I had fun writing a “Spring” scene today. I’ve mentioned before that my memoir is a work of creative non-fiction. Since much of the story takes place 2-5 decades ago, I don’t remember a lot of the non-fiction details, such as exact conversations, what the weather was like, etc. So, that’s where the creative part comes in.
I have no doubt some of the characters in my memoir would remember parts of the included stories differently, but I am telling the stories as close to my truth as possible.
Memoirs are recollections from the author’s point of view. To me, that’s a characteristic that makes some memoirs so fascinating. If another “character” in the memoir were to tell the story from their own memory, it would likely be told very differently.
Have you ever been with family or friends, sharing stories of days gone by, only to discover that each person remembers the event differently?
Most of the conversations, as well as the details of some of the scenes, have been recreated, but the overall theme of the memoir is all true — my unrequited loves, the stories behind those loves, and my character arc from unrequited to now. Hopefully, I can make it all come together. 🙂
Here’s an excerpt from what I wrote today:
After the Sadie Hawkins dance, I no longer questioned whether Blake and I were a couple. There may have been days we didn’t see each other at school, though I always searched the halls for a glimpse of him between classes. But we spoke on the phone every day, sometimes for hours into the night.
I had unscrewed the bottom metal plate of the Princess phone on my nightstand and taped toilet paper around the bell clapper to muffle the ringing sound so I wouldn’t get caught on the phone after curfew. I was pretty proud of my ingenuity, though I admit, I wasn’t so proud of myself for my deceit in breaking a rule. But what harm was there in talking?
Cyn slept in a twin bed next to mine. Our blue and turquoise striped bedspreads matched, but that’s where any similarity in the room ended. My side of the room was decorated with posters of Bobby Sherman and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Her side of the room had a Peter Frampton poster and a window.
She listened to the Doobie Brothers and Led Zeppelin. I listened to The Carpenters and The Stylistics. We often argued over whose turn it was to play our favorite LP on our bedroom turntable. Usually, we had to wear headphones to keep from driving each other crazy.
Cyn hung out with the “cool” girls. I was a band freak and goody-two shoes. But even goody-two-shoes occasionally broke the rules, and when I did, our unspoken sisterhood code of honor kicked-in and she kept my secret. In return, when she’d get home late from a date, she’d knock on our bedroom window and I’d let her in.
