Memoir moments have happened a lot in the past four years.
My Story is Ongoing
They’ve occurred in the trauma and its post triggers and the experiences in raising my son.
Right now, my family is in the process of moving to my husband’s hometown in a house renovated by his father. My husband has worked since April to renovate parts of the house. In the near distance, you view the mountain of geographical and historical importance. It is the kind of place you dream of if you’re a writer.
It’s the kind of place you want to sit if you’ve experienced trauma.
I am reminded of the opinions of some in the town, including most of my husband’s family, that I’m still a homewrecker and our children are well, those children.
Okay, cool.
This is the kind of experience I laugh at now because after nine years it doesn’t affect me. My husband and I waited for our seats in a local restaurant with our children, ages 9 and 4. A woman came in with arched eyebrows and a frown made for women who believe in the Old Testament God as they self-edit the teachings of Jesus.
I’m well-accustomed to this by now when I’ve stared into the faces of pure hatred, of the I’ll never forgive you, or I hope you burn somewhere special.
My family gives me the strength to love, forgive, and show tolerance. My trauma gives me strength to withstand the storms some in my husband’s hometown might or could toss my way.
But, we’re talking the difference between storms and hurricanes. When you’ve stood in a hurricane 4, a storm with some flood water creates the opportunity for you to create a boat you already know how to build.
I laughed off the woman’s continued looks of judgement as she knew my husband, Ben from another life.
After dinner, a ring tone with a song from recent experiences sent me into a moment. When I go under what I call spells, my heart races. My mind is in the moment an event occurred. I usually grab on to something. I’ve been healing from lesions and my last Shingles spot, but this begins to itch. I usually grab hold of something or someone until it passes. Sometimes my speech changes into something broken up.
It is a reminder that although the hurricane is over, we are still rebuilding.
A Memoir
A memoir must have a center point or focus to which readers will relate. I’ve had different concepts for mini-memoirs from a broken family to a broken school system to breastfeeding my daughter to autism.
It clicked in the summer of last year to put mental illness and autism at the center because my son and I share very near childhood experiences.
With a memoir, you don’t include every detail. Sometimes you may start with a different moment in time to work as a powerful flashback, so long as you connect it with the next part of the story. I used a powerful scene from my first middle school.
I also find a common element for connection if there are different points in time when you use a powerful flashback. Gray works for me because I remember so many days during that school year were gray, and in the commons area, gray rocks spread everywhere. Although far from the coast, seagulls flew in and snacked on popcorn. I remember the gray of their wings blending with the rocks.
We do with words what painters create with pictures.
Every experience is not needed in a memoir because painters leave off part of a path in landscapes. It would be a miracle if we recall every moment of our lives, which is then an autobiography.
I’ve kept journals from the time I turned 17. While I have the typical teen emotional entries. I also included moments when I tell a story of what happened like a journalist. My journals have helped me both in my memoir style poetry for Luska Road, and for my memoir, A Messed Up Kind of Beautiful.
Excerpt from Luska Road
Pearls to Black
“I trade my pearls
for a dress in black.
The things my mother taught me
will be thrown aside, so pack away
the pearls. Most places in the world
are made to throw
a cup of coffee
at the wall.
Take away the porcelain,
take it to the pawn shop,
or sale that shit online.”
Whether we use journals or have a crystal clear memory for our memoirs, we also must apply the art of layered paint with words.
Blog and Poem Excerpt from “Pearls to Black” by: Rebecca T. Dickinson
Corrie's Season 