Since I am working on memoir, pulling inspiration mostly from memories, I am reading through journals. I read through one yesterday, hoping to glean some great details in which to infuse into my writing. Details, not so much, but I was surprised at what did jump out at me.
Insecurities. Helplessness. Naiveté. Unconfident. Icky.
I sent an e-mail to a dear friend yesterday, a fellow writer, and someone who happened to share in most of the memories in which I was reading about. I told her I was beginning to wish I had decided to start with a novel rather than memoir. I feel I’d rather write new characters and new scenarios; beautiful, made up scenes in which I could escape to. It’s difficult to dig into yourself, pulling out all the gunk that you’ve so expertly stuffed for so long. I want authentic, real memories on the paper; I just don’t think I thought about what it might take to get there. This is going to be hard.
So why did I choose memoir to begin writing about? Because I appreciate people that are willing to go deep with you and let you into the most intimate corners of their mind. Those people that are unafraid about what they might emerge with if they go too deep. People that write (or speak) like that earn my trust. I want to earn my reader’s trust. Plus, I believe personal stories ring truer with people. I can take you into a real-life story line and chances are you can relate to all the feelings I might portray on the paper.
I told Drew last night it was tempting to avoid pulling in all the ick to my writing. I’d rather write from the perspective of a self assured post graduate who is certain of her place in life. That might “feel” better but in the end it’s a lie. I need to write from the perspective of a scared, clueless, yet hopeful 20 something. That’s where I was, and that’s what I need to portray.
I absolutely applaud the strength you have to go through old journals! And then to REALLY go into them takes even more strength!! I have tried to read old journals and I make it a few pages before I cringe and close them up – the vunerability, the insecurities, the foolishness, the mistakes, etc. all just make me cringe. Keep up the good work!
After years of blogging it’s so embarassing to go back and read what I wrote back then. I need to collect my old journals the next time in Tallahassee, but I’m afraid of what might be in them. Eeek!