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Archive | Anthology – Editors & Memoir Professionals

Here are excerpts from the memoirs of The Memoir Network Editors and Memoir Professionals.

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Retiring to Memoir Writing

Retiring to Memoir Writing: Justine Powell Kuntz

Editor’s note: We came across this guest article published by Justine Kuntz back in 2013, and were so taken with her story of retiring to memoir writing that we decided to publish it again. We hope you enjoy it as much as we did and that it inspires reflections on your own life and memoir.

Eight years ago as a retirement project for church, I introduced memoir writing at St. Gregory’s Episcopal Church in Boca Raton, FL. Earlier, after twenty-two years of teaching English, I chose to flee the regimen of teaching and accepted a position in the business world. The new position required learning more about computers than what I had used in the classroom but that turned out to be a blessing in disguise when I fully retired nine years later. While in business, I had missed teaching, so developing a curriculum for memoir writing made me feel at home once again and helped ease me into retirement and doing what I loved most—teaching.

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memoir of a kidnapping

The Spirit of Villarosa: A Father’s Extraordinary Adventures / A Son’s Challenge

Libby Atwater is a memoir writer and long supporter of The Memoir Network. It is our pleasure to share her excellent work with you.

By Horace Dade Ashton and Marc Ashton with Libby J. Atwater

When Marc Ashton was kidnapped at gunpoint in Haiti, he fought to survive. Accosted by four armed thugs, Marc realized how life changes in moments. He made two promises: he would escape his captors, and he would tell his father’s amazing life story. I am proud to have helped tell the stories of both these men in this memoir of a kidnapping.

[Free Membership required to read more. See below. ]

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Memoir Writing Memories

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 […]

farmhouse

There Goes The Neighborhood, Part 2

We had already witnessed the demolition derby over the snowy weekend between Christmas and New Year’s. We figured the upcoming motorcycle party couldn’t top that. The demolition derby started with the arrival of large trucks bearing strange cargo.

tractor mowing

There Goes the Neighborhood, Part 1

Gunnar was mowing his field. This was odd. He never mowed his field. He was making ever-tightening circles around the knobby acre, the sweet grass and raggedy weeds falling in neat windrows behind him.

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Pudgy: A Childhood Memoir

When I was ten, I ran away. I packed everything that was important into my sturdy cardboard suitcase. I left a note on the kitchen table warning my parents not to look for me at the high-tension wires, those metal electrical towers that marked the back border of our property and which were in fact […]

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Something About the Water

The following memoir excerpt was written by Chris Madsen of Olympia, Washington. I never got used to that first splash of chilly water. It came from a natural spring concealed behind a stockade fence, so clean and pure that we all thought Mr. Trecartin should bottle it. Instead, he let the spring fill the swimming pool […]

writing about growing up

Lightning or When Young Love Strikes

It was the summer the city burned. The weather was dry and hot, but the real tinder was a mixture of frustration and anger, white and black, promises and demands. If I paused to consider these things, the pause was imperceptible. I stood at the edge of the pool contemplating…

grandmother story

A Grandmother Story: Nothing Broken

In this grandmother story, I look back on the life of my mother’s mother.

“Look at this,” my grandmother said. “Not a tooth broken.”

We kids looked at the comb. We were not impressed. This grandmother story had to offer more!

“I made this when I was 8 years old.”

I looked again. Now I was impressed. I was 8 years old, and I had no idea how to make a comb. This one was big, maybe eight inches long, thick and creamy white. Indeed, not a tooth was broken. It looked nothing like the flimsy black plastic one my father carried in his pocket. My grandmother kept this one in the top drawer of her dresser with her small assortment of jewelry. This grandmother story impressed me for sure. [Free Membership required to read more. See below. ]

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