Day #251: Memoir Writers Have the HARDEST Job

Today's NaNoWriMo goal was to write words in all four of the projects I am working on this month. That means write poem for my poetry prompt, write a page of my picture book, write a section of my short story, and write a blog post. This writing is the last of the night, project 4 of 4 and if it goes well it will probably put me back on par to make 50,000 by the end of the month which is kind of insane. 

So today was a big writing day, also an I fell asleep with Max on piles of unfolded laundry day, also somehow we got all the schoolwork done but I'm not sure how day, and on top of all of that last night I started reading my book for Saturday's book group and so I tried to read a big chunk of that today.

It is...not fun. It is a memoir called The Chronology of Water and it is kind of a stream of conciousness written out of order but in discrete vignettes kind of situation. I think I would call it trauma porn. I totally understand wanting to write about a traumatic past, and that for sure makes good fodder for a memoir, but here I feel like the trauma is used more to shock the reader than to tell them a story. Not really my jam. Trying to push through, we'll see if I make it by Saturday.

It occurs to me, though, as I write this, this being my last writing project of the day and the only one that is straight nonfiction about my life, that memoir writing is HARD. I love memoirs, but I am awfully hard on memoir writers. Not an easy thing to do.

Obviously, writing blog posts is quite different from writing a full on memoir. For one thing, right now I am trying to record the moment, whereas a memoir writer is likely trying to frame and document the past. Very different things. But it's hard to write about yourself. It's hard to write the truth. If real truth can actually be captured and recorded, and I think most memoir writers would agree that it likely cannot and all they can do is tell their version of it.

I'm very critical of memoirs. I think one of the types that I really like to read is when people can take a very everyday and ordinary life and turn it into something lovely. I'm not a fan of the Eat, Pray, Love sort of memoir where it is so coincidental that you happened to get your book advance at just the right time that you can travel to the right places and have the right life experiences. I mean, handy, right? Relatable. For sure.

I'm actually a huge fan of the middle grade graphic novel memoirs that are in fashion right now...things like Shannon Hale's Real Friends, Jen Wang's Stargazing (one of the most underrated graphic novels ever, btw,) and the one I just read, Cynthia Copeland's Cub. To be able to take your own elementary/middle school experience and turn it into a readable graphic novel about the ups and downs of being that age...with your own twist, which is required..that is really cool. And it turns out you don't have to have lived a HUGE life or done BIG things or lived BIG trauma to experience it. Just...being twelve is enough.

I think if I ever wrote one it would be about a nerdy girl with glasses who had no friends and was forced to spend her life with books because they were nicer to her than people. It's not a super uncommon story...but it is mine.

Other than that, media consumption has been more How I Met Your Mother. I will likely have to read a couple of Grimm's Fairy Tales before bed to clear that book out of my head because reading it is...a lot. I'm still working on Show Me a Sign, which is sooo much better than this one but kind of on hold right now so I can get the reading done for book group.

Today I'm grateful for writing, reading, naps, Max snuggles, James being James, everyone being home, health as COVID is spiking again, and getting to have a brain break. And comfy sheets. Which I now need to go climb into. Tomorrow is a holiday, yikes, those are more work.