I love reading and working with memoir. There’s something powerful about seeing how different memories thread together to create a tapestry of growth, perspective, and shareable wisdom. I’m a firm believer that you don’t need a crazy experience or celebrity status in order to share an impactful story.

However, there’s an innate disconnect in the way we approach our memories that may affect our ability to tell our impactful stories in a way that best connects with readers: Who we are today is not who we were when these events happened, but both voices have equal claim to the narrative. How do we reconcile your pre- and post-enlightenment perspective when writing your memoir?

We create two characters.

Memoirs have two “I/me” characters: you as the narrator with the reflective wisdom and hindsight of distance (“Narrative You”), and you as the person experiencing the events in the moment (“Past You”). Part of the balancing act of writing a memoir is telescoping between when we should be “narrator me” and “past me.”

Your narrative telescope’s most effective tool is its lens and the ability to zoom in and out of your consciousness while panning between your two voices.

When I tell my clients to “zoom in with this moment,” what I’m telling them is to move from the broad senses of the scene and focus on a small detail. For external zooms, this could be focusing on a single leaf clinging to its tree as it quivers in the wind. This is often where English students go to hunt for symbolism, since external zooms are intimately (even if subconsciously) linked to the scene’s emotional or thematic tone. For internal zooms, we get real close and focus on the perspective character’s internal commentary on the situation at hand. 

When we’re zoomed in, we see Past You’s thought process in the memory’s moment. The justifications, immediate reactions, and blind plans for the future all laid bare for the reader to experience.

Now for the balancing act. It’s not just important to zoom in on Past You’s perspective but to then pan over to Narrative You’s distanced commentary. This is where you find the nuggets of wisdom and insight. Pan between a close zoom of Past You’s immediate response to a situation and Narrative You’s retrospective musings on the larger ramifications of the situation. From a narrative structure, it acts as both commentary and dramatic irony: Past You has lessons to learn that Narrative You is already willing to share with the reader. 

How can we use these unique voices to leverage a compelling dialogue in your memoir? The same way you would between any other pair of characters: conflict.

There are exceptions to every rule, but one of the biggest differences between fiction novels and most memoirs is that the driving conflict—the “Big Bad”—for your memoir is going to be internal rather than an external force. This is often the pursuit of Self; our desire to figure out who we are, how we fit in this world, and how our past can shape our future. (It’s fun to note that a lot of memoirists have a touch of Enneagram 4 to them. That’s OK; me too.)

Framing a memoir is often a difficult decision. There are so many memories woven throughout your life, it’s hard to pick which ones to include in your story. Where do you start your memoir? Where do you end—especially if there are still some loose or messy ends you haven’t tied up yet?

The key is to focus on a main goal throughout your memoir and ask yourself what themes best support this journey throughout your life. This is the journey we need to see threaded throughout the tapestry of events that make up this memoir. You may think your memoir is about how you overcame homelessness, or left an abusive boyfriend, or how your childhood was messed up, but those are all just dressings. The actions, the relationships, and the environments are all just factors that contribute or inhibit your progress to reaching this goal. After all, there is no point to triumphing over external conflict if you come out the same person on the other end.

And what goal is achieved without having to first fight for it?

The moments that Past You and Narrator You come into conflict—when what you knew to be true in the past is different from what you know to be true now and it creates friction in the narrative—is what we call your internal battle. 

Memoir is telling the story of someone else who eventually grows to wear your skin. You won’t reach your main goal if Past You is unable to learn the lessons Narrative You have to share. At the beginning of the memoir, these two voices will sound sharply distinct, but as you pursue your driving desire and tackle your internal battle, these voices will slowly evolve into one cohesive portrait of the dynamic person you are today.

Let’s give a broad map to how we can navigate this battle within the framework of your memoir. I’ve talked a lot about the seven-point plot structure and how you can use it in relation to other plotting structures like the three acts’ turns and beats. When mapping out the internal battle between Past You and Narrative You’s understanding of Self, focus on the three acts of your memoir in relation to two turning points:

Act One: In the very first chapter, establish Narrative You’s theme and how you struggle with it, both against external forces and Past You’s desires.

The first turn: Past You begins to question your starting point and desire change but doesn’t know how to find it. 

Act Two: Narrative You walks us through Past You’s pursuit of your main goal, highlighting how Past You’s defeats were more educational than the victories.

The second turn: Just before the Midpoint of your seven-point plot structure, where you move from reaction to action, Past You starts building the tools necessary to create answers for yourself, even as you face new hurdles in life.

Act Three: The climax of the struggle. Narrative You starts to unravel the mystery of why Past You was in the cycles you were. This is your climax, your final battle, where Past You’s driving desire is ultimately achieved and merges with Narrative You’s understanding.

Weaving a tapestry of your life requires more than one color of thread to paint a vibrant picture of what happened. You need more than one version of yourself to properly investigate life from all angles. Those voices aren’t going to agree with one another on everything—lifelong friends never do. But as Past You and Narrative You slowly reconcile your differences and acquiest the choices made as necessary, if sometimes painful, milestones, you’re going to end up with a warm blanket of memory others will love to wrap around themselves.