Some parts of my memoir, Pink Flamingos, were painful to write when it came to telling the whole story, the whole sensitive truth. I was concerned who would read it and what they would think; my family, my classmates, my work colleagues. All my coaches encouraged me to write what happened, not focus on the readers. I was petrified. When my older brother read my draft, he said, “Release it to the world,” giving me the courage to publish it.

I recently spoke with an 84-year-old woman as she was writing her memoir for her children. She was concerned about her unborn great-grandchildren who would one day read these stories. Writing about how imperfect you or others are is difficult. Yet, anyone who leaves blank spaces in the narrative subjects the reader to speculation. For instance, “I did a bad thing and was punished.” Even a small child will ask, “What did you do?” and “How did they punish you?”

I gave her the same advice I was given. Let the truth set you free. Writing my truth did more for me than my 4 years of therapy. I peeled my onion to the core and found my inner truth. My writing was mentioned in my editor’s book entitled Memory into Memoir. I wrote about this in my blog called TRUTH.

In a memoir, get permission if you are using real names. I suggest avoiding fabrication unless you’re delving into fiction. Don’t judge your characters with hindsight writing, but write what honestly happened to you at the time. This allows the memoir to flow more like a novel than a boring journal.

I discovered that sharing my truth allowed my readers to open up in the 30+ book clubs I’ve attended as a guest author. I spoke from a vulnerable position, allowing them to do the same. They shared their family traumas, their personal flaws, and their self-doubts. Quotes from readers: “My upbringing was controlled when I was a child”, “I didn’t realize how my husband’s absence affected my parenting of my two children”, “Religion played a big role in my upbringing and not always in a positive way.”

The book clubs have been amazing and rewarding, and I am still learning about myself with these discussions. I discovered that I or the individuals in my book were not judged by my readers as flawed or bad, but as real human beings. What a relief. We are just a petri dish, like a growing experiment in this thing called life.

The journey of writing is rewarding. I’d love to hear from you as a reader and or writer.

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