HOW TO MAKE the personal public? Good question, isn’t it? How to write a personal story is enough of a question, of course, but when you want to publish that story, offering it up for others to read and respond, the questions you must ask yourself, and the tasks you must perform get tougher. Writing for public view is a process of decisions and hard work. Here to walk us through that process is Diane Cameron, author of not one, but two, recent books.
We could not be in better hands. I think you’ll agree as you read on.
How to Make the Personal Public
by Diane Cameron
I have spent the last twenty years writing columns and essays and recently two books—one book about military trauma and the other one about women in recovery from addiction. Each of these pieces of writing, and each of these forms, is a kind of memoir. In truth, even the fiction that I write has a basis in the facts of my own life.
I have also been in many writing classes and workshops over the years that I have resigned from the debate about whether a memoir has to be “True”, “Actually true” or “Emotionally true”. After all, it is your story, your writing career and your conscience. For me, I go with “true.” But –and we have all had a version of this–the true story that I may write about the day I went to the races with my mother is my “true” story even though she may insist it didn’t happen that way. Alas, the writer’s life and the pain of being in a writer’s family.
So you have to decide your truth, and you also may have to do the hard work of talking to others to see if your story stands the test of perspective. No, the test is not with them but with yourself. For example, do you really remember wearing that red cowgirl outfit when you were three-years-old or are you remembering the photos you saw of yourself wearing it? Or-do you remember that fight between your father and his sister or do you remember it because your mother brought it up so often when she was fighting with your Dad?
But there is another issue that deserves your contemplation when writing memoir and that is the question of just whose story this is. No woman is an island. There are, and always are, other people in your story. How do you represent them? How do you describe what happened to you and what you saw and thought and felt when to do so means you will have to say unflattering or painful things about other people? Even people you love.
Yes, if you have been in a writing class you will have heard the excellent advice: “Write as if your family is dead.” Always write your first couple of drafts as if everyone you know is dead: your parents, siblings, lovers, teachers and neighbors. Kill them off in your head and write. Then later, after you have the facts and the emotional truth on paper, then go back and decide where you will edit, soften, strengthen or change any text. If you try to do that while you are writing your early drafts you will be paralyzed or you will write pabulum. Fear will slam on the brakes.
I have had to use this technique many times. I have written about my stepfather who killed his first wife. I have written about my mother’s addiction and my parent’s difficult marriage and I have written about the debilitating depression of a former lover. In each story I had to stay clear that my purpose was to write about my perspective and my experience not to expose or punish them.
A family is always a mixed bag of love and loss and hope and dysfunction. But my memoir is about me so I have to tread carefully in what I say about the rest of them. The caution also extends to praise. Do not imagine that people will be pleased even if you are writing something flattering. Many people still feel it is intrusive even if what you are writing is positive because it is still about them.
This is why writing memoir is emotionally taxing. Pat Conroy told interviewers that he was hospitalized with nervous breakdowns after writing The Great Santini and The Prince of Tides.
This too is why writing is an act of courage and why writers need their writer friends. After all there is a chance that you will need to go to Thanksgiving at a friends house after your own family has read your memoir.
Looking for Signs, an excerpt
The Other Olympians
Tonight the Olympics begin. Most of us love the Olympics because we admire the hard work and endurance of elite athletes from around the world. In Olympic stories we hear the narrative of intense commitment, working through pain, triumph over adversity, and the ability to return again and again after injury and through hardship.
There is another group of people who are so much like Olympic athletes, who have all of those qualities, but who are less visible, in fact, mostly invisible. I’ve been thinking about them this week because of the other big sports story in our news—the tragedy and crime at Penn State. That other extraordinary group is the adults who survive childhood abuse.
I know something about this because I am one of them. I am a survivor of childhood physical and sexual abuse. I know the emotional, physical, psychic and economic cost of surviving to adulthood with a decent and competent life.
When I was 10 years old our family doctor gave my mother a prescription for Dexedrine and she was quickly hooked. My mother’s addiction left her with violent mood swings and tragically blind to family members and neighbors who were dangerous. It was an eight-year nightmare.
Some of the abuse I tried to tell family members about and some I told no one. The personal cost was very high. I spent years drowning in self-doubt, shame and anxiety, becoming dangerously anorexic and, of course, succumbing to my own addictions. Finally at age 28, in excruciating physical and emotional pain, I got help.
My recovery from abuse was it’s own terrifying roller-coaster ride. The only thing harder than living through abuse in childhood is the endurance of re-experiencing it as an adult in therapy. Years of therapy. Expensive therapy. Over the last 30 years I’ve helped to buy some beautiful homes and at least one sailboat in treatment fees paid out of pocket. I don’t regret a dime of it. But I do think about the others like the boys and men at Penn State. Who will help them?
We’ve heard that the penalty for Penn State will include funds for prevention of child abuse, but where are the millions for the decades-long treatment needed by Penn State’s victims? If they can overcome the shame that accrues to abuse victims in order to seek help it will be very expensive. And no, health insurance doesn’t cover it. Abuse recovery doesn’t happen in 24 visits or even 124. If I had depended only on health insurance I’d be dead.
Over the years I’ve met people who did not survive, who were defeated by depression, addiction or suicide. But I know others—truly fierce people—who are recovering. And that’s something else that I know, is heresy, in some circles: I got some gifts from my painful childhood.
The skills I use in my work today, my talents, you could say—came out of that horrible part of my life. I have a powerful intuition; the ability to anticipate what people need and feel; and so many bosses have told me that I’m “calm in a crisis” that it’s funny—except when I think about how I acquired that skill.
I’ve seen colleagues reduced to tears over work place “problems” like losing an important file or a late proposal. For me, a woman racing through the house at 3am, in a manic rage, waving a knife is a problem. Anything else is just a situation.
In a strange way I’m proud of my survival. It’s a lifetime achievement. But does that mean that what happened to me was OK? Not at all. For all the strengths I have today I still live with too much fear and insecurity to balance this scale to the plus side.
Abused children who survive to adulthood have a determination and fierceness that rivals any elite athlete. And my heart breaks when I think that Penn State’s victims were little boys who wanted to be athletes. I hope that if they watch the Olympics tonight they will know that they have the same internal fortitude as our country’s best competitors. While there are no medals and no flag ceremony for sexual abuse survivors some of us will always be cheering for them.
Despite what the bumper sticker says, it is too late to have a happy childhood. So I take the whole package, grieve the losses, celebrate the gains and work around the scar tissue.
Author bio
Diane Cameron is a writer, speaker and teacher in Albany, New York. She writes about couples facing cancer at her blog, LoveintheTimeofCancer. Her newest books are, Looking for Signs, a collection of essays, and Out of the Woods—Women on the Path of Recovery. You can read more or contact her at her website.
AND THE WINNER IS…
I hope you enjoy Writing Lessons. Featuring well-published writers of our favorite genre, each installment of the series will take on one short topic that addresses how to write memoir, and will include a great big book giveaway.
It’s my way of saying thanks for coming by.
The contest for this book is now closed. Please see the next installment of Writing Lessons.
The winner of Diane Cameron’s fine book is Lynda Lee. Congratulations, Lynda! I’ll be in touch to send your book.
eileen o'dea roach says
To answer your questions Marion, Yes – I love Diane, her honest, forthright ability to right her truth and what I learned is it’s okay to kill off those voices in the mind telling me it’s not the way it happened. It’s MY story and i’m stickin’ to it – at least for the first drafts. . . I also love Conroy and have read just about everything he’s written. . . <3
DianeC says
Eileen–many thanks. Oh those voices. A therapist once suggested that I send them to day care–buy myself a couple hours of writing peace from my own head while I write.:)
Judie Hathaway says
I LOVE THIS COMMENT.
HOW DO YOU FIND A DAYCARE FOR THAT?
Patricia Shinaberger says
write the truth in all your drafts. Use editing to shape the story, while maintaining the truth. keeping and shaping the story
DianeC says
Patricia
That constant shaping is key and a hard lesson to learn. I love Marion’s blog for that constant reminder..writing can get lonely and lazy..Glad we get to connect here.
DianeC
Ellen Stumbo says
I really struggle with how much to say, because my writing is so honest there are several parts of my story I have not shared, mainly because they are about other people, their choices, their words, etc. This gives me much to think about, thank you!
DianeC says
Writing about family requires so much discernment and often a couple of close writer friends or a group or a class that is really safe. I say write it all first and then edit..that way you keep the “juice” even if you have to remove details or names later.
diane
Lyle Wiggins says
I have a head full of sensitive stories want to tell, but haven’t been able to get past the near certainty of offending one or more relatives. The concept of writing as though everyone is dead really “clicked” with me. Getting the story on paper is the first step. No editing or shaping can be done without a true and compelling first draft.
DianeC says
Lyle
I was so grateful when I got that “as if they are dead” advice. It was so freeing. and you do edit later, yes, but you keep the good energy.
Becky Livingston says
Diane’s description of what constitutes a situation vs a problem wholly resonates. Since the loss of my daughter I have become more judgemental (unfortunately) of others’ meltdowns around the trivial. Sad thing is, I used to be like that once.
DianeC says
Becky, I am sorry about your daughter. Yes if only we could remember what is a crisis–a real one–even now I have to think about what other people live with every day. And we also get to write about all of it.
DianeC
Meg Tipper says
Diane has given me great courage and great advice over the years, among the best: hold nothing back.
Diane, you are a treasure. I love you and I love your book (which I already have, Marion, so if you draw me, pass my copy along to your next lucky winner!).
Diane Cameron says
Meg–Great to hear from you and thank you–turning 60 this year and my mantra is “If not now, when?” and it applies to writing especially.
DianeC
Judith Henry says
Diane,
Your words are so powerful and I will take them to heart as I work on my own writing. After reading “The Other Olympians” I was reminded of a phrase written by Patricia Hampl in “I Could Tell You Stories,” a book about memory and memoir.
She writes “Real secrets hang upside down in their bat caves, invisible in the dark emitting a faint radar of dread.” It conjures up a feeling I won’t forget.
BTW – I am 60 this year, too, and your mantra is mine.
Many thanks to Marion and to you for sharing your work with us.
Judith
marion says
Dear Judith,
You are most welcome.
I am delighted to read you here, and very proud to have Diane as a guest blogger.
It’s all a joy.
Diane Cameron says
Judith–Oh that quote is wonderful. That bat cave is a powerful image. Recovery then must be like being a bit of a humane exterminator–and perhaps memoir is that too. Thanks for writing–and writing.
DianeC
Lynda Lee says
1953 must have been a very good year for post-war babies. Four months ago I turned 60, and I also recently became a great-grandmother. But I am still the same wild-haired freckle-faced tomboy I was 50 years ago, only more so.
I love Love LOVE the idea of killing off my family. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
The first time I tried to write a memoir about my insane childhood, I was 21 years old, which is the age my eldest granddaughter is now. I have tried numerous times over the past 4 decades to tell the story about what happened to me and my family in the 1950s and 60s, only to be stopped in my tracks each time by the same brick wall: “What will my family think if I publish this? How will they react? And who outside of my immediate family will even believe that all this insanity happened in one girl’s life? God knows I don’t believe it, although I lived it!”
Then about a week ago I realized: If not now, WHEN? I am physically healthy and I still look and feel very young. But I have been to enough funerals to know that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed to anyone, and I don’t want to take my story to the grave.
So I pulled Marion’s pithy book, The Memoir Project, off the shelf and did a fast reread. I am now on day three of my uncensored vomit draft, and oh… my… goodness. Did I really, truly, actually live through all of that? Yes, I did.
Sometimes it feels like I am the only one with a family and a history like mine. I was feeling that way tonight, when I logged on to Marion’s blog and came across Diane Cameron’s statement: “For me, a woman racing through the house at 3am, in a manic rage, waving a knife is a problem. Anything else is just a situation.” — and, wow. I am not the only one.
Thank you for this post, Marion and Diane. I really needed this.
By the way, my 6-month-old grandson’s name is Cameron. I’m 60, and a great-grandmother. Where in the heck did all the years go?
If not now, when…
Lynda
Diane cameron says
Oh I am living by, “If not now, when?” I have it on my agenda and on Post-its in my car…you’d think it would stick but it drifts…but it’s true…no one is going to call us and ask us to write our stories…we decide to and we choose to.
Lynda–Thank you for writing about this…maybe all us 60 babies can remind each other…hmmmmm, maybe a gummy bracelet that says INNW?
:)))
DianeC
Lynda Lee says
Diane, your book is freaking me out. I mean that in a good way.
About a day and a half after I posted my comment here, I got an email from Marion saying that I had won the drawing for your book. I promptly and happily replied with my mailing address. I just checked, and that was on the afternoon of Tuesday Sept. 3 that I emailed my mailing address to Marion.
Three days later, on the morning of Friday, Sept. 6, your book arrived in the mail. All the way from New York, to my home here in Nowhere, New Mexico. Meanwhile, since I had posted my first comment here, I was getting really scared about my memoir… thinking that it might be a huge mistake for me to write it. Here is what I had posted regarding that very issue, on my Facebook page on Friday night:
WRITING A MEMOIR can be hazardous to your health.
There are the predictable dangers, like waking up at two in the morning and wrestling with an almost irresistible urge to throw away more than twenty-three years of sobriety for the dubious luxury of not having to feel for a few hours… or wasting twelve years of sobriety, if you count that partial toke I smoked when I was going through my last divorce.
Either way, getting drunk or stoned does not make a pretty picture when you’re a sixty-year-old great-grandmother. Whether for righteousness sake or for pride and vanity, I am determined to hang on to my hard-won sobriety.
It’s those hazards that I would never in a thousand years have been able to anticipate, that are really knocking me for a loop right now. For the past 24 hours or so I’ve been mulling over the idea of giving up on writing my memoir…
~end of FB post~
Right after I posted that bleak comment, I took your book that I had gotten in the mail earlier that day, and went up to bed. Too wound up to sleep, I started reading your book. The more I read, the more it dawned on me that your book, LOOKING for SIGNS, may be MY SIGN!
Saturday morning, which in my time zone was yesterday morning, I woke up and logged onto Facebook. I had several sweetly encouraging comments from friends and family on my discouraged post from the night before. This is the post I added to the bottom of that string of comments on my FB wall:
After I posted this last night, I went to bed and fell asleep reading a book that came in the mail yesterday. I had won that book in a random drawing. The book is titled: Looking for Signs. The author’s last name is Cameron, which is my 6-month-old great-grandson’s name. The book arrived in the mail on Sept. 6, which is Bri’s birthday. Bri is baby Cameron’s mom. The author of this book has recently hit the 60 milestone, so we are the same age…. I had won this book by posting on the blog of a well-known author and writing coach. The blog post talked about If Not Now, When Will You Write Your Memoir? ~~~~ There is a chapter close to the middle of this book that deals with the biggest problem I am having with writing my memoir. That chapter is titled: Happy Mother’s Day Medea. You know what? I believe I have been given an answer to my question about whether it is “wrong” for me to write my memoir….
~end of my 2nd FB post~
So I’m guessing you had a Medea-type for a mother, too? Or something like that? I wonder if we ever get old enough for that to stop being a problem?
With all the mixed emotions I have had about that over these many years, for me the bottom line is what I got out of your Mother’s Day essay: mercy, and compassion.
Diane… I am…. officially dumbfounded.
XOXO
Lynda
marion says
This is simply wonderful.
Lynda Lee says
Agreed.
XOXO,
Lynda
PS: I’m close to the end of your terrific book of essays. Wow. Love it. I will post a review saying so on Amazon shortly.