Other People’s Stories and Why They Need to be Told

I have gained a lot of comfort hearing other people’s broken bone stories. They have survived to tell the tale and their words have been important for me to hear, especially when I’m feeling sorry for myself, which this January seem to be almost every other day.

It is good to be reassured and reminded that there is some light at the end of the tunnel. This is just a blip, a moment in time that will end.

I am trying to write my memoir, a statement which always sounds pompous to me but I’ve yet to find another way to describe it which I’m happier with.

After writing much flash fiction I found a site last year called Fiveminutelit.com. They publish a few pieces of Creative Non Fiction a week. The stipulation is that the incident you write about takes places in the time span of five minutes and you have an exact word count of 100 words.

I have had two pieces published, one rejection and I’m waiting for a third published piece to appear online in April.

“You should write you memoir like this.” Said a writing friend.

I let the comment go, unsure if this was the right form. I continued to fictionalise my story but I came unstuck when I realised how one dimensional I was as a fictitious character.

Maybe I really am a flat and boring person who just let’s things happen to her – that’s certainly the way I was writing.

There’s a quote in the film The Holiday

“You're supposed to be the leading lady in your own life, for God's sake!”

Making up my life story, with a twist, just wasn’t working, I wasn’t the leading lady or best friend just the flat doormat, knocked sideways by grief and too flimsy to recover.

I thought again about my 100 word pieces of writing and set myself a challenge – could I write 100 of these?

Could that be a memoir?

Or could it just be a starting point?

I’m still not sure of all the answers but as of this evening I have written 75 now from all stages of my life, growing up, wondering if I’d ever find a boyfriend, meeting Andrew, being married, having the boys, family life, being widowed, coming to terms with grief, getting cancer, more grief and so the list continues.

Is it interesting? Does it make sense? Could I publish it and would anyone want to read it?

Knowing how other people’s stories inspire me, I’d like to think my stories can be important too.

My life often feels so prosaic and ordinary but then I get positive comments about my blog that make me believe there is something in the mundane things of life that we all experience. Especially the taboo subjects like death and grief and cancer that we avoid talking about and yet can touch us deeply.

Other people’s stories are important so maybe mine are too and I shall keep writing until I get to 100.