Is Publishing Your Memoir the Only Metric that Matters?

A couple weeks ago I thought about quitting my job.

I wasn’t dissatisfied with my work. Rather, I struggled with an ethical dilemma rooted in the following question: Is publishing your memoir the only metric that matters? It was sparked by the seismic shifts happening in the publishing industry and the decline in overall readership. This quote from a recent webinar I attended with agent MacKenzie Brady Watson says it all: “On average, people are reading three books per year.”

Three. Books. Per. Year. Across all genres.

Experts in the field have suggested that very few of those books are memoirs. Leigh Stein recently wrote about how fictionalizing your story might be a better option. Jane Friedman and others are touting the importance of writing “memoir plus.”

Then there’s the whole author platform debate that rages on and on.

I get where the industry is coming from. There are too few readers to tread the same territory in the same way—especially when the standard bearers have done it so well.

But does that mean writing your story is an act of futility?

Are you wasting your time and money if you learn to write well but can’t get past the gatekeepers?

Hence my ethical dilemma.

A few days into my dilemma, I remembered an important fact: Creating art and publishing art are two different activities.

We create art because our souls call us to do so. As we create, we connect with ourselves and other people, and in the process, become more human. Writing a memoir is the process of turning your life into art. We do this to nurture our forgotten parts, make meaning from the chaotic and silenced, and reconnect with the brilliance and strength that life’s muck has overshadowed. The best stories don’t just pursue the truth, they surprise us and take us to places we’ve yet to consider. Pursuing this work doesn’t make us whole—it reminds us that we already are. It also helps others see themselves and feel less alone.

When we revise our stories we heal.

Lara Lillibridge, author of The Truth About Unringing Phones elegantly described this alchemical process during her recent appearance on the Writing Your Resilience podcast.

“Editing is where I find my healing. The act of taking the story from something that happened to me into a creative work of art transforms me and it transforms my relationship with the work. A first draft is very vulnerable, but by the time you get to the third or fourth draft, you are distancing yourself. You are separating yourself from the wounded person on the page.” In that separation, you create something beautiful.

Getting to that story draft is a messy, daunting process. Some writers can white-knuckle their way there, but most need support. Over the past four weeks, I’ve been shepherding a group of writers through this process, along with my teaching assistant and trauma-informed writing coach in training, Kristin Sancken. In the early weeks of our class, students’ stories felt unwieldy and out of control.

Now, lightbulbs are going off. While the a-has are exciting, I’m moved most by the confidence and peace I see on faces that were once tight with frustration and anguish. Writers are finding their power. As they do this, they’re taking the risks needed to build the art they need, which will ultimately serve their readers.

Their courage reminds me why I do this.

Then I spoke with a former client, Paula Boyland, who elected not to publish her book. She said, “The most meaningful part of writing my memoir was finding love and forgiveness for the young woman I was. And confidence in the woman I am today. Writing it was a gift—both to myself and my family. Because my memoir has already served its purpose, I don’t need to work toward publication.”

Might she feel differently down the road? Who knows.

For now, the work she’s done is reverberating in her life. She’s enjoying the splendor of knowing who she is and permitting herself to live her biggest life, which includes selling commissioned paintings and working with art galleries.

I couldn’t be happier for her.

For the writers I work with who want to publish, I’m prioritizing three tasks: Giving them the tools to write well, teaching them about the publishing industry, and helping them protect their hearts as they embrace the dual roles of artist and creative entrepreneur.

Next week, I’ll teach writers how to do this work at the scene level during Mastering the Trauma Scenes.

Until then, here’s an intuition-based way to tap into your memoir’s magic and remind yourself that publication isn’t the only metric that matters:

· Gather three sets of ten colored index cards. For the sake of this exercise, let’s say your cards are blue, yellow, and green.
· Make three lists: ten objects in your memoir, ten feelings, and ten events.
· Place one object on each of your green sticky notes.
· Place one feeling on each of the yellow index cards. Be sure that you’ve included both positive and negative feelings.
· Place one event on each of your blue index cards.
· Shuffle the cards then flip them over so you can’t see any words. Choose one card from each color.
· Write a scene using the cards you’ve selected, and see where it takes you.

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