Kia Ora dear memoir writer,

How’s your story coming along? I’d love to know.

I bumped into a student on my memoir course a few days ago, and she asked me if it mattered that she couldn’t remember exact dates that events happened.

Great question. It depends.

Some writers seek to be as accurate as possible in their stories and will go to great lengths to clarify dates. For example, one person I recently worked with on a book, travelled the world to complete her family history research. Information and photos from her travels are now dotted through her very detailed book.

Another person on my memoir course went the other way. Her sister had done the hard yards, writing a book packed with detailed genealogy. So she felt ok about writing a book full of nostalgic memories and anecdotes about a specific, happy time of her life with her husband. While she did the best she could to write accurately, she wasn’t too fussed about getting it perfect. She really wanted to relax and enjoy the process of writing her story, and she did. She’s nearly finished her book.

Both are valid stories and serve different purposes for future readers. The first example will be an incredible source of information about generations of family history for a family. The second example offers an easy, fun read for her children and grandchildren about adventures the author had with her husband.

What kind of story are you writing? However you’re writing it, do me a favour and keep going. Why? Because your story matters. The value that these memoirs bring to families and communities, continues to amaze me.

Charlotte xPS if you’d like my detailed guidance to write your story, I’m in the process of turning my online course into a one year programme. This means students will receive lessons, with short videos, straight to their inbox for one year. You can still join monthly meets with other memoir writers, and I’ll throw in a free book cover, designed just for you. This will be my online course, and more.

Your words ❤️ – a snippet from Mike Brown’s memoir

In remembrance of my best mate. The funniest bloke I ever met. The best part was –  no one ever told him.

We put the pair to work splitting macrocarpa rounds stacked earlier by son, Mick. The PTO log splitter attached to the back of the Nuffield tractor was a beauty—quick and efficient. It required full attention. Everything ran smoothly – at first.

They were joking as they worked, their laughter ringing above the machinery. From the office, I heard Dave’s British voice spike an octave higher than usual. “It’s gawn, Brownie! It’s gawn!”

I knew it was him, from the accent. The silly sod had placed a finger on top of a round of wood—right in the splitter knife’s path. Son Chris, working on autopilot, sent the blade down without realising what had happened. Hey presto! Not much more to say, except I drove Dave to the hospital, still wearing the glove. His pinkie—and the glove’s finger—hung by a thread. The medical team removed the digit at the second knuckle.

I admit, I felt a tad squeamish. But Dave? He bounced back quick enough.

“That morphine ain’t arf gawd stuff, Brownie,” he grinned.

Then, ever practical, he handed me the now four-and-a-half-fingered glove. He figured, and rightly so, that I might dock the cost of a new one from his pay if he tossed it. I nailed it to the smoko room wall as a ‘hands on’, Health and Safety reminder for any future employees.