Part I: Embellishing Nonfiction with Technique




Alice Waters



 We can't think narrowly. We have to think in the biggest way possible.  

                                        

                                                                                                           

Never refrigerate papayas.

                                                                                                              Alice Waters
  

In recent posts I've attempted to figure out why some writers have a hard time sticking to the truth in narrative nonfiction writing--travel, food, and memoir essays in this case. So I've put together some ideas based on my analyses of published memoir and of my own composing process.

Here are four ways to enliven nonfiction writing while keeping it true to actual life experience:

• Write exactly what happened, as close as possible to your best, thoughtful memory.
• The truth is often more interesting, shocking, and vibrant than what you can make up. I couldn't have made this up: The other day my cousin told me that her father announced her birth to his in-laws in the 1950s by saying, "The baby is a woman!" Funny, frightening and completely weird.
• Stimulate your memory. 
• Study childhood photos, maps of your hometown, or the location of your travel essay; web-search the 1970s in Morocco when you backpacked there from Spain, for example.  Talk to pertinent people involved--your siblings, parents, travel companions for their perspectives and memories. The same way knowledge builds on knowledge, memory builds on memory. Recollecting in a calm state, aided by such research, can bring forth more than you thought you knew.

• Re-create dialogue.
• Few can remember word for word conversations from the past--except all those admonitions our parents seemed to repeat hourly. But we can remember the tone and inflections of critical dialogue; we can remember the vocabulary different people use, and we can recreate dialogue that is faithful to the emotional truth of the memory.
• Conflate events and scenes. 
• Instead of listing every visit you made to Alice Waters' bungalow in Berkeley, you might conflate three visits into one. Writers do this for concision and impact. Unless the story depends on the three visits, at three distinct times, conflating them retains an emotional truth in the narrative. (This humorous food essay inspired the topic for my example. I have no idea how many visits Daniel Duane actually made to Alice Waters' home.)



Next week: Part II: Embellishing Nonfiction with Technique