[DL.: Many readers of this blog are writing memoir as a possible entry into fiction writing. The following is a reprint of an article that appeared in the fictorians.com blog that explores the relationship between the two genres. The Fictorian blog is an extensive one and many readers of The Memoir Network blog will enjoy perusing its archives—and becoming members. Kristen Luna, its author, has graciously given me permission to reprint her post here. While I am not in total agreement with the fluidity between memoir and friction as depicted in this post, I believe the post is a stimulating one. I have written about this topic of memoir and realistic fiction elsewhere. Please post your feedback below.]

In the summer, my brother and I would walk to our small town library. Sometimes, we’d cross paths with a man walking his mountain lion on the sidewalk. One time, the mountain lion bit my arm, and I needed fourteen stitches.

It’s crazy, but it’s actually mostly true. I was afraid for my life when I saw the mountain lion, but it never actually bit my arm. But it’s plausible, and who’s to say I’m wrong? It’s my memory, after all.

I technically could sell this story as a memoir. But when someone starts digging into my history and finds that, although there was a man in my hometown that had a pet mountain lion, there are no hospital records of me getting stitches. (more…)

We Prepare for Our World War 2 Wedding

On Saturday evening, Mr. and Mrs. Ledoux threw us a pre-nuptial party at their home. I had known them for a long time already so they were not strangers to me. Our friends and relatives dropped by to wish us well. Mrs. Ledoux had prepared finger foods and served soft drinks and beer. I supposed Rhéa [Lavigne, Albert’s sister] had helped her.

Sunday called for all the food to be ready as well as for my suitcase to be packed and ready for our trip to Syracuse, NY, the next day after the wedding ceremony because Albert would have to report to base Monday night. That trip would be the only honeymoon we would have because we were having a World War 2 wedding! (more…)

Independent publishing is growing exponentially, but is it a viable option financially to self-publish your memoir?

Certainly, if you are publishing for family and friends and want only a few hundred copies or even fewer, to self-publish your memoir is the option of choice. But…

Is is a viable decision to self-publish your memoir if you hope to use it to launch a writing career, earn an income, support an existing career?

I think it is!

Am I justified in believing you can self-publish your memoir profitably?

(more…)

Can I Write More Than One Memoir? Once upon a time, people assumed that memoirs were like souls – they were distributed one per customer. If that were true (about memoirs, not souls), then three of the books I’ve published wouldn’t exist. The truth is, each of us plays many different roles in the course of a lifetime: daughter, son, wife, husband, mother, father, worker, friend, lover, athlete, artist, activist, sinner, confessor…. The list goes on and on. There are also different ways to tell these real-life stories: autobiography, memoir, personal essay, immersion essay, and others. In short, one can (more…)

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. I join a marching drill team. Our uniforms were made of wool and were vary warm in the summer. The St-Jean-Baptiste parade was always a focal point as Canadians celebrated their patron saint on (more…)

Who were these Beatles, anyway? Everyone was screaming. Everyone, even Betsy, sitting next to me. Betsy was a charter member of our secret club that was the envy of nearly every girl in our class at Washington School who wasn’t a member and wanted desperately to know what the secret three-letter club name meant. Now 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 (more…)

DL: Today May 26 is my maternal grandfather’s birthday. Born in 1898, Joseph Cyrille Verreault would be 116 in 2014. The following is an excerpt from my mother’s memoir, We Were Not Spoiled. In these two excerpts, my mother shares her memory of her father’s playful side. The excerpts begin in 1925. [I, too, remember how my grandfather 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 (more…)

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.

At 5:45, it was still dark outside, night really. Except for an occasional mumble, the regular breathing of boys in deep sleep was the only noise punctuating the quiet of the dormitory. Perhaps we were all back home in our dreams, with our families once again.

Suddenly—Brrr!

The “bell”— an electric ringer really, resounded loud and insistent in the silence.

“Laus tibi, Christe,” shouted the head Fourth-Form admonitor from his bed in the center of the dorm.
Only from the deep-voices of the other two admonitors at the opposite ends of the room was there an answering “Deo gratias!”<!–more–> (more…)

DL: The following is an excerpt of my grandmother My grandmother Marie Bilodeau Ledoux from a family booklet I created around the year 2000 and gave to family members. A Backstory to Marie Bilodeau Ledoux’s birth When Thomas Bilodeau walked out of the mansard-roofed Empire-style farmhouse he had built several years earlier at the end of le rang Saint-Noël, he could turn his head to the left and see the spire of the parish church which dominated the countryside. He was thirty-four the year Marie was born. Five years earlier, he had married Aurélie Gagné on July 1, 1879, in (more…)

The Thin Line Between Memoir and Realistic Fiction

By Kristin Luna

James Frey became a household name. His book Bright Shiny Morning, released after the scandal, was a bestseller. His lie only seemed to make him more popular. I can understand how a reader would feel betrayed. (more…)

Our World War 2 Wedding in Maine

By Lucille Ledoux

My suitcase was packed and ready for our trip to Syracuse, NY, the day after the wedding ceremony because Albert would have to report to base Monday night. That trip would be the only honeymoon we would have because we were having a World War 2 wedding! (more…)

Self-publish your memoir or go the commercial route?

By Denis Ledoux

Self-publish your memoir or go the commercial route? Independent publishing is growing exponentially, but is it a viable option financially to self-publish your memoir? The answer may surprise you. (more…)

Can you write more than one memoir? Sue William Silverman has written three.

More Than One Memoir: a Mosaic of Self

By Sue William Silverman

Can I write more than one memoir? Once upon a time, people assumed that memoirs were like souls – they were distributed one per customer. If that were true (about memoirs, not souls), then three of the books I’ve published wouldn’t exist. The truth is, each of us plays many different roles in the course […]

marching drill teams were popular in Franco-American New England

I Join a Marching Drill Team

By Lucille Ledoux

She Loves Her, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

By Christine Terp Madsen

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 […]

My mother's book has found its audience.

My Father Loved to Tell a Story

By Lucille Ledoux

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 […]

My First Morning Away

By Denis Ledoux

Marie Bilodeau Ledoux’s story

By Denis Ledoux

My grandmother Marie Bilodeau Ledoux 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. (more…)