There’s something about admitting that my writing falls in the memoir genre that makes me squirmy and uncomfortable. I’ve tried all sorts of angles to soften the news. My work is creative non-fiction. It’s personal essay. It’s slice of life narrative. It’s reflective with a hint of humor. My sentences pair well with whole wheat penne pasta and a full-bodied Chianti.

Writing creative non-fiction – especially memoir –makes me feel self-absorbed and the doubter in my ear drones on about me earning the right (or maybe write,) to put my opinions and thoughts out into the universe. “The nerve of you, Missy,” Mrs. Doubter scolds.

But I’m working through the cobwebs of the past and breaking ground on the definition and liberty of memoirs of the new world.

Back in the day, autobiography and memoir rode in a similar saddle, reserved for the rich and famous. Many pioneer writers pushed above that ceiling, one of the most noted being Mary Kerr. Kerr writing evokes depth and honesty, and the publishing industry was wise to take notice. Of course, guns in the house, growing up in Texas, and a dance with addiction gave Kerr an edge, which might open the door again for the voice of Madam Doubter. Then, Kathryn Schulz gave us Lost & Found, touting that you could write a memoir even if you (sharp inhale here,) had a happy childhood. (Exhale.) Today, writing memoir comes in varying shapes and sizes and is accepted, encouraged, and even applauded. Tell the dang story with reckless abandon already, Mrs. Doubter retreats in defeat.

In the most loose of terms, there are seven styles of memoir: personal, professional, portrait, travel, transformational, public, and confessional. These can go stag or co-mingle and be braided together. Sub-genres sprout from these styles making memoir a sea of possibilities. The rules are open to interpretation as the stories are ours for the telling.

Memoirs can stretch over a long period of time or focus in on a specific incident or event. It helps me to think of the zooming in and out of a camera lens when considering how micro or macro I want to be with my essay. Through that examination, I determine the parameters and bones of the story.

I think sometimes about writing fiction, but it’s just not who I am. Maybe it’s because my earliest memory of wanting to write involves John Boy Walton and his memoiresque journal entries of life on Walton’s Mountain. As simple as it seems, that’s always who I wanted to be and what I wanted to do – capture the essence of the moments of life on the page with the hope that someone else might relate. No matter the style or lens, the power of the shared human condition told through truth lights the path and liberates the way for writing memoir.

Good night, Mary Ellen.

Good night, Elizabeth.

Good night, John Boy.

The End.