Read an Excerpt
Introduction
What, exactly, is spiritual memoir? I was halfway through writing my own before I knew. A mentor began handing me books—wild rides through the Christian faith by Augustine, Teresa of Avila, Margery Kempe, Simone Weil, Thomas Merton, and Henri Nouwen. Later my reading widened to include Sufic, Jewish, Buddhist, Mormon, and New Age memoirs, memoirs by authors of eclectic faiths and authors with no faith tradition at all. I read books by authors who were young, old, famous, unknown, spiritual leaders and ordinary folk, queer and straight, alive and dead. What all these authors had in common was a passionate striving to link their seemingly small lives to some broader truth, some vaster mystery. Although each author’s experience of the spiritual was unique, the way each one’s experiences emerged in writing was strikingly similar. Familiar themes, structures, and styles appeared across history and culture. Since then, in my work with hundreds of beginning writers, I’ve come to recognize that the process of writing our sacred stories is filled with common pitfalls and pleasures. Spiritual memoir is a form unto itself.
Philip Zaleski, the editor of Harper San Francisco’s annual Best Spiritual Writing series, defines spiritual writing as “poetry or prose that deals with the bedrock of human existence—why we are here, where we are going, and how we can comport ourselves with dignity along the way.” Spiritual memoir, then, is a genre in which one’s life is written with particular attention paid to its mysteries. It uses the mate-rial of the past and present to ask, What is the source of my existence? What makes me tick? What gives me breath, hope, or inspiration? Invariably spiritual memoir places one’s life in relationship to some-thing greater, whether that something be God or oneness or the earth or death. Unlike literary memoir, the purpose of writing spiritual memoir is only secondarily to create a well-crafted work. Spiritual memoirists write because writing brings them nearer to the ineffable essence of life.
This book will teach you how to write memoir with heart and flair; it will help you get started, move through drafts, and gain skills in the craft. That you might learn by others’ examples, I’ve quoted from a variety of memoirists, mostly contemporary, whose stories are accessible and directly helpful to the writing struggle. Underlying all these instructions is an exploration of creative writing as a spiritual practice—a means of opening one’s self to transformation and connecting the generative inner sanctum of hope, doubt, and faith to the wider world of community. Language is the bridge. If you write because writing helps you birth yourself, this book is for you.
Throughout the book are writing exercises that are relevant to the accompanying text. However, they needn’t be tackled in the order in which they appear. Try both the exercises that inspire you and those that turn you off. A strong emotional reaction (positive or negative) often points toward rich material. Especially do the exercises that seem radically different from your usual approach to writing. You’ll find new avenues into the creative process and widen your repertoire. Some of the writing suggestions are brief; others may get you going on an entire book. This diversity is designed to get you started and to teach new techniques, not to overwhelm you with homework. When you find yourself launched on a story, bend the exercise however you wish.
Blessings on you, dear reader, as you travel through this book. May the rigor of learning to write well deepen your insights, widen your relationships, and enlarge the sacred presence you bring into the world.