The Memoir Project: A Thoroughly Non-Standardized Text for Writing & Life

right around the fourth paragraph of an essay, the writer must tell the reader what the piece is about—what’s at stake, what’s up in the air, what to value if it’s taken away.

Instead, while writing about the hideous aspects of life, you should attempt to teach us something about the behavior of those involved, about your behavior, about all human behavior. Let us into your story by shedding light on our own dilemmas, fears, happiness, or wide-eyed wonder.

You are going to write about the process of learning what you now know. How? By showing us how you learned it. With what? With the scenes that illustrate that journey.

Capture the moment of “aha!” and you’ll find one specific story that you can drive forward.

But I’m not going based on this review, because I didn’t learn anything. I’m not going to sign up—and that’s what reading is: signing up to take a walk with the writer.

Writing is a form of packing, and you always want to be on the move, so packing light should be the ethic, no matter the length of the piece.

What we want from you is your take on something, laid out a truth at a time, slowly.

When writing about our own animals (as well as our husbands, wives, and children) we’d be well advised to avoid any karmic-sounding sentences that make any grand conclusions. Keep it simple; let the reader make her own.

So those are the three rules of memoir. They ask you to tell the truth by making every page drive one story forward and have a context the reader can relate to.