of the premier researchers in the field of writing and healing, says, “Story is a way of knowledge.” This is a very exciting idea—to think of a story as having a life of its own, to imagine that a story can teach us something as we write it. I have discovered this to be true in my memoir writing and coaching. When memories are kindly invited to join us at the table, when we put fingers to keyboard or pen to paper, something interesting starts to happen: as we write, fresh and strange ideas meander onto the page, unexpected sentences arise out of us, thoughts and feelings that we hadn’t thought of in a long time. We wonder if we should delete these unexpected sentences, we may feel alarmed, ashamed, excited, even giddy. This is great! It means that you have allowed your true expression to come through. It means you burst out of your usual control, and allowed an inner wisdom to speak through you.

In my book I talk about the ways that memory is stored in the brain and explain how traumatic memories are stored differently. We might stay stuck in the trauma, even having flashbacks and feeling traumatized all over again as memories replay in our minds. Putting our experiences into a story—even a fictionalized story—helps us to reprocess our memories and frees us to move forward. Researchers found that the immune system is improved by writing for only 15 minutes four times a week.

As you write, it’s important to make sure you also capture the positive stories of your life, keeping a balance between dark stories and the lighter ones of happiness and joy. If you write only ten minutes a day, you can begin one of your vignettes, finding new meaning and appreciation for who you are and create new opportunities for a better future. It takes courage to write our truths, but the rewards are great. Begin today!

Tips for Writing to Heal
1. List 10-20 important turning points in your life. Create a timeline and plot these events on your timeline so you can see how the events cluster.
2. Choose one or two new turning point stories a week to write. Be sure to use sensual details and write scenes.
3. If you write a darker story, follow it up with a lighter one for balance.
4. Genealogical and historical research can help to create understanding and compassion for your ancestors. You can write from the point of view of your father, mother, or grandparents after you discover some of the details of their lives.
5. Write from old photos—describe the photo in detail, and then imagine what happened before and after the photo captured that moment in time.
6. Write freely—don’t listen to your inner critic.
7. Notice how you feel empowered as you claim your voice, your memories, and your past.

Memoir writing is a journey that invites exploration into the inner as well as the outer life of a person, and demands that we reveal ourselves deeply, that we confess on the page our secrets, and open our hearts to the reader. How do we dare do this? What will other people think? I talk about these questions in The Power of Memoir, inviting the memoirist to dive into the family myths, to take risks as they write their first drafts. To uncover their secrets, and chase away the shame.

Last weekend I enjoyed teaching a roomful of people in Grass Valley, CA about memoir writing. At first they were shy, making the usual apologies about their writing, but one by one they opened up like poppies in the fields after morning sun–smiles wreathed their faces as they shared their personal stories.
The stories were invited out of their hiding places because we were gathered with the idea of exploration, not unlike the original 49ers who came out to look for gold. And by gathering together, we were supporting each other in revealing confessions that had never been shared before.
I invite you today to look for the nuggets of truth, honesty, and freedom in your stories today. Write for 10 minutes, capture a moment. And celebrate finding another gem in the necklace of your story line.

When a writer is torn between the desire to tell her story truth and the internal/external pressure to keep family secrets, what do you recommend?

It’s important first for the writer to get the story on the page, to write his or her own truth. Each person has a point of view and a story that no one else can tell, so the writer needs to claim it and try to discover its wisdom by writing about it. This process creates a new perspective that brings forth layers of memories and insights. Exposing these layers is part of the healing process.

And here’s the hot topic in all my memoir workshops: secrets. Secrets are energy magnets. The force it takes to keep secrets hidden is energy that could be used for growth and creativity. So often though, the shame and guilt associated with secrets keep feeding the darkness and the fear. Secrets maintain a great power over us, and we are diminished by them.
We become co-conspirators to family dynamics that we don’t agree with and want to break away from. So we get caught in a conflict—to speak or not to speak? Do we remain closed and complicit, or open up and take the risk of losing friends and family, of being ousted from the family, or shamed once again into submission? These are choices that we need to make consciously and with care.
I tell my students to be open to writing two versions of the story: first, write for yourself, to clear out your emotional closet and sort the events that are jumbled up in your mind. Research has shown that writing the unadorned truth is powerful and creates changes in the brain—in other words: it’s healing and transformational on many levels.

When you put real people in your book, especially if they are identifiable, they should be notified. Even if all the portraits are positive, we’re exposing a real person to the eyes of the world.

The convention is to have people read the sections they appear in, if you are on speaking terms. If not, change the names and identifying characteristics, even if that means changing names for the character, the streets, town and anything that exposes them. If published, the legal branch of the publishing company can vet the manuscript as well, but since so many memoirs are self-published, I think it’s important for people to keep these ethics in mind.

That said, when writing your early drafts, just write out all you have to say and don’t show it to anyone or tell anyone in the family that you are writing a memoir. That preserves your private writing space, and allows you to get out the stories that you need to release from your body. This helps you to develop a perspective on your memories, feelings, and family history that serves you well when you begin to make publishing decisions.

Nine years ago, I decided to write my first book, which became Becoming Whole: Writing your Healing Story. I organized this book from the workshops I’d been teaching therapists for several years, and wrote it in five months. I researched editors, joined self-publishing groups, and learned about the book world step by confusing step. The book was published first by a very small press, but the experience was rife with misunderstandings and problems for three years. During that time I learned about publicity: what you have to do to get people to buy books. I gave talks, workshops, and book events all over the bay area, and even in a few independent bookstores in the Midwest.

Once I was free of the contract, I went on to self-publish the book again under my own press, still learning the ropes of the self-publishing world. I learned about ISBN numbers, Bowker, The Library of Congress, Lightning Source, Amazon, layout, design, paper, fonts, print companies, shipping, and distribution. Most of all, I discovered that a whole world existed about publishing and books that I had always taken for granted. No longer!

In the meantime, I’d started my organization The National Association of Memoir Writers because of my passion to support and develop the world of memoir writing, and eager to become involved with writers like you. I wanted to create a world of memoir writers that I could participate in every day and share my knowledge of how to begin, develop, and complete a memoir. In my writing life, I was writing a novel about WWII, and had traveled to England twice and to Germany to research it. Finally, the first draft was done, and I decided to pitch the novel at the East of Eden Conference in 2008, hoping to be published the traditional way, which I knew was best for a novel.

I was teaching a workshop at the conference, so I grabbed a few extra moments to have an appointment with Verna Dreisbach, one of the agents at the Speed Dating with Agents event where you get five minutes with an agent or editor. I’d learned to always bring with me a copy of my books and the brochure for NAMW. Verna is a warm, friendly young woman with wise eyes, a soft voice, and a cascade of lovely red hair. I felt comfortable with her. I noticed that as I pitched the novel, she kept glancing at Becoming Whole and my brochure. Finally she pulled them toward her and said, “That all sounds good, but tell me about this.”

To make a long story slightly shorter—she was impressed by my organization and liked Becoming Whole. She said to sit with her at lunch, and in the meantime, she’d look at the book. Wow. I was shocked to receive this kind of reception after having gone through at least 50 agents already for my various books.

At the end of lunch, she said, “I’ll be happy to represent you.” I stared at her in shock, seeing her mouth form the words. I mumbled something, trying to make sure I wasn’t imagining this. I had virtually no expectation that I would find an agent that day. I guess having tried for so long, I thought I’d just talk to a couple of agents as a matter of course since they were there, but I’d learned along the way not to have high expectations.

She smiled, and nodded, and I realized: I have an agent! You could hear the whoops and hollers from my writing group friends all over the hall.

Later, Verna told me that one of the reasons she signed me was because I was, “Bigger than just the book.” She was talking about platform—that there was more going on than just Linda Joy Myers who had written a book. I had an organization behind me, and had created a larger network. These days in the publishing world, that is what we have to think about. NAMW is part of your platform, and there are many ways of creating your network that in future articles and workshops we’ll be talking about.

Within two months, I’d written a proposal for a new book, similar to Becoming Whole, but different. Alan Rinzler, the Executive Editor at Jossey-Bass, a division of Wiley in New York asked to meet me, and supported my book to be accepted for publication. Well, I was in shock all over again, and deeply happy.

In the cold early months of 2009, I wrote a new book, drawing upon all I’d learned in the last nine years about writing, healing, transformation, and the impressive research about how writing changes the brain. I included other things that I’d discovered through my teaching: when we place ourselves through our imagination in the body of the child we once were as we write in scene, we have a new experience. The narrator of now and the child of then each have a point of view; each has a wisdom that needs to be integrated in the mind of the author.  It is this weaving, this process of going back and forth through time, of entering the world of memory that helps to change our perspective. This process gives us new eyes through which to see the world, and we become transformed, no longer experiencing our traumas, the past, or ourselves in the same way. This is a multilayered process that takes time.

I find the idea that we witness ourselves through compassionate eyes as we write ourselves backward very powerful. When we share our writing with others, we witness each other. This witnessing, according to a Swiss psychologist Alice Miller, is a very powerful part of the healing process.

Another important point that I wanted to make is the structure of story, It starts with a problem, goes through the complex layers of solving the problem or situation, then resolves, even if messily, at the end. This is the arc of the story, also called the arc of narrative. Just as your narrative goes through an arc of change, so does the writer, and eventually, the reader.

My book and I have both gone through an arc of transformation through writing and publishing The Power of Memoir. Now that my book now has a life of its own, I will do my best to guide it to the right places, and I hope to share it with many open hearts who want to be free of old restraints. It stands on its own now in bookstores and online, a book about memoir that has its own secret story.