Breathless Urgency in Memoir

Exclusive Writing Lab on the symphony only you can compose by your choices

In this post: Defining tense in memoir, a behind the scenes discussion on my own memoir, and an exercise to help you experiment

Hi and welcome to Flight School:

It’s a common belief that the best way to write a memoir is in first person, past tense, or so I often say in class. And when I say this, I always defer to Debra Gwartney (author of Live Through This) and a post she once wrote about memoir/tense.

“Past tense allows the necessary distance for both reader and writer,” I remember her declaring, but while prepping for this post, I couldn’t find Debra or this post. She was gone. (Any industrious student out there who wants to search and share your results, let me know).

This shows me something important. Either I’m getting so old that my mentors are vanishing, or maybe I’m senile. Did she ever write that? Did I get it wrong?

Wonderment and doubt aside, let’s take a closer look at the question.

Past? Present? Future? 

Past tense: "The motorcycle came to a screeching halt in front of my house. I cringed as I saw my father peering at us through the window."

Present tense: "The motorcycle comes to a screeching halt in front of my house. I cringe as I see my father peering at us through the window."

Future tense: "The motorcycle will come to a screeching halt in front of my house. I will cringe when I see my father peering at us through the window."

From the site: Pictures and Stories

Generally, it’s most obvious to write your memoir in the past tense because these things took place in the past. But you can do whatever the heck you want.

There are no rules with art.

There is only experimentation.

You use what you need to create the best possible book. Period.

Stuck in a Funnel Cloud of Doubt

I’m not sure why it took reading and re-reading O’Farrell’s memoir multiple times to break out of this idea that I had to use past tense. After all, I wrote Blackbird in the present tense and with great success. But I think something about my former success, as well as my lack of formal education at the time and my questionable trust in my bossy writing teacher (who forced all his students to ONLY write in the present tense) conspired to create a funnel cloud of doubt that obscured my vision.

For these seven years of creation and revision, I’ve used past tense for my latest memoir, The Summer of ‘72. With every iteration and draft, that special something was missing. But what? I couldn’t seem to pin it down.

After hitting a series of bumps on my path to secure a literary agent (which I’ve been at for five months now, with seven rejections under my belt, including a couple of heavy hitters who felt the book was “slow”), I pulled the latest draft from consideration.

After talking it out with a long-time editor-pal and writing a hefty check, I left it to her prowess. She promised to be done in a few weeks.

A few weeks came. A few weeks passed.

Then several more weeks came. And passed.

At the three-month mark, I knew something was wrong. Worse, every time I contacted her, she kept putting me off with the oddest excuses: “I had to buy a car,” “I was doing my taxes,” and “I have been busy redecorating.”

You could argue that this particular editor was behaving unprofessionally and that she lacked respect for me and my work. And it’s all true, but I also had to accept that something didn’t hold her in the story.

Finally, we agreed to part ways, and she sent my money back. I discovered, thanks to her accounting of my refund, that she stopped reading at chapter three.

This is when I started reading I Am, I Am, I Am, and though I didn’t love the overall story or the protagonist, her tense choice hauled me in and did not let go.

The simplest solution is usually the right one.

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