Where Does Writing About Writing Belong?
by Brooke Warner
One of the many hats I wear is that of memoir assessor. I read a lot of drafts of manuscripts to give writers feedback about what’s working and not working, to support them on their journeys toward having what we call in the industry a “publish-ready work.”
One thing I observe over and over (and over) again is writers writing about writing their memoirs in their memoirs. If that reads a little dizzying to you, it’s by design. Writing about your own memoir in your memoir is, for the most part, too meta.
Do some writers get away with this? Of course. Maggie Smith writes about her own book in You Can Make This Place Beautiful. Dani Shapiro writes about the writing experience in Inheritance, but she’s a memoir teacher, and she turns it outward, relating to the reader rather that telling us about her own journey or process of writing Inheritance:
“I tell my students, who are concerned with the question of betrayal, that when it comes to memoir, there is no such thing as absolute truth—only the truth that is singularly their own. I say this not to release them from responsibility but to illuminate the subjectivity of our inner lives. One person's experience is not another's.”
To draw bigger conclusions about the subjects central to your own book is appropriate. But oftentimes writers of memoir, those who are in early stages, write about writing because it’s the writing that is preoccupying them. I see writers circling the challenges of the book they’re currently writing rather than entering into the story itself—be it a story of addiction, or a mother-daughter narrative, or coming-of-age.
It's not uncommon for me to see writers starting their books with the story of writing the book—a preview or an introduction of sorts that tells the reader about the journey of writing. Sometimes I’ll see this at the very end, like an afterword that is really for the writer who’s wanting to put a cap on her lived experience of writing her memoir. Sometimes this can read like a bit of a victory lap—I made it to the end!—but the reader, having finished the book, doesn’t really need to celebrate with the author about the victory of having finished the book they’ve just read.
I almost always recommend to novice writers that they remove writing about writing from their work, unless the book happens to be a memoir about writing a memoir (something I haven’t seen to date, gratefully). Your process is undoubtedly a big deal to you, and there is a place for that kind of writing. It’s called social media.
On social media (and this extends to Substack), you can build interest from readers by sharing about your writing journey. I’ve done it myself. As you hit various publishing milestones—contract signed, cover reveal, first designed pages in hand, unboxing advance reader copies—you can and should blast those to your friends and followers.
But inside your book, keep it on topic. Readers pick up books because of their subject matter. I buy a book because of what it’s about, or because it’s getting rave reviews. The moment a writer starts in about their “process,” I start to feel that they’re infringing. I didn’t buy the book to hear about their process. Process is important, and once you’re a published author, it will probably be among the most commonly asked interview questions you receive. But do save it for that.
I wrote in an earlier newsletter about aboutness, and its importance as a guiding principle and north star for any given memoir. It helps to have a gauge of sorts, to be able to ask yourself: Does this story or scene fit into the book I’m writing? If the answer is no, the story or scene doesn’t belong. So back to my point. Unless you’re writing a memoir about writing your memoir, writing about your book in your book most likely doesn’t belong.
Killing your darlings is one of the known hazards of being and becoming a writer, but the great news in this case, if you have to cut any stories or asides about your writing, is that they have a place in your feeds.
