How to Write Memoir that Makes Room for Your Reader

Three movements personal narrative must make if you want it to "travel."

I stopped reading a book recently—gave up, a third of the way through. And today I want to tell you why. 

I bought the book because it had won some indie awards and its cover drew me in like a secret. I was interested in it as a memoir, truly one of my favorite genres. The premise intrigued me, even more so when I surveyed its table of contents and found the chapters and chronology structured like a fine wine. On a sentence level, I found lines that are exquisite. The writing is—as many reviewers have noted—lyrical and crafted, a poet writing prose. 

But in the end, I put it down. I won’t share the title because bad reviews can make for bad days for any author who’s worked incredibly hard, and I don’t wish that upon anyone. But I will tell you why I stopped reading.

I stopped reading because this book proclaimed itself a memoir, yet it failed to do what a memoir must—which is to travel the length between the first-person particular and the universals of the human experience that we share. I stopped reading because the memoir did not travel from me to we. 

Simply put, the writing was a very fine personal journal, but it seemingly made no effort to make room for its readers. 

In fact, the writing seemed to actively fence the reader off from getting too close. For example, characters are never properly introduced, so readers are given no contextual grasp of who x is or why they’re significant to the narrator. So their entire relationship history is self-evident only to the author while obscured from everyone else. Many of the characters are referred to in abbreviation only, which only obscures the narrative further, barring the reader from their ability to follow along. 

Likewise, the storytelling skirts the contextual details that would otherwise ground the scene in its broader situation and stakes. Who, what, when, where, why—these are basic narrative reference points. Readers should not have to work hard to scout them out. 

Finally, the emotion fell flat because it was offered secondhand, putting the reader in the position of taking the author’s word for how heart-wrenching, healing, beautiful, or sad something is, instead of inviting them into the story to see for themselves. The writing goes into great detail regarding the author’s emotional response to something, without ever describing that inciting “something” to begin with, and without doing the creative work of earning that emotion for the reader by bringing them into the moment. 

As such, the reading experience is like witnessing the real-time reactions of a theater full of moviegoers without ever seeing what is moving them so on the screen. It’s like watching them gasp, laugh, and cry without ever having privy to the story itself. 

As much as I wanted to be let into the richness of the story, I had the distinct sensation that—as the reader—I was being pushed out. The work felt withheld, and in the withholding, it asked too much of the reader to try and keep up and work for understanding that was not offered freely. And I’m not keen to stay in a story that does not seem to want me there. 

An Unpopular Opinion

Memoir can be a tricky category to sell, as anyone in publishing will tell you. But I’ve always had a soft spot for the genre, and I think that’s because when it’s good, it’s good. But memoir that doesn’t travel, that fails to make room for its readers, can only ever be mediocre, and my unpopular opinion is there’s far too much mediocre memoir out there. By mediocre, I simply mean the writer has not engaged the work of engaging their reader within their story (in which case, why print it for the public?).

Writing for the purposes of personal processing is sacred work, full stop. Writing as reckoning, writing as catharsis, writing as self-expression is one of the most profound personal practices for listening to your life, and every life deserves that deep listening. 

But turning those drafts toward a readership, apart from a readership of one, requires clear-eyed commitment to the hefty work of translation.

It is common in my work with writers to encounter writing for personal processing in a first draft that is meant for a public readership. When this happens, I try to gently call the writer’s attention to this, so they can do the work of translating their experience to the wider experiences of their readers. More often than not, they will choose to cut this material from the draft, having realized its purpose has been served. And I firmly believe no page of personal processing is ever wasted. In fact, getting out what you must for yourself is the essential first act of writing the final work you’ll be proud of. Doing this private work for yourself will make the public work stronger, even if no one ever sees it. 

Three Movements Personal Narrative Must Make

So let’s talk about the translation process, then. Whether you’re writing a personal anecdote, essay, or full-on memoir, personal narrative that makes room for its readers must make three movements:

1) From particulars to universals

2 ) From micro scene to macro theme

3) From event that happens to the writer to epiphany that holds true for anyone 

The prompt is to ever play the wider themes outward. I enjoyed

Maggie Smith

’s recent pep talk on this very theme of going deep in yourself to go deep with your reader. It can be both/and, and ideally, it is!

As social proof: I read a lot of ebooks on my phone while nursing (which is right now with my nine-month-old), and while I’ll always prefer print, I love to see the popular highlights because there’s no better mirror to what is resonating with readers. The common theme that runs among them all: readers underline in others’ stories what makes them feel seen in theirs. 

In the end, writing that makes room for its reader takes the very shape of love: concentric circles moving outward across a deep lake. This is the kind of story we reach for again and again: the kind that intentionally reaches toward our own stories, that makes a space where we can greet each other. 

A Prayer for Connection

I have always loved the imagery of God as one who holds all things together. So for today, a prayer that speaks to that interconnected cohesiveness—such that we might seek in life and writing.

P.S. It’s Holy Week, and this meditation from

Megan Febuary

on the parallels of this season and the writing process is excellent.

Take heart and stay feisty,

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