Behind the cactus: 3 workshops that helped me write a memoir

One of the tricks of becoming a book author is learning what kind of help you need to pay for, and what you can master on your own.

Some of you know I’ve written a book. An entire freaking book! About 78,000 words, with a table of contents and everything.

At the moment, several literary agents are reading the manuscript. I’m excited, but of course it’s not a guarantee of anything. Even if one of them were to offer “representation,” there would still be the need to find a publisher and no doubt plenty of revisions, meaning it would will take years to get my work out in the world.

That said, who cares? That’s not the point! I wrote a book! And it was NOT EASY! I keep this pat-me-on-the-back sticky note on my desk to never lose sight of that:

What’s it about? Here’s the one-sentence elevator pitch:

HOW TO HEAL YOUR CACTUS
One woman’s quest to understand the impact of her mother’s complex mental illness on her own mental health leads to unexpected acceptance and compassion, with the resilient wildlife of South Texas serving as spirit guides.

So many workshops, so little time (and money)

It’s hard to overstate this: Writing a book required SHIT-TONS of hard work, time, cash, caffeine, and tears. When I started back in 2021, I didn’t know where it would take me. I certainly didn’t expect for it to be named a finalist in the Writers’ League of Texas manuscript contest. Instead, my only goal was to get my trauma out of my head and out on paper. With time—and so, so much effort—it came together into something coherent. Maybe even beautiful? And a little funny? Definitely tragicomic.

I don’t have an MFA. When I started writing, I had to educate myself via craft books, classes, workshops, seminars, websites, Facebook groups, and even YouTube videos. One of the biggest challenges in wading through this milieu—at least in terms of budgeting—was deciding what kind of help I needed to pay for, and what I could master on my own.

If I had taken writing classes willy-nilly, I’d have quickly gone broke. There are way too many “writing workshops” over bad Zoom connections and literary retreats in tempting exotic locations for any one working mother to utilize in a sensible way. The choices are, in a word, staggering. (This problem exists partly because few writers can make a living on writing alone — they become writing teachers instead.)

An abundance of choice is mostly a good thing. It is also occasionally a bad thing, as there is no Better Business Bureau or licensing board keeping tabs on writing teachers. As with so many things, it’s buyer beware.

With that in mind, I’m pulling back the cactus paddle to reveal my favorite writing classes/workshops/seminars. These three in particular left a positive lasting impression either on my writing or my soul. I plan to share other behind-the-cactus posts in the future, too (especially fave craft books and memoirs).

(This post is targeted at fellow writers BUT even if you’re not a writer, digging into memoir writing is VERY GOOD THERAPY. You don’t need to pay someone to teach you expressive writing, but sometimes taking a memoir class can do things like give you the tools and safety you need to tap into memories you’d rather avoid.)

1. Prose Memoir course — Austin Community College (various instructors)

I went to journalism school, where we’re taught to invert our pyramids and avoid our emotions. Tackling a memoir meant I needed assistance adapting to the first-person voice. This was a semester-long, fully virtual class open to both ACC students and continuing education folks like me. A bargain at $350. Weekly lessons included readings and assignments on the wide range of creative non-fiction out there, from flash essays to full books, as well as how to get published in literary journals.

Ursula Pike was my teacher, but the instructors change each semester. I cranked out lots of bad writing, but also crafted essays that were published in lit magazines, which was the validation I needed to make the mental transition from “content editor” to “creative writer.”

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2. One-day Writers’ League of Texas workshop: A Deep Dive into Dialogue by Stacey Swann

A slide from the workshop

Dialogue is a unique beast in narrative nonfiction. You’re recreating memories of past conversations, but which do you choose to share? And how much? Most importantly, how do you make conversations and monologues seem so natural and life-like that the reader forgets they’re reading the truth “told slant?”

In a day-long online workshop offered via Writers’ League of Texas (I can’t remember the cost but likely under $100), Swann taught both fiction and non-fiction writers how to use dialogue (and monologues), including not just the right mechanics but also the importance of intentionality—how dialogue is the lynchpin in storytelling and every single bit of it needs to move the story forward and/or reveal a character intent or trait.

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3. Saturday Craft Seminar with Melissa Febos

My dream seminar!

Yes, another WLT seminar! And only $25! This one was more like therapy and motivation to keep writing. If you have a favorite author out there, check to see if they do readings/events, or even better, seminars where they bust out some of their teaching techniques and sprinkle some of their magic dust on your soul.

I had read Melissa’s memoir, Whipsmart, long before I knew she was a literary rock star. It was her essay, “The Heart-Work: Writing About Trauma as a Subversive Act,” that turned me into a fangirl. Later reprinted as the first chapter in her craft book Body Work, it’s a call to arms for anyone hesitant to speak their truth in an often cruel (and patriarchal) world.

On her early hesitancy to write a memoir while earning an MFA, she recounts:

“Who was I, a twenty-six-year-old woman, a former junkie and sex worker, to presume that strangers should find my life interesting? I had already learned that there were few more damning presumptions than that of a young woman thinking her own story might be meaningful. Besides, I was writing a Very Important Novel. Just like Jonathan Franzen or Philip Roth or Hemingway, those men of renowned humility.”

These days, she’s not just overcome her hang-ups about memoir, she now teaches it as a professor at the University of Iowa’s program. On her transition from Great American Novelist to Great American Essayist (my title), she reflects that memoir is just as strenuous as other genres:

“Writing about your personal experiences is not easier than other kinds of writing. In order to write [her memoir], I had to invest the time and energy to conduct research and craft plot, scenes, description, dialogue, pacing—all the writer’s jobs, and I had to destroy my own self-image and face some unpalatable truths about my own accountability. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done. It made me a better person, and it made a better book.”

I couldn’t agree more. However, what resonated with me most wasn’t the defense of memoir as a literary art form. Instead, it was this one simple line:

I didn’t write a memoir to free myself, though in the process I did.