Sometimes We Write for Ourselves
When I visited France last summer as a chaperone on my son’s high-school trip, multiple references to “Les Trois Maries” (The Three Marys) in the city of Lyon piqued my curiosity. Since then, I’ve immersed myself in stories and scholarship about these biblical women, learning that their specific identities differ from one source to the next. From what I’ve seen, Mary Magdalene is always included, however, and I've been especially drawn to writings about her.
It’s an understatement to say I’ve been moved and changed by my Magdalenian reading, and I’ve started writing about the feelings and discoveries I’m having along the way, too. I’m quite clear, however, that this writing is not for publication in a book, journal, online, or otherwise. For one thing, the theological and philosophical concepts I am reflecting on (from books by authors such as Cynthia Bourgeault, Meggan Watterson, and Jean-Yves Leloup) are so new to me, it’s as though I’m writing in a foreign language, lacking command enough to create anything of substance to share, and it’s anyway too personal, too raw. I am writing for myself.
Whether they intend to sell their books or share them only with family and friends, clients sometimes have this same realization about their writing during the editorial process at Modern Memoirs. They may arrive at it independently, deciding of their own accord not to include a particular anecdote or manuscript passage in their books, or we may guide them to such a decision with a suggestion in an editorial letter.
“This anecdote seems disconnected to the rest of your story,” I said to one writer about a scene in his memoir devoted to a tryst. “Do you really need a whole chapter devoted to it, for your entire family to read?” He ultimately omitted the chapter, saying in effect, “I think I wrote that for myself, to reclaim a bit of my youth,” and he would go on to thank us again, post-publication, for the suggestion.
Another time, we advised a writer to omit reflections on a since-resolved family feud, concerned that the writing could rip open old wounds. “Perhaps you wrote this for yourself, to process the challenges in writing it but without a need to actually publish the painful story,” we gently suggested. She mulled things over and, after agreeing to soften the language somewhat, reached the conclusion that the conflict and its resolution were too important in her life story to exclude, confident in her family’s healing. We respected her decision, and the story went to print.
Trust between writers and editors is essential in sensitive conversations like these. Writing about one’s life is powerful because whether or not it is published, it expresses and freezes in print a person’s inner thoughts, feelings, and ideas, with the potential to heal or harm. If such writing is published, it can make a writer (and any family members mentioned) feel seen and affirmed, or painfully exposed. In offering editorial guidance, we aim to listen at least as much as we advise when we say, “Sometimes we write for ourselves—to explore ideas, process challenges, or express emotions. How might publication serve those purposes for you? How might it undermine them?”
While some of the other pieces in this newsletter use this month’s Valentine’s Day holiday to celebrate love for others, it strikes me that writing for one’s self can be regarded as an act of self-love. Perhaps you are doing this kind of writing right now. Perhaps you aren’t sure if you want to publish your work or not. We would be honored to help you explore your options in support of your writing path. Reach out today! We’d love to hear from you.
Megan St. Marie
President
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