Outlining
Something clicked for me when I read Susan Shapiro’s December 31 opinion piece in the New York Times this week. I realized that memoir writers are actually getting advice from memoir teachers, and probably from agents and other industry professionals too, to showcase as much messiness and tragedy as possible (granted, with the transformation or metamorphosis that will inevitably follow) if they want their work to get published.
I admire Sue Shapiro a lot. Her students love her. I truly enjoyed Lighting Up. She even published a book with Seal about writing, though I wasn’t her editor. But as a memoir teacher myself, I think her advice to writers is a slippery and problematic slope. Her piece is opinion, no doubt meant to be provocative. What Sue is talking about, however, when she’s writing about confessional writing, is what’s referred to in the industry as “misery memoir.” Misery memoir sells. I have a whole section about it in my own book. Regina Brooks, awesome agent and friend, refused to label misery memoir as such in her book, You Should Really Write a Book, instead opting for “transformational memoir,” and for good reason. People writing misery memoir usually hate the term. But misery memoir does sell.
Bestselling misery memoirs include Running with Scissors, The Glass Castle, The Tender Bar, Lit, Dry, Jesus Land, Tweak, Unbearable Lightness, and many many more. These are memoirs about drug abuse, eating disorders, messed-up relationships, kids who are messed up, dysfunctional family dynamics. Sue writes in the NYT:
Sharing internal traumas on page one makes you immediately knowable, lovable and engrossing.
There’s something to this (where misery memoir is concerned), though I think the value of spilling out your internal traumas on page one is a bit overstated. In Cheryl Strayed’s Wild, we eventually discover she’s a sex addict. She cheated on her husband. She more-than-dabbled with heroin. It’s intense, for sure, and her vulnerabilities made her likeable. But I wouldn't characterize her book as misery memoir, and there were many scenes far more engrossing (the one in which she shoots her mother’s horse; or the one at her therapist’s office where she tries to explain a divorce she can’t fully understand).
The point I want to get across is a point of caution: memoir is not the Trauma Olympics. Not even misery memoir. I used to receive query letters at Seal Press that made me wince. After all, a publisher known for its sexual and domestic abuse list gets a lot of really difficult-to-read queries. You must treat your traumas so delicately. Parading them around feels exhibitionist and off. Being too dispassionate about them makes you seem disconnected. The only people who really can and do pull off successful misery memoirs are those writers who have done a lot of personal work, and who are, to some extent, “healed.” We used to say at Seal that certain submissions felt like a writer’s journal. Like a cathartic draft. I’m VERY supportive of this kind of writing, but it doesn't mean it’s ready to be published. And it doesn’t mean that the author has any idea of what’s in store for him or her once it is published. Are they ready to talk and write about and relive their traumas not only while they write, but while they promote and sell? Certainly some are, but many are not.
We live in a confessional society, and no doubt the popularity of misery memoir has encouraged many writers to write stories that would otherwise never have seen the light of day. But when approaching a publisher, you must be tempered. I saw countless query letters in which a woman’s story included some combination of eating disorder, abuse, sexual promiscuity, dysfunctional family dynamics, substance abuse, etc. They were showcasing their traumas, and it was too much. Real misery memoir works when you drip in the painful stuff little by little. It works when you have enough distance from what you experienced so that your self-understanding of who you were back then shines through as much as your recalling of the difficult experiences.
Don’t for one minute believe that the more messed up you seem on the page the more likely your book is to sell. You must be honest, it’s true, but more important, you must be grounded and level-headed and self-aware so that the reader knows that you actually are okay.
I think that memoir has to speak to many people and the best language is hope - it is important to share your story, but not emotionally bleed all over the page. If a reader is to keep reading they need to know the story is going somewhere. I'm learning, as I write my memoir, that some details are good, too many impedes what I'm trying to share. Also, my whole life doesn't need to be told in one book. I've had to dump whole chapters of my first draft to keep my focus on a healing journey, not an emotional dump.
I found this article interesting. Why? Because I wrote a memoir (You Had to Be There: Three Years of Mayhem and Bad decisions in the Portland Music Scene) about the changes I made in my life. I didn't post the misery (and there was some) on page one; I started with background about how I got to the misery -- the way I was reared left me naive and vulnerable to the abuse that I experienced. One reviewer said it was "boring" and didn't bother to go past chapter two ... which was certainly his choice. However, the point of the story hadn't even kicked in at that point. Nice to know that there is a market for something other than a straight misery memoir.
Thanks, Joyce. I appreciate hearing from you---always!
Hi Brooke and other commenters, I've been reading Poets and Writers which also has a piece this month about the quieter messy memoir that puts the stuff out there in ashowy fashion and without giving the reader breathing room, etc. I agree wholeheartedly with your comments. And because of these latest sense-making transitions to memoir writing, I'm rewriting our couple memoir which is going to lose half a book of showy: Look at what we lived through. We're putting in a perspective on our life and how we'e changed as an individual and how we survived and grew as a person. I'd like to call it a transformational memoir though it will have the show and tell ingredients on a narrower plane. It's a lot more work but it'll be worth it. Thanks for this final sentence:
Don’t for one minute believe that the more messed up you seem on the page the more likely your book is to sell. You must be honest, it’s true, but more important, you must be grounded and level-headed and self-aware so that the reader knows that you actually are okay.
The major overhaul will be worth it though a struggle with non-stop illness. I'm forever grateful.
@Amy, there is certainly room for quieter memoirs. it really depends on your topic. You want to be thinking about single-issue memoirs, as those are the easiest to sell. What's surprising is that literary memoir is very difficult to sell, and it's usually phenomenally written, but there's not often enough of a hook. You want your memoir to tie into a topic you can write and blog about, and later promote. That's why misery memoir does so well. Eating disorders and drugs and alcoholism are easy hooks. I don't think there has to be a lot of drama, but there does have to be some. without any tension, the reader never feels like there's something at stake. And a memoir must have transformation by the end.
Thank you, Brooke, for saying what I've been thinking for years. While I am deeply ensconced in the non-fiction world, both as a writer and reader (and as an MFA student too), I tend to stand far away from what you deem "misery memoirs." I think these memoirs can be exceptionally well-written, but I like my misery in smaller doses with lots of laughter and hope generously sprinkled in. I completely agree with you about Wild. There is so much more to Strayed's memoir than her downfall. I wonder if publishers, however, see a place for memoirs about quieter lives. I just read (and wrote critically about) a quiet memoir that inspired me because it was funny and warm and thoughtful without all of the drama-trauma. This is the type of writing that I hope to publish. Is there a market for this?
Thanks for the comment, @Julie. Some writers are so profound and amazing that they get to be self-indulgent and we just roll with it and forgive them. But not everyone has this luxury. I really think aspiring memoirists must be thinking about their audience, but not everyone agrees with that. I guess it's a balance. It's for you and for your reader, but in the end, to be published, the work has to be for the reader as much as it is for you. And it can take some time to get to that place if the material you're processing is very raw.
I love reading memoirs of all types-- with any, including "misery memoirs" there is a danger of slipping too quickly into maudlin and overly self-contemplative. Others manage to be honest and introspective but with such great writing, the reader moves through the story feeling in touch with the author and perhaps their own lives, rather than like an aghast observer (I think Michael Perry books or Joan Didion). I appreciate your thoughts on this as I think about my own writing efforts.
Well said, Juanita. I totally agree. My sense is that it's not about the act of being confessional to grip the author as much as it is the art of being transparent to touch the reader.
Bravo! I agree that in order to write a so called misery memoir you have to be healed. I am writing one but it has taken me six years to get to a place where there are no heroes or villains in my story (ie my parents) except myself and it is my story to tell. Ultimately, creative nonfiction is art, not carthesis and the best memoirs about a tough childhood , Angela's Ashes, The Liar's Club and Glass Castle, use humor and grace to show transcendence.
*abd =and
I agree with you, Azara. I had to learn that the hard way. Thanks for this post, Brooke. This post plus the one by Theo abd an article in Poets & Writers magazine most recent issue are helping me with my memoir.
I can't write about traumas until I've healed enough to handle re-living them. The writing is still cathartic, but I'm able to keep the emotional distance I need to not scare the reader (I think).