Unlocking the Truth Behind Memoir Missteps: Why Emotional Insight Is the Missing Key
Sometime in the late 90s, my manuscript—“Chalk Outline”—the title a nod to the chalk outlines around corpses in film noir crime, went to a handful of high-level publishers who found the stories “vivid and exciting,” but they all passed. No one cared if the narrator lived or died.
I write memoir.
I was the unlovable narrator.
It took years to understand why people weren’t getting invested in the narrator’s journey. Looking back, I saw I was writing about a time in my life when I didn’t care about the narrator—myself—either. The “me” of “Chalk Outline” was an unsympathetic character—self-destructive, rageful and lost. I’d assumed time and sobriety were all I needed to gain some perspective. Wild stories of dangerous escapades are enough for pulp fiction or grindhouse perhaps, but not for memoir.
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