Sometimes, we feel stuck when trying to write our life stories. We’ve lived such big lives. Where do we start?
In episode 102 of Life Writers Vlog, I share a fun solution: using memory-triggering questions from the book To Our Children’s Children: Preserving Family Histories for Generations to Come by Bob Green and D. G. Fulford.
The book is filled with hundreds and hundreds of questions, roughly categorized by chronology and topic.
I love what the authors say in their “Introduction,” “The specifics of your own memories are what your family will treasure the most. The main thing for you to know is that you need not attempt to sum up your life in grand, sweeping historic strokes, but stick to the seemingly small basics.”
Then, in the “Get Started” chapter, they write, “No detail is unimportant. The smallest things make up the richness of the big picture.” Yes! I stood up and cheered as they echoed what I always say about writing life stories–no to summaries, yes to details.
To Our Children’s Children is a great way to trigger memories you want to write about, but, and this is a big but, do not think you have to start at the beginning, answer each question, and work your way through to the end. You’ll never finish the first chapter.
Flip through the pages, see what piques your interest, and write that, and do the same thing every time you use this book of questions to write your life stories.
Do you like to write in response to prompts? Why or why not? Tell us about it.
But whether you like writing prompts or not, always remember: The only way to do this wrong is to not do it at all!
Ditto to everyone’s “I like prompts” cuz it does trigger forgotten events.
I like prompts. It’s usually a topic I never would have considered writing about. It definitely stretches the memory.
I like prompts. I have trouble recalling events without some trigger. Sometimes, pieces written by others works as a prompt as well.
I like prompts because they usually remind me of something in my life that I had forgotten about. Thanks, Patricia.