You have this wonderful idea. You’ve had some great experiences, lived through some traumatic times, had some failures, some successes. Why not write a memoir of your life? ‘Good idea,’ say your friends. ‘Great,’ say your children and/or your mother. ‘Don’t put me in it,’ says your brother. You’ll change his name, you decide. He’ll never know.
Part of being human is to talk about our lives, our experiences, the things we’re vitally interested in. We want to make sense of them perhaps, to think about the outcomes, the changes we lived through. To think about the past. Writing about our own and our family’s lives would make an interesting read, we think. We look at an old photograph and wonder what lay beneath that calm exterior. Sometimes we know what lay beneath it but we think better not, then we decide, why not? You can change their names. They’ll never know.
So you write your life down. It begins… I was born.. and then goes on to record in chronological order all the known facts of your existence. It is 50 pages long. It is titled, My Life. Your mother and friends love it. You show it to a writer. We’ll give her another name. She won’t know.
‘Boring as shit,’ says Renée
‘I poured my heart and soul into it,’ you cry, ‘my mother and friends loved it.’
‘Boring as shit,’ says Renée.
‘I did all the research, all the dates, every birth and death, all my school records, I got B for maths in Form three you know, love and marriage, how it all went so well.’
‘What about the row you had in the supermarket when the police were called? The divorce? ‘
‘I couldn’t put that in. What would people think?’
‘What about what happened at the school reunion?’
‘Will you stop it. You don’t put those sorts of things in a memoir. Oh where did I go wrong?’
‘You forgot Story,’ says Renée.
‘Story? What’s story got to do with memoir?’
‘Okay,’ sighs Renée, ‘sit down. Listen. Story has everything to do with it. Story is why people read anything. Story rules, okay? No-one is the slightest bit interested in reading something that starts with ‘I was born in Eketahuna on March 5, 1965. I was a beautiful baby (see photo) and loved by my parents.’ What we all want is a story. You have to make a story of it. How much better to start – ‘It was a lousy night in March and my father was annoyed when Mum woke him up to say she was in labour.’
‘Take 2 panadol,’ he said, turned over and went back to sleep.
My mother dragged herself through to the sitting room and practised deep breathing. She took 2 panadol and the pains got worse. That’s the last time I take drugs,’ said Mum. Throwing the pots and pans around made her feel better so she kept it up till accidentally during one pain that got a bit drawn-out, one of the iron pans went through the kitchen window and woke the neighbour, Elsie.
Elsie came running over and banged on the door. Mum was screaming. Elsie tried the door and it was unlocked. ‘Where’s that deadbeat,’ snarled Elsie. Mum pointed through to the bedroom.
‘Right,’ said Elsie, ‘where’s the pot?’
There was a huge crash as the pot hit the mirror by the side of the bed. ‘Next time I throw this it’ll be at the car,’ yelled Elsie.
Dad was up and dressed and had the car round at the door in one minute. Too late. I was born on the kitchen floor. When he saw the mess on the floor Dad fainted so Elsie mopped me up, got Mum onto the couch, wrapped me up, made a cup of tea, called the ambulance, and the ambulance guy said, ‘Gee, she’s an ugly little bugger, isn’t she?’
And his mate said, ‘That’s women for you – trouble from the time they’re born.’
‘I can’t put that,’ you say. ‘
‘It’s the truth isn’t it?’
‘But what would the bridge ladies say?’
‘Okay,’ said Renée, ‘your choice. Boring as shit and doesn’t upset the ladies at the bridge club, or make a story of it and even I might read it. Your call.’
‘I don’t know how,’ you say.
‘Course you do. Play with it. Just say – Once upon a time there was a little girl – and take it from there. The story will write itself. Don’t think about your mother, your children, the bridge ladies, anyone, just think about Story. When you’ve got a story outline written then you can start planning Structure. Because if Story is the first star then Structure has to be the second. ‘
‘Don’t know if I can.’
‘None of us ever does,’ says Renée, ‘but if you get the story right, its more likely you will.’
‘Will you help me?’
‘Might,’ says Renée, ‘if you get the story right. Now go away and write it.’
