Writing Life Stories: How To Make Memories Into Memoirs, Ideas Into Essays And Life Into Literature

207 Pages·2008·2.725 MB·English

by  Bill Roorbach

WRITING LIFE STORIES
HOW TO MAKE memories into MEMOIRS.
ideasinu>EssAYs.andlfie NR0 UTERATURE
FULLY REVISED SECOND EDITION
BILL ROORBACH
with Kristen Keckler. PhD
WRITING LIFE STORIES
_______________________________________________________________
HOWTOMAKEmemoriesintoMEMOIRS,
ideasintoESSAYS,andlifeintoLITERATURE
FULLYREVISEDSECONDEDITION
BILLROORBACH
withKristenKeckler,PhD

Cincinnati,Ohio
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LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationData
Roorbach,Bill.
Writing life stories : how to make memories into memoirs, ideas into essays, and life into literature / by Bill
RoorbachwithKristenKeckler.--10thanniversaryed.
p.cm.
ISBN978-1-58297-527-6(pbk.:alk.paper)
1.Autobiography--Authorship.2.Reportwriting.I.Keckler,Kristen.II.Title.
CT25.R662008
808’.06692--dc22 2008006395
EDITEDBYLAURENMOSKO
DESIGNEDBYTERRIWOESNER
PRODUCTIONCOORDINATEDBYMARKGRIFFIN
COVERIMAGE©ISTOCKPHOTO.COM/PETERZELEI
ForReba
July17,1926–April16,2006
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
BillRoorbachwritesfictionandnonfiction,andistheauthorofnumerousbooks,includinganovel,
TheSmallestColor,andabookofstories,BigBend,whichwontheFlanneryO’ConnorAwardforShort
Fiction.Thetitlestory,“BigBend,”wonanO.HenryPrizeaswell.TempleStream:aRuralOdyssey,
hismostrecentbook,wonthe2006MaineBookAwardinnonfictionandreceivedaFurthermoreGrant
fromtheKaplanFoundation.OtherbooksareIntoWoods(essays);SummersWithJuliet(memoir);A
PBolyalcee,oWneWsalteeyrM(ceNsasiary,sR,iwcihtahrRdoRbuesrstoK,iSmubsearnaSntdeWrelsilnge,yaMncdNMaoinri)c,aAWHoeoadl)i.nBgiTloluicsha(lessostahyese,dwiittohrGoefrtrhye
OxfordanthologyContemporaryCreativeNonfiction:TheArtofTruth.Hisshortworkhasappearedin
TheAtlantic,Harper’s,NewYork,TheNewYorkTimesMagazine,andmanyothers.Hehastaughtat
theUniversityofMaineatFarmington,OhioState,andColbyCollege,andcurrentlyholdstheWilliam
H.P.JenksChairinContemporaryAmericanLettersattheCollegeoftheHolyCrossinWorcester,
Massachusetts. He lives in Farmington, Maine, and is at workon a novel. For more information,
updatedbiography,signedcopiesofbooks,newsaboutreadingsandworkshops,andtosendqueriesand
commentsdirectlytotheauthor,gotowww.billroorbach.com.
KristenKecklerisateacher,writer,andeditorwhosePhD(UniversityofNorthTexas)isinthefieldof
creativenonfiction.Shewritesinallgenres—nonfiction,fiction,andpoetry—andherworkhasappeared
innumerousmagazinesandjournals,includingEcotone,SonoraReview,TheDallasMorningNews,cold
drill,PaloAltoReview,andConchoRiverReview.Shewaseditor-in-chiefofNorthTexasReviewandan
editoroftheKatherineAnnePorterPrizeinShortFiction,anationalbookcontestco-sponsoredbythe
UNTPress.Ontheway,she’sworkedasaclown,acook,alibrarian,andagrouphomecounselor.She’s
justcompletingamemoiraboutlifeandworkcalledWhatDoYouDo?
TABLEOF
CONTENTS
PREFACE
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER1 GETTINGSTARTED
CHAPTER2 MEMORY
CHAPTER3 SCENEMAKING
CHAPTER4 BIGIDEAS
CHAPTER5 CHARACTERSANDCHARACTER
CHAPTER6 STAGEPRESENCE
CHAPTER7 FINDINGTHEFACTS
CHAPTER8 METAPHORANDMEANING
CHAPTER9 SAYINGITRIGHT
CHAPTER10 BUILDINGABUILDING
CHAPTER11 GETTINGPUBLISHED
APPENDIXA “INTOWOODS”byBillRoorbach
APPENDIXB “THEOLIVEJAR”byKristenKeckler
A PPENDIXC “ONAPPRENTICESHIP”byBillRoorbach
APPENDIXD SUGGESTEDREADINGSINCREATIVENONFICTION
TENTHANNIVERSARYEDITION
PREFACE
So much has changed in the ten years since the first edition of Writing Life Stories was published.
For writers, perhaps the biggest development has been the wholesale advent of the Internet, with its
constantevolution,itsendlessopportunitiesforinteraction,forinstantresearch,forlocatingandspeaking
directlytoreadersviae-mail,blogs,andWebsites.Everyone’stypingnow.Continuingeventslikethose
of September 11, 2001, bring subtle changes in outlook around the world and underscore the need for
freedomofexpressioneverywhere. Cellphones,merelyirritatingin1998,areeverywhere,includingmy
pocket.
Inmyownlife,othershifts:mydaughter,Elysia,wasbornin2000;mymother,Reba,diedin2006.In
between,bothofmybeloveddogsdied,aswell.IleftatenuredpositionatOhioStateUniversitytowrite
fulltime, onlytoacceptanendowedchairelsewhere whenthe opportunity arose. The newcar Ibought
whenthisbookfirstcameoutnowhas150,000milesonit.Timeforchangethere,aswell.
Memoirasapopulargenrehasmovedpastmostofitsearlycontroversies,andenjoysnewstandingin
the worldofletters andinthe university. Butthere’s alsobrand-new hullabaloo, such as the James Frey
scandal—anex-addictmakesstuffup,thenliesaboutlying—ortheDeborahRodriguezdustup:didallshe
saidhappenedreally happenatherbeautyschoolinKabul? Andis thistheendofthe world? Ofcourse
it’s not. That roar you hear comes from the explosive power of narrative as applied to real life. Whatis
theroleofmemoirandtheessayinthequestfortruth?OrevenTruth?You’llanswerthesequestionsover
andover,alwaysinyourownway,witheveryparagraphyouwrite.
To ensure breadth of outlook, I enlisted the help of a writerverydifferent from me, Kristen Keckler,
andtogetherwehavebroughtWritingLifeStoriestoanewcentury.Kristenaddsawoman’spointofview
towhathadbeenanexcessivelymaleenterprise,aswellasascholar’scleareye(herPhDisinthefieldof
creativenonfiction).She’syoungerthanIam,too,awholegenerationyounger,andshehelpedmeseethat
cassettetapeswerenolongerthebestwaytorecordanything.Andofcourse,thatwasjustthebeginning
ofhercontribution.
Wemeanttojustfreshenthesepagesalittle,butintheend,KristenandIhavewroughtgreatchanges.
OldfriendsofWritingLifeStorieswillfindplentyheretore-chargetheirbatteries,lotsofnewideasand
freshinstruction.First-timereaderswilljointhosereturningtofindnewexercisesineverychapter,clearer
explanations of difficult issues like the use of metaphor, more up-to-date information on publishing,
examplesfromnewerwritersandmorerecenttitlestocomplementthedozensofexamplesintheoriginal
edition,anda muchmore sophisticatedlookatthe Internet. We’ve updatedthe verypopularreadinglist
withscoresofnewbooksinourfield,everyoneofwhichchallengesandultimatelychangesthewaywe
thinkofmemoir,literaryjournalism,andthepersonalessay—those genreswhichtogetherhavecome to
bethoughtofandtaughtascreativenonfiction.
ThenewWritingLife Storiesisstilltheperfectbookfortheindependentwritertryingtofindherway
intoawholelifetimeofgreatmaterial,butit’salsomuchimprovedasatoolforthecreativenonfictionor
compositionclassroom.
Thanksfortakingushome.Letushearhowyoudo!
INTRODUCTION
In most books the I, or first person, is omitted; in this it will be retained; that, in
respect to egotism, is the main difference. We commonly do notremember thatitis,
after all, always the first person that is speaking. I should not talk so much about
myselfiftherewereanybodyelsewhomIknewaswell.Unfortunately,Iamconfined
tothisthemebythenarrownessofmyexperience.
—HenryDavidThoreau
GowFarrishadalifetimeofstoriesandideas.Hesurelyhadsomethingtosay.Yetwhenhesatdownat
his keyboard toget it written, nothing came, or nothing he cared to show anyone, certainly nothing like
thestorieshe’dalwaystoldatfamilyparties,thestorieshiskidssaidhe’dbetterwritedown,thestorieshis
grandchildrenwerestartingtoaskfor.ThesurprisingthingwasthatGowhadbeenanewswriterforforty
five years: forty-five years of writing other people’s stories; forty-five years of a confident professional
approachtothefacts;forty-fiveyearsofsuccessfulwritingforamajornewspaper.
Retirementbroughtthis:silence.
Silencewhenhe’dexpectedhislifeandhumorandlessonstopouroutwhole,shortmemoiraftershort
memoir,essayafteressay,articleafterarticle,bookafterbook.Whatwasgoingwrong?
Heneededachange ofplace,that’sall.Hekissedhiswifegood-bye (histhirdwife, truthtotell, quite
a story there: death and heartbreak in the first marriage, betrayal and loneliness in the second), called
a rental agent he knew on Cape Cod, hied himself for an amazingly inexpensive off-season ten days to
Nantucket, where many writers had gone before him. Perfect. The surf pounded distantly, no phone to
ring,novisitors,nopressuresuponhim,notevenmail.
“MybrotherdiedwhenIwaseighteen,”hewrote.Always,he’dwantedtowriteamemoirofhisbrother.
But nothing followed, just ten straight mornings of staring at his notebook. Guilty walks (longer each
day),hourlysnacks,resharpenedpencils.
Occasionallyhewrotelamesentencesofdescription(hisbrother’sgreatsize,hisbrother’sbigteeth,his
brother’sfavoriteexpression)thatdidnothingtobringhisclearmemoriesofthe lostsiblingtothepage,
nothing to shape those memories into something someone else might enjoy reading—a memoir—much
lessintoanythingresemblingliterature.AfternoonsheroamedtheOctoberbeachinwriterlydespair.
During the nightbefore his lastday on the island, he woke to a fit of inspiration, clicked onthe bare
bedside bulb, took notes for a different project, a memoir of his career. Next morning he didn’t pause
forbreakfast,rushedtothekitchentable(he’dcometodistrustthelittledeskhislandlordhadprovided),
wrote, “I was a newspaperman for forty-five years,” and kept going, ten pages, a rush of words, great
relief,somethingtoshowforhistripandthelonelydaysofhisvigil.
Homethenextnight,hepulledouthispagesandread.Thisdidn’ttakelong.
He read fast and with growing embarrassment. What he’d meant triumphantly to show his new wife,
he tucked into his desk drawer beneath a stack of similar pages. The day’s ferry ride and drive home
had given him enough perspective to hear clearly how the opening of his journalist’s memoir came off:
pompous,puffy, wordy,nostalgic,nothinglike whathe’denvisionedinthatmomentofwakefulness,as
far from the truth as Pluto from the sun. Gow was a reasonable, humble, reserved person; Gow was a
preciseandno-nonsenseman.Whycouldn’thegetthatonthepage?
IknowGow’sstorybecauseafteracouplemoremonthsoffalsestartsandincreasingdiscouragement,
hesignedupforasummerclassIhappenedtobeteachingattheUniversityofVermont.Firstdayofclass
hesattheregloweringatme.
GowFarriswaspissed.
AndGow,ofcourse,isnotalone.
JanetBellweatherhadtaughtwritingfornineyearstohigh-schoolkids,knewalltherules,knewwhat
shelikedwhenitcametostudentwork,knewhowtogeteventhemostchallengingkidstopullofftheir
headphonesandwrite.Herparticularpridecame inhelpingheryoungstudentsseethatwhattheyhadto
saymattered,thattheirliveswereimportant,thattheycouldreachreaders.Shehadwonderfulexercises.
Thekidshadablast.She’dmarcharoundtheroomgivingpraiseandadvice,urgingandscolding,reading
passages aloud. Janet was a great teacher, funny and smart and eloquent, passionate and caring, maybe
evenalittleeccentric.
Shehadnotroubleturningoutthepages.Shewroteshortmemoirsofheryouth,manypoems,anessay
a month, even a column for the school district’s award-winning newsletter. Her writing was sometimes
funny, but seldom eloquent or passionate, and never eccentric. She showed it to friends, but few said
much of anything when they were finished reading. A wan smile here and there. But never the praise
andapprovalshewanted,exceptfromhermother,whodidn’tunderstandwhyTheNewYorkerdidn’tbuy
everyword.Janetdidn’texpectmiraclesonthatorder,butshecouldn’tunderstandwhysmallermagazines
didn’tseeminterestedinher.ShehadafolderofrejectionsthickasthephonebookinManhattan,where
shelived.Inraremomentsofclarity,Janetknewwhythemagazinesdidn’ttakeherwork:itjustwasn’tas
goodassheknewshecouldmakeit.Whatwastheproblem?Whycouldn’tshedoforherselfwhatshedid
forherstudentseveryday?
Janet turned up in a memoir class I taught for the Riverside Writers’ Group in New York City and
right away—firstnight’s class—raised herhand to make a comment, and in the course of this comment
(ostensiblyaboutwritingmemoir),shemadeitclearthatshe,too,wasateacher,thatshe,too,hadwritten
plenty, and, finally, that she didn’t really need a class or know what had possessed her to sign up. She
knewalltherules,she’dreadallthebooks,shecertainlydidn’tneedus.Herintensitywasbothcharming
and frightening. She was nearly shouting:“I only wantthis class so that Imighthave anaudience.” She
hadatrulygreatessaysubject:beingsingleandwantingtostaythatway.
Okay,Janet,okay!You’reintherightplace!
As were a wonderful, long list of my college and graduate-school students over the years, with more
compellingstoriesthantimetowritethemall(asemesterisabureaucraticunit,notacreativeone),though
sometimes the barriers to expression were a little different: “How do I get an A?” and more seriously,
“Whyshouldanyonewanttoreadmystory?I’monlyeighteen(ortwenty,ortwenty-four)yearsold.”
Drama isdrama—the youngwomanwhose sisterwas murderedhadanobviousstory,butthenagain,
sodidtheyoungmaninthesameclasswhowroteaboutadifferentsortofdisaster:aBonahigh-school
mathtestwhenhe’dexpectedanA.
Thestory’sinthetelling.
MindyMallow-DalmationwasajunioratColbyCollege,whereItaughtbrieflyasavisitingprofessor.
She was one of the ninety percent of my students convinced she had notrue story to tell. I mean, she’d
barely had a life yet! And what was so interesting about her struggles to find love while wearing black
fromheadtotoe?WhogaveaflyingflirtabouthersemesterinFrance?Herobsessionwithherweight,her
looks? Her love of exotic cooking? Her parents’ withholding of love and praise? Her goofy hyphenated
name?Weren’tthesejustthestandardwoesofself-absorbedAmericancollegekidseverywhere?
Yes,Mindy.
Andno.
Other writers who have turned up in my classes: an accomplished poet (four fine books published,
multiple awards), struggling unexpectedly with the switch to nonfiction; a physician with an amazing
story—not getting told—of an internship in the Amazon; a Holocaust survivor whose book on his teen
daysinWarsaw,thenAuschwitz(includingamiraculousescape),wascrawlingpastnine-hundredpages
withnoendinsight;atechnicalwriterwhowantedtofindescapefromaircraftmanualstowriteabouthis
love offlying,butwho—inhisclinicallyself-awareway—knewhiswritingwas dull, flattenedbyyears
ofmechanicalsentencemaking;acollegeprofessorinbioethicswhowantedtodramatizebioethicalcase
studies foralayaudience, butwho couldn’tgetcharacters toemergefrom the extraordinarypeople he’d
known;aformernunwhowantedtowriteaboutherfaith, howitwas broken, how itlatelyhadcome to
be restored; a wildlysuccessful“chick-lit” novelist whowas struggling to find the nerve required to tell
herown(notveryromanticandnotverycomicalbutscary-as-hell)lovestory;ahigh-schoolkidbubbling
overwiththecharmingstoryofa horse,a girlfriend, anda homemade steeplechase;abusinessmanwho
wanted tocombine tales ofhis travels with advice about commerce in Asia; a college sports star with a
potentiallycareer-endingsecret;thelistgoesonandon.Goodpeopleallofthem(well,allbutoneortwo),
withwonderfulideasandcompellingstoriesandfascinatinglivesnotcomingtothepagequiteassimply
asthey’dhoped.
Welcome,welcome.
You,too:welcome.Youandyourstoriesareintherightplace.
Alltheartsdependupontelepathytosomedegree,butIbelievethatwritingoffersthepurest
distillation.Ididn’ttellyou.Youdidn’taskme.Ineveropenedmymouthandyouneveropened
yours. We’re not even in the same year together, let alone the same room … except we are
together.We’reclose.
—StephenKing
A NOTEONTHE EXERCISES
I have designed this book to take you by way of exercises through a series of approaches to certain
branches of the vast field that’s come to be called creative nonfiction, and especially to the making of
memoir. The usefulness of any one exercise may not seem apparent at first, but if you trust yourself
and trust the exercise, if you do the work on a steady (preferably daily) basis, you’ll soon find what
you’relookingfor:accesstomemory,accesstomaterial,accesstoideas,accesstotheunconscious,and,
finally,accesstomeaning—somecornerofunderstandingthatisbothsatisfyinglypersonalandinvitingly
universal,somethingreaderswillcareaboutandlike.
JohnGardner, the quirkyteacher, novelist, controversialmedievalist, andall-aroundliterary luminary
anddaredevil(hediedinatragicmotorcycle crash), thoughtexerciseswerevaluablebecauseofthe low