Mining My Memories: One Writer’s Approach
When I describe my writing process, I often start out by saying something like, “I get a wisp of an idea.” Then I skip ahead to all the work I do on character development before tackling any plotting. But in thinking more deeply about my process, that ‘wisp of an idea’ deserves more than a casual mention. It’s the foundation upon which we build our work.
(The Importance of Developing Characters as Much as or More Than Plot.)
So, where do our ideas come from? If you survey writers about that oft-asked question, chances are you’ll get a variety of answers, ranging from “It was a snippet I read in the newspaper” to “I had a dream about this.”
For me, I’ve found my ‘wisps of ideas’ come from things I’ve witnessed, or others have shared, or that I personally experienced. They’re memories that have deeply resonated with me emotionally, and not surprisingly, they find their way, albeit in altered form, in my fiction.
For example, when I was in high school, a friend and I attended a Friday night teen dance at the local YMCA. A young man from a local private boys’ school asked my friend to dance. Their attraction was instant, and he didn’t leave my friend’s side for the rest of the evening. Soon, they were “going steady.” He seemed to me to be the world’s most devoted boyfriend—always wanting to be with my friend, and when he wasn’t with her, calling her constantly and “checking in” on what she was doing, and whom she was with. She was a pretty girl, and he made it clear that she was his girlfriend and other boys better not come anywhere near her.
In my naivety, I actually thought his extreme possessiveness was romantic. I didn’t recognize any of the red flags his behavior was sending. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have been surprised that he became abusive physically and psychologically. Sadly, my friend became pregnant shortly after high school graduation and married him. Things only got worse until she finally got out of what had been a horrific marriage.
Later, when I was researching my first book, Teen Rape, a nonfiction book for the educational market, I was stunned by the frequency of teen dating violence. My friend was hardly an anomaly. Tragically, she had and still has lots of company. My friend’s experience and that of so many teens inspired me to become a comprehensive sexuality educator, volunteer work I’ve done for more than two decades.
Not surprisingly, the issue of abusive relationships found its way into one of my novels, Missing Mom. Threaded throughout the story of 17-year-old Noelle searching for her missing mother is the tale of Savannah, a young woman nearly 20 years earlier. Savannah falls madly in love with a high school classmate and marries him right after graduation. While Savannah’s closest friend recognizes that this young man’s possessive, controlling behavior spells danger, Savannah feels sure it’s just a sign of how much he loves and cares about her. She dismisses her friend’s concerns. Until she can’t.
Sometimes people tell me things, and I can’t forget them. For example, I’ve never forgotten the student I was counseling at a summer residential arts camp who told me, “I’ve prayed and prayed not to be gay. My pastor says that all homosexuals go to hell. But I can’t seem to stop being who I am.” This young man was in so much pain. I don’t know whether my telling him that I believed God created him just the way he was supposed to be helped. I hope so.
My memory of that young man sparked a subplot in my novel, Deadly Setup, in which a close male friend of the protagonist attempts to commit suicide after his religious fundamentalist parents discover and insist on nixing his same-sex relationship.
The major premise of my novel, It Should Have Been You, was also sparked by something shared with me, in this case, by one of my adult dance students. After class one day, my student told me that her identical twin had been murdered in high school and that the case had never been solved. For a long time, the authorities had worried that she might be next. I never forgot her revelation and the idea of the aftermath of a murdered twin ultimately morphed into my story about Clara, a surviving twin threatened by an online stalker.
Of course, painful memories of my own experiences have found their way in altered form in several of my novels. For example, as a teen, I was passionate about dance. My father became so alarmed that I might actually seriously pursue a career in the field that he refused to let me take dance classes as a senior in high school or attend a college with a dance major. I was terribly resentful and angry. His actions didn’t stop me from becoming a professional dancer, but it damaged our relationship and made me determined to be a different kind of parent—one who listened, supported, and encouraged my children’s passions and interests.
Lack of parental support for pursuing a career in the arts appears most strongly in my novel, Leisha’s Song. Leisha is both academically and musically gifted. Her grandfather, who raised her, insists she plan for a career in medicine, rather than the one she longs for in classical singing.
To sum up, I’ve found that the memories that grab hold of me and simply won’t let go provide the richest fodder for my novel ideas. And when we care deeply about the struggles our characters are going through, I think that we have a much better chance of having readers who will care as well.
Check out Lynn Slaughter’s Missing Mom here:
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