I don’t understand memoir. How do people remember enough details about their childhoods to write a book.
How do memoirists know their memories aren’t lying to them?
Unlike much of nonfiction, most of our personal memories can’t be fact checked. I can look up what day in 1968 the construction of the North Anna Nuclear Power Plant was announced. I can fact check that date against regional newspapers from that era. I can explore the life of local hero Spurgeon Moss by talking to people who knew him. I can fact check these memories by visiting the Louisa County Historical Society.
But memoir is different.
Let’s say I wanted to write about my childhood. Let’s say I wanted to write about my experiences playing the flute in my elementary school band. I clearly remember that I chose the flute because “flute” and “drums” were the only two instruments I knew how to spell.
Clarinet? Saxophone? Sixty years later and I still have to spell check them.
I was a terrible musician.
My recollections are that I had a decidedly negative impact on my elementary school band. The only part I really liked was the uniform. I have a vague memory of being part of a marching parade.
I wore my uniform and played my flute. I only knew how to play one song: The Marine’s Hymn.
“From the Halls of Montezuma
To the shores of Tripoli;
We fight our country’s battles
In the air, on land, and sea…”
Have you ever heard a flute played horribly? It sounds like a rusty car door squeaking open and closed. I most certainly had no idea where the Halls of Montezuma or the shores of Tripoli were or why the US Marine Corp was fighting in either location.
Both, in fact, are fascination historical events worth a well-researched narrative nonfiction!
BACCA Literary 