All Nonfiction is an Argument. Even Memoir. Want to Mix it Up?

ALL MEMOIR NEEDS AN ARGUMENT. Want to argue about it? Just kidding, of course, though accepting that even all memoir needs an argument from which to build a structure is a topic that can get heated for some new writers? Why? Because most writers think that memoir is about them. They are wrong.  

Once a month, I teach a Master Class, in which seven people and I are engaged in the magnificent task of getting a first draft of their books finished within six months. We’re all about the argument in that class, since everyone must submit one, work from it and be ready for it to change as they write. The fact that memoir needs an argument, and the value of that argument, is one of the fundamentals of my online memoir teaching. And in every single one of those classes, we discuss that argument and how it works to hold up the books’ structures.

You might say I argue a lot. I don’t. Well, not really.

In pretty much any piece of nonfiction, no matter its length, your argument can be reduced to one sentence. Maybe that sentence is life is better if you garden. Or that life is really hard until you get a good cat to love. Is that snickering I hear? You’ll stop snickering when you remember how many copies Marley & Me sold worldwide. Subtitled “Life and love with the world’s worst dog,” the movie version alone broke all Christmas day records with a $14.75 million opening. The book is now a franchise. What was its argument? Something like dogs teach people something about themselves that people cannot learn on their own. Or even bad dogs make people better. Or, well, you try it.

And then let’s go back to that cat who is going to improve your life, specifically that sentence about that cat, and let’s break it down by each phrase: Life. Is hard. Really hard. Unless. You get. A good cat. To love.

Well, there are your seven chapters. Don’t believe me?

Life: Who you are. Is really hard: First show us hard, then show us really hard. One chapter each. Unless: This is where you show us that you are open to alternatives. You get: This is where you show us all the things you’ve tried in order to make your life better, like speed dating, dieting, drinking heavily, perhaps. A good cat: Maybe you’ve had bad cats or good cats. Tell us. To love: Show us living with that one good cat. Maybe there is a sad ending. Or a happy one. Or a sad one turned happy when the good cat dies and you have the courage to try again with a new cat.

Simple? Maybe. Too simple? I’ve heard that argument a bazillion times, to which I can only reply: You want this writing thing to be more difficult than it already is? Why?

So, here’s your new mantra: My memoir needs an argument. What is it?