Last week was an astrological shit show. Mercury and Venus went retrograde, creating the potential for communication mishaps, technological glitches, and a deep re-examination of our values. To top it off, a south-node eclipse in Virgo invited us into a profound period of shedding and release.

At the beginning of the week, I made a calendar error that resulted in an embarrassing double booking—one I didn’t even realize until after everything had concluded.

Enter my mortification.

If you’ve also felt off-kilter, experienced unexpected waves of grief, found yourself in an embarrassing pickle, or sensed an unsettling change in the air, you’re not alone. And it’s not you. While we have a bit more cosmic turbulence to navigate in the coming week, things will improve. I promise.

Until then, let’s channel this energy into our storytelling.

Challenging moments often inspire us to write memoirs, making this the perfect time to address a fantastic question from community member Penelope Dane.

What’s the difference between the hero and heroine’s journey?

How Story Structure Shapes Memoir

Understanding story structure is essential for writers crafting memoirs, personal essays, and fiction. Journey-based narratives are a great way to frame the raw material of your life into something that reveals meaningful transformation.

Many popular memoirs follow a journey or quest model, including Wild by Cheryl Strayed, Educated by Tara Westover, Brother, I Am Dying by Edwidge Danticat, The Only Way Through Is Out by Suzette Mullen, What My Bones Know by Stephanie Foo, Stash by Laura Cathcart Robbins—and the list goes on. But how do you decide which structure is right for you?

Let’s break it down.

The Hero’s Journey: A Classic Story Structure

The hero’s journey is the archetypal story structure made famous by Joseph Campbell. Based on classic Greek myths with male protagonists, it follows external questions where a protagonist goes on an adventure, faces trials, and is transformed. Think of Homer’s The Odyssey and J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit, which features the apt subtitle “There and Back Again.”

The hero’s journey includes twelve steps divided into three acts: A Call to Adventure that disrupts ordinary life, an Initiation Phase filled with trials, allies, and enemies, and a Return where the hero integrates their newfound wisdom. Story-structure guides, like Blake Snyder’s beat sheet, are based on this format.

Many memoirs that involve physical travel, major life reinvention, or overcoming challenges follow the hero’s journey. Some examples include:

Wild by Cheryl Strayed (a journey on the Pacific Crest Trail)
The Return Trip by Maya Golden(a return to her hometown to confront the secrets destroying her life)
Educated by Tara Westover (an escape from fundamentalism to academia)
What My Bones Know by Stephanie Foo (a quest for healing from complex PTSD)
Starry Field by Margaret Lee (a journey to Korea to deconstruct her grandfather’s past)

If your memoir involves conquering a challenge, a literal journey, or a transformation that happens through action, this structure might be for you.

The Heroine’s Journey: A Deeply Personal Transformation

Maureen Murdock crafted the heroine’s journey to address the internal, “psycho-spiritual journey women go through”—something she didn’t see represented in Campbell’s work. When asked about the role of the feminine in the hero’s journey, Campbell reportedly said:

“Women don’t need to make the journey. In the whole mythological journey, the woman is there. All she has to do is realize that she’s the place that people are trying to get to.”

Yikes!

In contrast, the heroine’s journey is not about slaying the dragon, or seeing the feminine as a trophy one can earn—it’s about descending into the underworld of the self and reclaiming lost aspects of identity. The Sumerian myth, The Descent of Inanna, is an excellent example of this journey into the underworld. In it, Inanna loses her powers, is stripped bare, faces the shadow she’d abandoned, and ultimately reunites with it.

Like the hero’s journey, the heroine’s journey is divided into steps broken into three acts: a descent into the depths of the self, an initiation and confrontation with shadow aspects, and a return to wholeness, integrating the feminine and masculine within.

If you’re writing a memoir that explores trauma, healing, or the inner battle for self-acceptance, this story structure could be a better fit. Memoirs that follow this structure include:

A Hard Silence by Melanie Brooks (processing the silence surrounding her father’s HIV diagnosis)
Inheritance by Dani Shapiro (discovering and confronting the truth of her identity)
American Breakdown by Jennifer Lunden (navigating chronic illness and identity)
Brother, I Am Dying by Edwidge Danticat (grappling with familial loss and belonging)

Hero vs. Heroine’s Journey: Which Structure is Right for You?

Years of studying and teaching memoir structure have taught me that either framework is viable—it all depends on the story you’re telling.

Let’s take my embarrassing double-booking mistake from earlier as an example.

If I use the hero’s journey, I could structure my story around the actions I took to rectify the situation—the race to repair the damage, the lessons learned, and my return to equilibrium. My mistake could function as The Call to Adventure, where a challenge propels me into action, or The Ordeal moment when I realize my error and face the consequences.

Conversely, if I frame it through the heroine’s journey, I might delve into the emotional and psychological impacts—why public mistakes feel so catastrophically painful for me. My mistake could become The Descent into the Underworld, where I uncover old wounds related to self-worth, or The Initiation, where I confront past conditioning and reclaim my power.

Both approaches are valid. It all depends on your vision for this content, the transformation you wish to share with readers, and what your audience craves.

Why Understanding Story Structure Matters

Learning story structures like the hero’s journey and heroine’s journey empowers you to craft a compelling memoir. When you understand the shape of transformation, you can:

Organize your experiences in a way that resonates with readers
Identify which parts of your story belong where
Make decisions about narrative arcs, pacing, and tension—something I’ll discuss in April during Managing the Present in Memoir

And most importantly, you can use storytelling as a powerful tool to process even the smallest of life’s shit shows.

That, my friends, is why I’ll always, always write on.

Warmly,

Lisa

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