On the Unexpected Ways Memory Finds Us
Ideas for memoirists on how to retrieve (or work around) what's been forgotten
For a long time, I’ve had a fantasy about dreaming, that one day I’ll have a dream so meaningful and so profound that it will change my life forever. I have no idea where this comes from, and don’t worry, I’m not holding out for it. But it persists. I think it’s connected to the real notion I have that I’m underutilizing my dreamtime. I truly and deeply believe that our dream states can connect us to people we’ve lost; can transport us back in time; and have the potential to resurface lost memories. I’ve experienced moments like these in dreams on occasion, but 99 percent of my dreams involve revisiting something from the near-distant past, or are just plain weird, usually involving something that’s been plucked from my day—the news or something I’ve read—that gets played out on The Island of Gwark while I sleep.
The idea that I might use dreaming as a tool for my writing has been a persistent one for me, but also elusive. It’s been on my mind lately because I’m picking my memoir back up in earnest after a break in preparation for JanYourStory, a memoir-writing challenge I’m cohosting with Grant Faulkner through Memoir Nation. (Please join us to write every day in January!)
A couple weeks ago, I happened to catch an interview on Fresh Air with dream scientist Michelle Carr, author of Nightmare Obscura. I bought the book on the spot (the power of a good interview to push sales!). While the book touches upon nightmares, the part I found most interesting has to do with the connections between dreaming and memory.
Like a lot of people writing memoir, I’ve struggled with what I don’t remember. At times I’ve thought my recall of past events is for shit, and I can’t believe how much I can’t remember. Memoirists I work with tie themselves in knots over memory—and can find themselves in real writing paralysis as a result of memory gaps, not allowing themselves to fill in the blanks where it’s needed.
In the classes I teach, I always reiterate emotional truth over facts. This is essential to memoir writing, though it won’t necessarily allay the frustration you might experience over how much you seem to have forgotten. That said, emotional truth relies on honesty, not exactness. Emotional truth allows you to fill in those blanks with what would have happened based not on what you remember, but on what you know. What you know, for instance, is how your mother would have reacted to your dad not coming home one night, even if you don’t recall the exactness of the scene you’re writing in which that happened.
The most valuable part of Nightmare Obscura for writers may be a small section in which Carr writes about “memory pops.” Memory pops are memories that land in your head, suddenly and unbidden. Carr writes that “a simple sensation, or a thought, or a feeling triggers their burst into mind.”
I’d not previously had language for what these are, and I love it. The ubiquity of memory pops also reframed something important—which is that I don’t have to wait for inspiration to come through my dreams. Memory pops happen all the time, and we can pay better attention to them in our lucid, awake lives as a way to deepen memory and access meaning in our writing process.
A primary place where I experience memory pops is while reading. Two years ago, when I was in a writing regimen of 1000-1500 words a week on my memoir, I used other people’s memoirs as gateways to access my own emotional truth. I was on a tear. I read Maggie Smith, Carmen Maria Machado, Melissa Febos, Sue William Silverman, Kiese Laymon, Patti Smith, Kathryn Schulz, and many others. I didn’t realize I was hunting for memory pops at the time, but that’s exactly what was happening. Being with other writers’ words and experiences, and paying attention to how they articulated their own meaning, helped to contextualize my own experiences, and oftentimes prompted me to remember things I’d completely forgotten.
In the Disney movie, Inside Out, there’s a wonderful scene that shows how old memories get vacuumed up and sent to the dump. It’s worth watching this little clip for its accuracy (and also for the hilarious take on why we will never ever forget the commercial jingles of our youth). Nightmare Obscura confirms that this animated take on what’s happening inside our brains is scientifically accurate. Our memories do get erased while we sleep! We simply can’t hold everything in our heads, and some things have got to go. I find this information helpful. Maybe, like me, your memory of past events is not as strong as you wish, but that’s your sleeping mind is doing its job. And, we have plenty of ways to trigger memories, both intentional and accidental. The trick is to pay attention and have a mechanism to record things: a journal, your Notes app on your phone, or a recording app like Voice Memos. Some things may be lost for good, but memory is mysterious and surprising, and not static, and the more you engage with it, undoubtedly the more you’ll soar in your writing.
Want to write in community with other writers in January—with the goal of writing 500 words a day? Plus, we have writing inspiration, writing prompts, and write-ins for you all month. And it’s all free. Harnessing the spirit of National Novel (and Memoir) Writing Month, JanYourStory is a fun writing challenge for memoirists—though all writers are welcome. Comes see what it’s all about and challenge yourself to complete 15,000 words to kick off your writing year with conviction.
My second memoir, about the abuse in my small country school, was triggered by an event tied to a memory. It leapt out when I met a man I didn't know, but he had the same hands as the teacher in my school. At first I didn't realise it - I criticised this man over and over using scathing remarks and then realised what I was doing. But how do you tell someone he has the same hands as a pedophile? However, when I wrote the memoir, I used this incident as the first chapter of the book to show how trauma can hide in the brain and then leap out at you when you least expect it.
As I went through some old journals a couple months ago I found sections where I recounted dreams I'd had. It made me wish I had done that more often - connections between waking life and dreaming life I can see now that I don't think I made at the time. Maybe I'll keep a notebook on my nightstand again.