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Archive | Books from Memoir Network Writers

Over the years, The Memoir Network has worked with hundreds of students directly in tele-classes and workshops in coaching sessions and via editing and thousands indirectly (perhaps that’s a wrong word) via all our resources—many of which we make available for free at My Memoir Education and for a nominal fee at Memoir Authority.

These writers have produced terrific stories about love and abandonment, about careers and deadend lives, about racial and ethnic diversity and conflict.

It is our honor to present some of these stories here for you to enjoy.

marching drill teams were popular in Franco-American New England

I Join a Marching Drill Team

In Franco-American New England, marching drill teams were popular. These teams were made up of girls who played instruments and marched in formation. Rhéa Ledoux was a team captain and she got to march in front of the other girls. The various drill teams would prepare elaborate sequences which they performed in parades—often in competition for a prize. Some of the local teams were very good.

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She Loves Her, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

Who were these Beatles, anyway? Everyone was screaming. Everyone, even Betsy, sitting next to me. Betsy was screaming her brains out. I stared at her in disbelief. But as I looked around Park Theater, the only movie theater in the Caldwells, the very green end-of-the-line little towns on the long boulevard that stretches from the big, bad city of Newark 15 miles away, I realized that the entire theater was packed with girls. I didn’t see a boy anywhere. All I saw were girls. And every single one of them was screaming.

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My Father Loved to Tell a Story

My father loved to tell a story. He would sit three or four of us on his lap and ask us what kind of story we wanted to hear. “Perhaps un petit rien tout nu (a little naked nothing)?” he’d suggest. Not knowing what that was, we would nod our heads eagerly. “Do you want your petit rien tout nu to be red or blue?” Then, he’d tell a story. I loved sitting on his lap hearing his stories.

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My First Morning at School

The is an excerpt from a yet-unnamed memoir of my high school years spent in a seminary continues to chronicle my first days there. The school is in Bucksport Maine, and the year is 1960. In this vignette, I write about my first morning. The memoir is in progress.

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Marie Bilodeau’s story

My grandmother Marie Bilodeau Ledoux would have been 130 years old today. She was born in St-Narcisse-de-Lotbinière, Québec, on May 15, 1884. The following is excerpted from a booklet I wrote about my mémère some fifteen years ago and gave a s a Christmas gift to my extended family.

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Discovering My New Home

This is an excerpt from a memoir I am thinking of calling either In Another Century or A Very Catholic Boy. I am 13, and in the previous excerpt, I have just arrived at the seminary high school where I will be living. The excerpt starts as I have brought my trunk up to the dormitory and we exit the room. I am with my parents, my grandmother my brother and two sisters. All the people in the story are bilingual.

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