On Writing Bravely

A transparent introduction to Memoir May

Greetings friends,

This past weekend I had the pleasure of attending a writing conference put on by Idahope Christian Writers. Titled Write Bravely, the conference came at a providential time for me. Across the messages, a key theme stood out.

More on that in a minute.

It was also timely for Faith & Fiction as this month’s posts and recommendations will be focused on memoirs, and if ever there was a genre that requires brave writing, it is memoir.

Merriam-Webster defines memoir as “a narrative composed from personal experience,” and at the rudimentary level, I suppose that is as good a summation as any. There are a variety of structures one can employ with memoir, but at its core, it’s as simple as the dictionary suggests.

I love memoirs because I love people, and to know a person’s story is to honor them. Plus, people’s stories are fascinating. Lives are intricate and messy with threads of heartache, loss, and searching. But also, of beauty, love, and hope. In memoir, we get the privilege of joining authors as they pull at and expose these various threads, often untangling them in the process.

And while Merriam-Webster’s definition of the genre may be simple, the act of writing a memoir is no simple affair. It requires great courage. Inviting others into your tangled mess is brave indeed.

Which brings us back to the conference. For the remainder of today’s post, I thought I’d share a bit about what I gleaned and do so in the spirit of memoir.

The past several weeks have been some of the hardest I’ve faced in my writing journey. First, I have been slogging my way through the muddy middle of my manuscript. I’m also writing the most difficult section: my main character’s coming to faith story. Lastly, I’m wrestling with platform. Again.

So, first. From my limited understanding, the middle of a fiction work is notoriously difficult for writers, and as such, I expected there to be some challenges from the get-go. And while I have been swimming in the deep end of the narrative, I think the bigger challenge has been the second item on the list. Crafting my main character’s faith awakening has been difficult.

Here’s the thing, and likely the crux of the matter: I’m terrified of writing a coming to faith story.

How does one convey the mystery and miracle of a heart opened to God in a winsome and believable way in a work of fiction? It seems very, very difficult. But I anticipated that going in.

Why then, you may ask (and rightly so), am I writing a coming to faith story?? I have no answer except to say it is the story on my heart. But trust me when I say, I’m worried about pulling it off. So, I’ve been tossing and turning and cringing and wringing my hands over this portion of the book.

I don’t want to write a reductive or cliché narrative. I don’t want it to appear preachy or like I’m evangelizing. I just want to tell a story that rings true, but I fear falling short and writing a disappointing and flat narrative.

But there is something else, too.

I fear the perception of my effort. Or, if I want to be incredibly self-revelatory: I desire the esteem of man.

This temptation was addressed during the conference, and it was as if God took me by the shirt collar and gave me a little shake: Fear about future perceptions was gumming up my creativity, robbing my writing joy, and frankly, giving the enemy of my soul a gaping entry to my mind.

I needed a reminder of why I write. Or more apt, for whom I write. Trying to serve others through writing is one thing, wanting their esteem is another.

In equal measure, during the past few weeks I’ve been concerned with “author platform” again. But this time in new ways.

I’ve made some peace with the whole platform idea as I’ve tried to put myself in both publisher and reader shoes. Publishers don’t have the money to market all the books. Readers won’t buy a book they’ve never heard about. One plus one equals authors take the brunt of marketing. How? Through their platform.  

I can fight and groan about it, but at the end of the day, it’s just part of the gig.

But for this writer, things started backward. My creative writing program focused heavily on platform building. The classes were beneficial, but I constantly wrestled with our platform assignments. How was I supposed to start a platform when my writing was in its infancy I reasoned?

Which still strikes me as a reasonable point, nonetheless…

I’ve tried.

Through it all, I’ve sought to approach platform building in a way that feels authentic for the moment, serves others, and builds community. Those goals were the impetus for this newsletter. But the past few weeks, I’ve been consumed with imposter syndrome and anxious thoughts:

What business do I have writing this newsletter? I have nothing important to say.

Why do I have an Instagram account when I haven’t even finished my manuscript?

What if I never write anything publishable?

This is a fool’s errand.

And, worse, I’ve been badgered by how others perceive my fledgling attempts. Does it come off as shameless self-promotion? Putting the cart before the horse? Just plain silly?

Back to the conference and the esteem of man. Back to the shaking of the collar: Pride is at the root of my worry.

This week has been more peaceful. I’m trying to take my thoughts captive. I’m trying to be brave with my manuscript and brave with the business of writing—and leave the results with God.

And so dear readers, I say all of this to first give you a glimpse into my writerly woes, but also as an admonition as we approach a month of memoirs.

I hope you will find a new title or two to read, but as you do, I hope you will approach memoirists with charity. Even if you disagree with them. Or maybe especially then. It is no small thing to send a personal narrative into the world. It’s courageous.

Let’s remember that authors who have chosen to share their private lives with others, have chosen to write bravely.

Tiffany