Memoir

For many people who feel they have a book in them, the working title is ME.

The writer’s aphorism, “write what you know,” emanates from a mirror. What we know, or think we know is ourselves and our lives.

This is not a bad thing if you’ve enjoyed or experienced a life well lived. That is, something significant has happened, and other people might be interested to hear about it. This is probably not true for most of us.

A positive example: I have an acquaintance, Joann, who was a Donut Dollie during the Vietnam War. That is not what you think. She was a Red Cross volunteer who traveled to various combat bases providing cheer and encouragement to the front line troops. Being a woman there during the war was unusual enough, but she was also close to the action, where most women there, like nurses, remained well away from combat.

That experience has the makings of a terrific tale. She wrote the book. It took her something like seven years to get it published, but the effort was worth it.

A memoir, from the French for “memory,” is a recollection about a specific time and place where something memorable happened. It is different from an autobiography, which usually sums up a person’s entire life. 

I have an incomplete draft of my religious experiences that could be a memoir. I quit working on the book, because I asked myself, “What’s the point?” Many interesting things happened. It was a journey of discovery, but what could I say to sum up? Would anyone else care?

People write memoirs for a variety of reasons. Often, the authors are famous for something they have done – war heroes and movie stars – but other people are famous for being famous. Does anyone care if Paris Hilton takes showers or baths? Does anyone care if she agonized over the marble for her bathroom? Someone must, because she got a big advance. Fortunately, she didn’t have much to say.

Ordinary people set out to write their memoir (or autobiography) as a legacy. It’s not a bad thing, unless you expect to top the bestseller list. I wish someone from a previous generation had taken the time to write down a few details of their life. The experience of coming to America from Ireland or Germany was a common enough experience, but I’d like to know why they came.

My ancestors came over in 1867 and 1883, I think. Why then? The potato famine in Ireland was a generation earlier but five brothers emigrated, two to Australia and three to America. My German ancestors were wealthy enough to buy a house in Detroit soon after immigrating and owned a saloon and later a brewery. The entire family came together. Again, why did they come?

I can’t write a memoir about that, because I have no recollections from 150 years ago, but It would have been nice if someone else had. 

Even if it was badly written.