Frequently Asked Questions from Memoir Writers

Can I write about my Mom in my memoir? What if she reads it?

Can I write about psychedelics?

“Does my story matter?”

These are a few frequently asked questions I get from writers who are on the fence about sharing their stories. They have incredible stories to tell, but are skeptical about whether their stories matter.

Your story matters. 

(For a detailed account of a courageous woman’s memoir writing process, see Shayla’s story below.)

I’m amazed how time and again people are afraid to write their stories. Especially when they’ve lived transformative lives or had transformative experiences that would knock the hair off of a horse or any number of other clichés having to do with surprise and intrigue.

We are living in a polycrisis. That means all sorts stressors are happening all at once at an increasing rate. And our perceptions are more global. Therefore we are more closely connected together which means everyone’s stress is getting thrown together from around the world into one gargantuan sized tipping point. 

There won’t be another time like this on Earth. And the Earth needs us. She needs us to remember her through our stories. To connect deeply with our roots that are also rooted in the Earth. To share the transformative journeys that enlighten humanity to be one with each other and the Earth, once more. 

That means, if—in your heart of hearts, deep down in your soul—you know that your story could help people (even a small group of them) to be inspired, uplifted, empowered, or even smile: then, of course your story matters!

“But I’m not well-known, I haven’t even given a Ted Talk.”

Would you like to be?

This question about not being well-known often comes when people are trying to convince themselves they and their stories don’t matter. 

How do you know if you haven’t told your story? Really told it from the depths of your soul.

The secret is: Those who have a burning desire to write their memoir or tell their story sense a rippling of excitement happen inside when they’re ready. It’s akin to the goosebumps that occur when two people share the same thought and speak it aloud or a deep-seated insight pushes up through the spine in an “Ah ha” kind of way—all causing an internal ripple effect. (And if you’re experiencing resistance, this usually comes in the form of ignoring the inner spine tingling feeling and attributing it to what you ate for lunch.)

Let me be honest: Writing a memoir is like getting on that horse mentioned above, thinking we know the horse, only to be surprised by its ability to take off running at full speed through a heavily treed forest.

The beauty is: I help people navigate the forest and settle down the horse so that they gain traction on the main purpose for telling their stories—to positively transform, uplift, and inspire people.

I help people write their memoirs by cherry-picking the most potent, dramatic, and universally connected stories with poignant lessons for readers to open their hearts and have transformative experiences—all from reading a story.

By the way, the answer to all of the beginning questions in the subject line is: Did you learn a lesson? If so, YES! Tell us.

Talk about your mom and how you transformed your relationship with her or learned wisdom from her, and if she’s still with us, show her the passages. You might be amazed at how proud she is of your writing ability.

Talk about your time with psychedelics, gurus, and  otherworldly strangeness. Go for it. Give us the juice! As long as you've learned a lesson that is viable for other readers. That's the key. Universality.

Mary Karr, author of the Art of Memoir tells us we need to share from our personal experience. It’s not our mother’s perspective, our father’s, our best friend’s—it’s ours. Once we do that, we are free.

The time is now. Polycrisis and everything.

Shayla Malek’s Writing Process & Developmental Editing Journey with Regina

Shayla Malek is the author of: The Opposite of Hiding: How Plant Medicine Transformed My Life.

I held the hair tie in my fingers and pulled and twisted. Stretched and released, only to stretch and release again. Each machination of the rubber echoed the churning in my guts and the panic in my mind.

Am I really going to do this? Am I crazy? What have I got to say that anyone would want to read? This is too personal. I shouldn’t do this, maybe I can write this book, but not publish it?

It was November 2021 and I was sitting at my desk ready for the Zoom call with my newly allocated Developmental Editor, Regina. This was our first meeting and I was a few minutes early. Time enough to start messing with the hair tie while I waited for the welcome screen to morph into the portal through which I would gain a virtual peek into a curated snippet of her life.   

In late 2019 my friend Katie had been true to her word and sent me details about the book writing course she had been taking. But thanks to 2020, it took me until July 2021 to sign up. The pandemic had tilted the world sideways on its axis and me along with it. All thoughts of writing my father’s book about him surviving the Holocaust were now pushed to the back of my mind; I knew I had another story I had to write first.

While a lot of people’s pandemic projects involved baked goods or crafts, mine involved sitting in my bathroom or study, hugging my dog and crying. To be accurate, it wasn’t all crying—there was a lot of screaming into pillows, some laughing, yoga and dancing; but mostly, there was crying. I had used my abundance of lock-down imposed free time to do some intense navel gazing and emotional processing. I started experimenting with self-administered plant-medicine therapy to finally address my trauma, depression, anxiety, PTSD and burnout.

Somehow, while signing up for the course, I came up with the bright idea that I should write my first ever book about those transformative healing experiences. I debated whether I should write it as fiction or even under a pen name, but that didn’t feel right.  No. How hard can it be? I thought, deciding to commit to writing it as a memoir. I’ve got this!

In subsequent discussions with the course teachers, it quickly became apparent that I had no idea about the specifics of how I would tell my story or how emotionally grueling that telling would be. Deep down I knew that to do my book justice I was going to have to include the most vulnerable and painful parts of my life and inner dialog. I had to show how screwed up I had been so I could show by contrast how much my life had been transformed.

To be honest, I was terrified. Terrified of revealing my story to the public, of the insane vulnerability I was subjecting myself to, and basically of being seen and heard through my writing. Mostly though, I was worried that I would fail at my objective of telling my story, and that I was a bad writer.

When the course assigned me Regina I didn’t know what to expect. I had never had someone be part of my creative process before, and now, I honestly don’t know what I would have done without her.

“Hi Shayla. Lovely to meet you. I’m looking forward to working together!” Regina said, kicking off our meeting. “Is it ok if we start by taking a deep breath?” As soon as I saw her warm smile and kind eyes I immediately knew I was in a safe space. I knew I could trust her, and that she was there to help guide me through this experience. After that first hour, I logged off the call and breathed a sigh of relief. I was in good hands.

It didn’t take many of our weekly calls before I could tell that Regina knew how scared I was; how anxious and scatter-brained.  She recognized someone who was on a healing journey. In our sessions, Regina let me ramble and go off on tangents. She patiently waited (or when required—gently coaxed me) until I reached a point of clarity and direction for my book’s plot, theme, and tone.

It turned out my writing process was one of excavation. I had to sift through a lot of mental slurry to get to the story pay dirt hidden underneath. I’ve learned through my writing journey that the first thought isn’t always the best (or truest) thought, and sometimes, neither is the second. Don’t believe everything you think! I’d remind myself as I kept digging deep, deep… deeper into the cold dark heart of my trauma to find my true gems of innate wisdom, while at the same time, dredging up my most painful parts of self to lay bare on the pages.

Once I’d written and “edited” my chapter or scene , (i.e. read it over a million times, rearranging and tweaking the content, until it finally represented the narrative I was hearing inside my head), I’d log onto the course’s content management system and update Regina on my progress. Then I held my breath and waited.

Regina’s feedback was always fair and useful. She asked probing questions and gently challenged my initial thoughts until I sorted through the sludge to get to the diamonds in my narrative. With Regina’s feedback I held my head up a little higher, quelled my nerves and eventually became a better writer. I followed her advice and intentionally introduced more structure into my writing. I saw the story improve and became prouder of my work with each iteration.

I wrote steadily and at breakneck speed to get as much done to share with her as I could, but unfortunately by February 2022, my course-allocated time with Regina ran out. I greedily wanted more time with her, but I had to move onto the next phase of editing and publishing. I logged on to our last session, sad to say goodbye.

This time as I sat and waited to be admitted into the Zoom room my hands were still and calm. Through our time together I had gained more than just chunks of digitally facilitated emotional connection and literary guidance. I learned from Regina how to let myself look past my fear and blockages to find a path through the overwhelm where I could let my writing naturally flow.

We said our farewells (we both knew it wasn’t going to be a permanent goodbye), and I logged out of the session ready to take the next step of my writing career; more confident about my decision to write my book, and reassured that people would want to read what I had to say.