Memoir How-To: Learning Characterization from A Primary Source
MARGARET WAS EEYORE when we were young, seeing the impossible in everything. My older sister, she has grown up to be Kanga, her youthful negativity evolving into a carefulness for all things, as well as an exactness for detail, reminding us not only to take our medicine, but when to do so. Me, I was born a Tigger, and show little chance of ever growing up to be anybody else. I bounce, and when people try to get me to give up my bounce, I bounce away. Does any of this resonate with you? Then perhaps you can see how it applies to memoir characterization.
Everything I know about the taxonomy of sisters, you see, I learned from Winnie the Pooh.
Popular culture is saturated with other easy archetypes from which to pilfer. Memoir characterization is yours for the learning. For instance, the world of Peanuts is beautifully drawn, both artistically as well as along the lines of how people whack up emotionally. Who doesn’t know a Lucy or a Linus, for that matter? Though for me, the best education on types was also one of my first, puddling along with our dear friend, Pooh. Before Disney got their mitts on him, Pooh and his pals provided some of the clearest examples of personalities I can name. So read it in the original, and see if you don’t find yourself—and your sister—there in the Hundred Acre Wood.
Dear Marion,
A Sister Story: I took your “Memoir Project” book to the “String of Pearls” Memoir writing class, today. Two sisters were there, born in Iraq. The older one had come to America when she was 25. The younger sister, in her 60’s, was now a refugee from the war in Baghdad, and had been in America, in particular, Athens, GA., just three years. She had dictated her memoir story to her sister who had typed it up for her to read. It was about wanting to ride a bicycle so much she jumped on one that was oversized. She couldn’t make the pedals go all the way down, and was headed toward traffic. She told the story vividly, as she turned onto a sidewalk gutter, then stopped when a city bus stopped and she fell off resting her head on a tire and the driver thought she was dead, and was mad and the police came. I told her afterwards that this was such a good example of writing a memoir with vivid “scenes.” Everyone’s story was wonderful, today. Another woman read a memoir story called, “The Year we All Got Crutches for Christmas.” It was even better!
Still an only child, who might be Christopher Robin before he finds some friends.
Hello, Charlotte.
I am so glad that everyone’s story was wonderful. What a feeling, yes? I curated a reading last night that has me suffused with a deep sense of gratitude. Lovely, intelligent, diverse short piece of memoir. Marvelous. Thank you for taking my book to class. I hope it learned something. Ha. I’m very grateful.