Writing my life

I was with a dear friend this afternoon, and once again our conversation turned to our life stories, and how to write them. I’m a writer and I find the idea challenging (as I’ve mentioned so often before) but my friend’s life is so fascinating, and the stories she has are so interesting – and quite often very funny, that I’ve often said to her that she should write her autobiography. As a non-writer she finds the idea even more challenging than I do but as we were talking she said a couple of things which I quickly jotted down because they sounded the perfect beginning – either the beginning of the memoir, or the beginning of the process!

It struck me that writing one’s life – which is linear, needn’t be told in a linear fashion – the stories, the memories, the adventures can come in any order just as they might in a conversation. They might become grouped – for example ‘weird things which have happened to me’, ‘my family and other people’, ‘adventures and near misses’, places‘ – those sort of areas of life.  Or they might be completely random as conversations between old friends are, the narrative weaving in and out of other episodes, digressions, rambles with the way out signalled by “now what was I talking about? Where was I? Would you like another cup of tea/glass of wine?”

I was born and brought up in my Cambridge, and my dad’s family were a Cambridge family going back for generations, so many of his stories and mine were rooted in an area and a place which has a history distinct from the University which is what most people think of when I tell them where I come from.  Many people think ‘Cambridge? Must be posh!’ but in fact my family and history is far from that – ag-labs, railway workers and kitchen maids. My mum’s family has a different background, one part from Littlehampton, the other side from London and Tasmania. My friend, was born and brought up on the other side of the country, and her life experiences were very different from mine in many ways.

Once I left home I was a student and then worked in a variety of different situations in the big bustling city of Manchester, so different from either Cambridge or the west country where my family had relocated. The different jobs I had, the different places I lived (some very squalid!) the things I enjoyed doing – pubs and discos for example, and the holidays abroad – camping in France, staying in a small rural village in Singapore, visiting a friend on the west coast of the USA  – all are fodder for autobiographical writing.

Maybe when my friend settles to writing her life, I should support her by writing mine too!

My featured image is from a holiday in France, many, many years ago as you can tell from the blurry photo!