Photo by Harli Marten on Unsplash
Sometime in May I was browsing for journals at my indie bookstore (in recent years I’ve learned to overcome my reluctance of writing in journals) and discovered a gem called 50 Things About My Mother.
I purchased two copies, smiling as I imagined how my children, ages 11 and 16, would answer prompts like “My favorite childhood memory of us together” and “The best gift you ever gave me.” These time-stamped treasures were all I wanted for Mother’s Day.
Their responses were as illuminating, sweet, and funny as they are. Gabriel’s answer to “My favorite fun fact about you” was “you are not like most mothers” (“In a good way, right?” I asked in amusement, to which he hastily agreed). Abigail’s responses to “Things I know you can’t live without” included breakfast, Barnes & Noble, and us. (She’s right).
And then, toward the end of Gabe’s book, I read aloud his answer to “Things I’ve learned from you along the way.” Momentarily speechless, I glanced at my daughter, who looked back with matching surprise. Here is what he wrote:
“Wow, Gabe,” I said. “That’s beautiful.”
“It’s poetic,” Abbey agreed.
And it’s true. You have a story behind you, something I’ve taught my kids—who both like to write—but have never worded quite so eloquently.
You have a story behind you, and that doesn’t mean you’re bound to its narrative and can’t create something new; it simply means you have everything you need to get started. In an interview with YA Review Net, Jacqueline Woodson, who writes both fiction and memoir, states it another way: “My writing always starts from a place of memory.”
Mine too. My latest novel is about a woman who revisits her childhood home and becomes lost in her memories. It’s a ghost story, a story of a haunted house and the trappings of nostalgia. I believe in ghosts, and haunted houses, but I’ve never really encountered them; the writing is fiction. Yet it starts from memory—memories of a beloved brother, of a childhood home, of early motherhood and its suffocating fears.
It’s a collection of moments I’ve left behind. Together, they fused with my imagination and created their own story, something entirely new and exciting but rooted in memory, my memories, something only I could create.
You have those moments too—moments scattered throughout your past that burned bright enough to make a lasting impression and are waiting to be rediscovered, and maybe reimagined. You have a story behind you, one I’d love to hear. So, write.
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