What to cut from your memoir—when an editor and writer disagree

This is a three-part series about choices I wish my clients hadn’t made during their personal history book projects. (For what it’s worth: in my first draft of this post, I referred to “mistakes” I wish my clients hadn’t made—and then I remembered, memoir is, by definition, a personal accounting of one’s life, and far be it for me to dictate a writer’s personal preferences.) That said, clients come to me not only for help finishing the projects they envision, but for my expertise in elevating their projects to be the best they can be. So, I thought sharing a few of these differences of opinion might be instructive for those waffling over similar decisions.

Challenge 1: Should I include “the hard stuff” from my life in my memoir?

Challenge 2: Should I include a family tree in my life story?

Challenge 3: Should I include captions in my memorial tribute book?

Always remember that what ultimately makes it into print in your memoir is 100-percent YOUR decision—so while I (and other personal historians or editors) may encourage you not to skip over your challenges, you are the one who gets to make that call.

“Let’s cut all ‘the hard stuff.’”

I conducted a series of in-depth, thoughtful interviews in which my client—let’s call him John—allowed himself to be vulnerable. He was a vivid storyteller and was comfortable going deep, talking about personal failures in addition to successes. He told of paths not taken that he now regretted; of teenage exploits that were, shall we say, less than innocent; and of a red-hot temper that caused him some problems in his twenties. Through our probing conversations, John spoke of lessons learned through his experiences, and of newfound meaning he was able to make from revisiting his earlier years. “This has been a profoundly rewarding experience,” John told me.

Then, when it came time to review the final manuscript of his life story, he made a decision I did not agree with: He wanted to cut all “the hard stuff” from his book. 

Let me say that we had taken great pains to write these stories in a way that made them both compelling and, if not exactly didactic, at least revelatory. We wove in lessons learned, and nuggets of “John’s wisdom” throughout. He was at first “all in,” as was his wife, who had been an early reader. And then, he wasn’t.

When I asked him why he did not want to include stories of his challenges, he said that his descendants would think less of him. There was one granddaughter in particular, then a mere toddler, who he fervently “did not want to disappoint.” Arguments from me and his wife that those were the very stories that showed his humanity, that provided lessons for the next generation, that felt universal…well, all those arguments fell on deaf ears. “I would not want to know these things about my own grandfather,” he said plainly.

Because I am here to help my clients create the books they want—to help them define their legacies in the way they see fit—of course I ultimately followed his lead. His book was overflowing with funny anecdotes and light-hearted memories from his youth, for sure. It will undoubtedly be a treasure to his grandchildren. 

But I did feel it was a lost opportunity to have passed down a book not also overflowing with wisdom; it was a Hallmark version of his life. 

I find solace in the fact that his personal history interviews, while not fully reflected in his book, did help him ascribe new meaning to his life. (As I tell many people, the time spent allowing introspection in the interview phase is as much a gift to oneself as the book will be to one’s family; Mark Yaconelli calls this “feeling the grace of one’s own life.”)

If you are ever on the fence about including tough times—anything from small failures to serious trauma—consider these words from Tristine Rainer (from her book Your Life As Story):

“Yours may be the words that relieve another’s isolation, that open a door to understanding, that influence the course of another’s path. If you write an autobiography for a great-great-grandniece not yet born, perhaps she will find it in her mother’s drawer, and she will be altered, perhaps even saved, through the wisdom you have sent her.”

And if you are ever reluctant to “go deep” in your writing, ALWAYS remember that it is your prerogative, and your prerogative alone, what to keep and what to cut. You are always your final editor.