Memoir appears to be the literary genre of our time – Angela’s Ashes, Liar’s Club, and Wild – it’s the happening form. It seems that everyone, including me, finds the form interesting. We use memoir to help us recall and explain our lives to others and, more aptly, to ourselves. We read memoirs voyeuristically to peek into the lives of interesting people seeking insight and the occasional salacious detail.

Creative writing programs are awash with memoir writing classes. They are the cash cows of “creative non-fiction” programs. Memoir writers think their stories are so interesting that others will want to read them. Writers with one short memoir under their belts become experts in the genre and make a living teaching others “the craft.” I’m not disparaging the form or the teachers though I’ve encountered bad examples of both. I’ve learned a lot about myself by looking back – not always flattering – and from writing workshops. I think the process can be therapeutic and even artful if the craft is polished and the content takes us from the specific to the general. When that happens the reader finds resonance with the narrative. read more