Writing Lessons: How To Write About Your Family When Writing Memoir
HOW TO WRITE ABOUT YOUR FAMILY when writing memoir is one of the great dilemmas facing us all, and when author Sheila Collins proposed the topic for her Writing Lessons post, I knew that you and I were in the right hands. Within this one topic are myriad questions, of course: “Whose truth?,” “what truth?,” and “what is truth?” are only some of those with which you will wrestle when you write about your family. The others? Instead of me counting the ways we all squirm, let’s listen to Sheila, shall we? And while we’re at it, have a good look at her beautiful book, Warrior Mother. It was recently published by the fairly-new She Writes Press, whose books are quickly gathering a well-earned reputation for all-around excellence.
How to Write About Your Family
By Sheila K. Collins, PhD
Writing a memoir is as much about what we leave out as what we include. And it’s highly likely that family members, who are characters in our stories, might make different selections than we do in what we chose to tell and what we chose to leave out. This lesson was driven home to me, as I was fretting over the potential reaction of one family member to the stories I was attempting to tell in my memoir. The family member was my son-in-law, my deceased daughter’s husband.
Not unlike the archetypical mother-in-law jokes, my son-in-law and I had some communication problems in the best of times, but when my daughter became very ill, the strain of our difficulties became more pronounced. Things did not improve much after my daughter’s death, especially since we didn’t have her to act as a connecting bridge between us.
As I worked on what became my memoir, Warrior Mother: Fierce Love, Unbearable Loss and the Rituals that Heal I wrote my version of scenes my son-in-law and I were both present for. I found the flow of my writing process frequently slowed down or interrupted by thoughts like, “What would Bill think about this?”
In a class on writing about your own family I was given an assignment that turned out to be most helpful. The directions were to choose a scene from my memoir and write it as I imagined my son-in-law would write it, from his perspective. I had no trouble selecting a scene, but genuine trouble attempting to write what I imagined his version would be.
I went to bed with “my imagined Bill’s” version of the scene unfinished. I awoke the next morning, surprised by another scene flashing into my awareness. This scene occurred in real life, the night before the one I was writing about. I had not forgotten the events of that particular night, but I’d not considered them important enough to include in my version of the story of my daughter’s illness and death.
After spending the night, both awake and asleep, struggling to see things from my son-in-law’s perspective, it was clear to me that the previous night’s events were crucial to “my imagined Bill’s” version of the story. Attempting to write the events of that night greatly increased my empathy for Bill and my understanding of some of what later transpired in our real lives. My final account of that night included something of his perspective in an improved version of the memoir.
My efforts to expand my understandings beyond my own perspective resulted in a clearer, more layered account, and some healing of old wounds for which I am especially grateful. Before my manuscript was published I invited my son-in-law to read it and he was able to point out some errors and a particular tone or attitude in one section that was annoying to him. Since both of these things interfered with the story I was trying to tell, I eliminated them, with much gratitude to him for his help.
Being able to clarify my own perspective, while understanding more clearly the perspective of others is another way that writing my memoir has enriched my life. I always knew that what my daughter would most want from me is for me to be able to get along with the man who is raising her three children without her.
Warrior Mother, an excerpt
People would often say to me, “This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be, children dying before their parents.” They said it when my thirty-one-year-old son, Kenneth, died of AIDS and again, seven years later, when my forty-two-year-old daughter, Corinne, died of breast cancer. When Corinne died, I got a phone call from my cousin, who had lost her own daughter in a car accident twenty years before. “This shouldn’t be happening to you,” she said, in an effort to comfort me. When I asked whom it should be happening to, she said, “Someone who hasn’t already lost a child.”
But I prefer not to think this way. When I am in that place of questioning the circumstances of my own life, I picture the gravestones in the historical cemeteries my history-buff father took us to visit as children. We kids would run from gravestone to gravestone, doing the math and discovering children our own ages or younger buried there. I remind myself that it’s only in recent generations and in a country as fortunate as our own that parents can expect to raise all their children and to predecease them.
So I set out to write about my experiences as a mother who has lost two of her three adult children to horrific diseases. I voluntarily reentered those years of anxiety, trauma, and hope to better under- stand what transpired there. I realized that those of us who survived have been profoundly changed, and so I have written partly for my own healing and partly to share with others the learning and strength I discovered. Many people did not understand my spending so much time writing about this, especially my husband, Richard, whose style of grieving was entirely different. Rich and I finally came to an under- standing several years into this project.
Rich and I are both behavioral health professionals. We share a conviction that many mental health problems are caused by a lack of connection to people’s spiritual selves. In our work and for our own personal development, we use the community- building tools of dance, song, and story. In the jargon of our professions, this is called using the arts for individual and social transformation. For ten years we founded and co-directed a behavioral health care clinic called Iatreia Institute for the Healing Arts. This was the name of the clinic from 1987-1997 until we were purchased by Corphealth. Then it became Iatreia, Inc. You’d think that the experience of our professional careers and the synchronicity of our shared beliefs would have given us some special insight into each other’s grief. Not so.
Five summers ago, Rich sent me off to participate in a writers’ workshop with the comment, “I hope someday you will find some- thing more pleasant to write about.” When I returned from the writers’ workshop in Iowa City, held a couple of weeks after the town had suffered a significant flood, I brought back two empty sandbags, like the thousands of bags of sand stacked as barricades against the rising waters. My empty sandbags had been decorated and made into handbags by artists in the com- munity and sold to raise money to help the local Habitat for Humanity fund the cleanup efforts. At home I laid out my decorated sandbags alongside a folder of my writing. “My writings are my sandbags,” I told Rich. “We have to make art out of what happens to us, or at least some- thing useful, and we don’t get to pick what that is.”
People have asked me how I’ve survived all the tragedy and loss in my life. Perhaps I’ve written the stories of my journeys with my children, other family members, and my best friend to answer that question for myself. Witnessing how hard both my children fought to stay alive and all that they were willing to endure to gain more life has defined my grieving process. I never wanted to dishonor them by wasting one moment of whatever precious life I am given.
Like a prospector searching for gold, with the help of my journal, I have panned and sifted through these experiences—of birth, death, and the places in between. I have shaken the sieve in such a way as to uncover, among the dirt, pebbles, and debris, the valuable shiny elements in these stories. This sifting and sorting has been, like the experiences themselves, tough at times, but also enlightening. I’ve come to appreciate the many ways that people confront illness, diagnoses, treatment decisions, and, yes, even death, and the many faces and masks of grief. And ultimately, I’ve come to see the demands made on me as a mother as requiring me to become a warrior mother. In our lifelong mother roles, whether our children are sick or well, young or old, like warriors, we engage wholeheartedly in a cause, and like spiritual warriors, we are asked to use our compassion and wisdom to help our children and ourselves grow and thrive through whatever life sends our way.
Author Bio
Sheila K. Collins, PhD. is a writer, dancer, social worker, and improvisational performance artist. She currently directs the Wing and A Prayer Pittsburgh Players, an InterPlay-based performance troupe that assists human service agencies to accomplish their noble purposes in the Pittsburgh community. She writes about the power of play, dance, and the expressive arts on her blog Dancing With Everything which is on her website, www.sheilakcollins.com. Since her new book Warrior Mother: Fierce Love, Unbearable Loss and the Rituals That Heal was released by She Writes Press the end of August, Sheila has been “Performing The Book” with the help of InterPlay improvisational troupes in Edinburgh Scotland, Pittsburgh, North Texas, Atlanta GA and Oakland CA.
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 the book is Pamela. Congratulations, Pamela! I’ll be in touch to send your book.
This is a wonderful story and does not just apply to memoir writing. What if we all used the ideas of “imagined (fill in your family member or work associate) trying to gain a perspective on their side of the story. Sounds like a great way to bring peace and harmony to the world
I saw recently some research that found reading fiction increased people’s empathy for others. Maybe writing memoir does has that benefit too.
“We have to make art out of what happens to us, or at least some- thing useful, and we don’t get to pick what that is.” These words echo through my soul. I will copy them down and paste them to the wall above my writing desk as affirmation of my the journey I struggle to record. Thank-you.
It is good to remember that each person has his/her own version of an event. I used to think others were misguided and mine was the only correct one. Over time and trials I’ve learned to try to imagine the perspective of the other. It helped me get along with my late husband.
It’s good to hear that that your writing has helped you to get along with members of your family too.
The encouragement that I received from your post was both uplifting and enlightening. Your reminder of writing from a spiritual perspective when detailing losses is refreshing. You have reminded me to remember the gains and the flow of one ‘a life.
Thanks.
Dan,
Ive found the memories of the good times are wrapped in the memories of the tough or painful ones. Thus has made it worthwhile to go back in order to uncover them.
Dr. Collins’ comments are significant for me. I too, have had two children die, and many of the stories I’m working on dealing with their deaths involve family members who see the world and our family experiences far different than I do. My wife and I are also on opposite ends of the spectrum of how people deal with grief. I realize now that my greatest fear telling my stories publicly is that, by telling my “truth,” I will dishonor my sons, my parents, and other family members. Placing my fear in this context makes me eager to go back and re-image what I have already written with this in mind.
Lyle, I am sorry for your losses but glad to meet another member of the club that neither of us wanted to join. I hope with you, that people who read what we have written will gain some value from it. I encourage you to keep writing your own story. You are the only person that can tell it.
How to Write About Your Family…. great post. Not only are some of my family members seemingly unwilling to discuss the elephant in the living room, we can’t even agree on what the elephant is. It’s like an old parable about a group of blind men trying to describe an elephant. One man touches the trunk and concludes that an elephant is like a snake. Another touches a leg and believes the elephant is like a tree. The fellow who haplessly walks into the massive animal’s side is adamant that the elephant is like a wall. The guy who touches the tusk believes that an elephant is like a spear. The fellow who touches the tail concludes that an elephant is like a skinny rope. And the man who touches the ear believes an elephant is like a large fan, the kind you wave back and forth to create a cooling breeze. Each man is correct in his description; it’s simply a matter of perspective.
As if that doesn’t muddy the waters enough, there is the annoying plasticity of memory. As a child, I frequently astonished people with my photographic memory. When I was in my 20s and took a proctored IQ test, I was told that my score was just 4 points below Einstein’s. I began to think of my memory as nearly infallible. It’s hard to be humble when you’re practically perfect in every way, right?
When I was in my early 40s my picture was on the front page of the local newspaper, in full cover and above the fold. I was so excited by my 15 seconds of fame that I bought several copies of that paper and stored them in the attic. Of course, I vividly remembered the occasion: the picture was taken while I was standing at a podium, addressing the town council about a dangerous traffic situation in a school zone. A neighbor acquaintance of mine, who was there to address the council about the same matter, was standing behind me, waiting his turn at the podium.
Yes, that’s how I remembered it, and my memory is never wrong. At least, that’s what I believed… until a few years after the picture was taken, when I was sorting through my attic boxes, packing to move, when I came across that newspaper and was shocked to the core to see that my NEIGHBOR was standing at the podium addressing the town council — and I was standing behind him, waiting my turn! O..M..Gee… Guess Who isn’t so brilliant and infallible, after all!
Humbling.
Thanks for your comments on monitors, false Mott and the various perspectives we each bring to our stories.
Dear Sheila,
Three days ago, within an hour of reading this post and leaving my cerebral comment about memory and perspective, one of my adult children called to tell me about some alarming health symptoms he is having… and I felt my heart stop.
When I first read your book excerpt, although I should know better, as I have lost many precious loved ones in my 60 years, including a precious grandson, I unconsciously did that all-too-human distancing thing: “Outlive any of my children? Oh no, that will never happen to ME.”
How foolish we fragile mortals can be. Sometimes I think that the ones who seem to care the least, may actually care the most… so much so, that they cannot bear it, and so they shut off their caring before it becomes overwhelming.
About 20 years ago I knew a sweet young girl who was dying of bone cancer. When the nonsmoking pastor of our church was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer, he spent several hours one day with young Jillian Bucklin, talking and sharing their feelings about having terminal cancer. Jillian had lost an arm to the cancer, enjoyed a brief remission, and was sick again by the time our pastor, Kit Howell, was diagnosed.
During their day together Kit reportedly said to Jillian: “Since my cancer was diagnosed, I don’t want to go anywhere, do anything, or see anyone.”
Jillian replied: “Well, that’s just silly. While you are alive, LIVE.”
Amen.
My heart goes out to you, Sheila. Thank you for writing your memoir. I want to buy it and I want to read it. And the whole truth is… I am afraid to.
Lynda
I like the exercise of looking and writing about an important scene from the point of view of the other people involved – a great way to bring more compassion to difficult subjects.
Yes, to be able to stand for a moment in another’s shoes is a rare honor and writing memoir can sometimes provide that.
This site could not have come to me at a better time. I have been struggling to write a memoir about the life my sister and I lead from childhood until her horrific and sudden death last November. I try and try and end up with a page wet with tears of memories long ago. We were together sixty two years. Married and had children and were extremely close. Talking on the phone discussing the latest books we were reading or planning a summer trip.
I miss her so but when I try to write in the details I am flooded with memories. Perhaps it is too soon, although my councillor has said it is one of the best exercises.
II need some help with this and do look forward to receiving your writing tips. I will keep trying until I get it right.
When dealing with the death of my son and later, my daughter, I danced, I sang in the shower, and I wrote. Initially, I described moments and memories that were on the surface, but as you know, that can take you back or forward in time. I do need to say for all these activities, there was always a box of what I call “the sacred tissues’ nearby.
Wonderful idea to ask her son in law to edit some of her memoir. Just makes sense to involve someone before publishing to prevent any hard feelings after the book comes out. Guessing it improved their relationship as well.
I made it my practice to share specific sections of my work with the person in my family who was most involved with the scene I was writing. Sometimes this worked well, as with my son, and I could make some changes. With my husband however, he didn’t want to read it and didn’t until it was finished. When he finally did I was surprised that he didn’t have anything to add or subtract. He was fine with everything just as I wrote it. So I guess we never know until we ask.
Beautiful writing. As a mom, you are a warrior to me for just writing about your experiences. The methodology you chose is used regularly in conflict resolution. I’m so happy you were able to find a way to express your personal grief while not waling over the grief of others such as your son-in-law. Very much looking forward to reading the book.
Wendy,
Thank you so much for your kind words. I didn’t realize that what I did could be part of a conflict resolution method. For me it was a way to make room for different perspectives since that is what real life is all about.
I am so looking forward to reading Warrior Mother. Thank you for the wonderful insight on perspective – something that has been a challenge for me in telling my own story. In a similar vein,when I was trying to define my message, a teacher of mine asked me to write a letter to my children, myself and my deceased husband about “Why” I was writing my book. The outcome was so interesting.
Although they each led to the same general vicinity, there were subtle differences that allowed me to drop into a deeper place of writing and understanding. It also gave me the strength to re-visit the painful moments to mine for writing treasure and healing.
Wonderful post! Thank you.
Dianna,
From what you are saying, your life has provided many opportunities to glean wisdom and truth. I’m so glad you are keeping to your intention to share it and telling your story in a memoir is one of the best ways. Good luck with your process.
Sheila
Your advice….to attempt to write from the viewpoint of another in the story….arrived “just in time”
Thank you. I’like to see your perforance of the book
Patricia,
Using InterPlay, an improvisational system to perform my book has been such a joy. I’m just back from North Texas where I did several events and Atlanta where I will be returning often to teach. If you check in frequently to my events page on my website you will be able to see where in the country these events are happening.
Loved the quote “we have to make art out of the things that happen to us, or something useful.”
I enjoyed reading the excerpt and would love to read her entire “work of art.”
Maren,
It is amazing to realize that making art out of the material of our lives is true for most writers but especially those of us who write memoir. Good luck to you in your making art work.
Sheila