​Why should I be concerned with plot in my memoir? I’m just writing my experiences as they happened and when I’m done I’ll just type the end after the last period and then send off my query letters to agents.
 
Not so fast, dear writer.
 
Plot may be the most difficult aspect for a novice working on memoir. Part of this is because most people experience a tempting urge to throw the kitchen sink (and perhaps the entire kitchen) into their story. It can be difficult to tease out the plot, the important stuff, from the junk in the cabinet under the sink.
 
Other novice writers will hold back important stuff from the story. Often, it’s a case of what I call “vivid memory syndrome.” This is when a writer remembers a scene or time so vividly that he or she fails to let the reader in on the experience. The reader is not a mind reader. The more vividly you remember a scene, the more vividly it should appear on the page.
 
What do I mean by important stuff? Your memoir should contain scenes/stories and exposition that will serve to further your character’s desire, conflict, and resolution. In memoir, you are the main character. Today’s memoirs are often praised as “reading like fiction.” So, learning some of the tenets of fiction can’t hurt. Click READ MORE below for more on plot . . . 

​Plot is defined as a series of dramatic events (large or small dramas) that include obstacles for the character to surmount (or not surmount). There is a causal event, a catalyst, which creates the primary drama that necessitates the character to take action. By the end, the character changes (large or small change) as a result of dealing with those obstacles.
 
Trying to find your own plot in memoir can be complex because you are close to the story. It’s the old “can’t see the forest for the trees” dilemma. You also may not be able to see the elements of your story if the want/desire and conflict are subtle. In this case, you may just have to write an epic and then pare it down to its essence. Don’t be afraid to write material that you know might be cut. This material may lead you to unexpected places.
 
If you’re telling a very particular story of a “time something happened,” the plot will be obvious. For example, the time you were shipwrecked and lost at sea with a tiger in your lifeboat, or the time you were training to be in FBI and a psychopath with a taste for Chianti and human flesh would only talk to you about how to stop a serial killer.
 
Let’s look at a story we all know: There’s this young guy, Marty McFly. He’s a bit of a rebel, but basically a normal seventeen-year-old kid. OUR CHARCTER His mom drinks, his dad is a doormat, his siblings are losers, and a man who bullies his father has just wrecked his car, making this weekend’s trip the lake with his girlfriend impossible. CHARACTERIZATION To make matters worse, his girlfriend has just told him that she loves him, which means he might just score at the lake—but not if he can’t get there. MINOR COMPLICATION/SUBPLOT, DESIRE Marty is friends with an eccentric scientist, Doc Brown, who has invented a time machine made from a DeLorian. He asks Marty to videotape the time machine’s first trial run, which goes well. Libyan terrorists show up and kill Doc Brown. Marty, in an effort to save escape the gunfire, jumps into the time machine ACTION and accidentally finds himself in 1955, where he runs into his parents and interrupts their first meeting. In a creepy turn of events, his teenaged mother falls in love with him instead of his father. As a result, Marty and his siblings will never be born unless he can make his mom fall in love with his dad instead. CONFLICT/CATALYST Marty schemes to make this happen. ACTION The only thing standing in his way is a bully named Biff, the same man that bullies his dad in the present and is aggressively after his mom in 1955. OBSTACLE. As a result of his schemes and his conquering of the bully, his mom and dad do fall in love and he is again destined to be born. He finds the 1955 version of Doc Brown and they both figure out how to send him back to the future. When he returns, his family is successful and he has a new truck. He can now go to the lake with his girlfriend. RESOLUTION What has he learned? That the future isn’t written in stone, that every decision creates a ripple effect. He also learns to stand up for himself—he could have been a future doormat like his dad, and now he won’t. He should have learned not to trust Doc Brown, but then we’d have no sequels.
 
If Marty were writing this memoir, this is how he’d write it. These plot points are obvious. If your story has obvious drama and obstacles like this one (sans the time machine), then your task will just be how to tell it in the most interesting way. 

​But what if your desire and conflicts are simpler or subtler? Ask yourself these questions:
 
1. Can I reduce my story to an elevator pitch? If you can’t, your story might be too broad. An elevator pitch is a reduction of your story into a sentence or two that you can tell someone in the time it takes to ride an elevator. Let’s say, 20 to 30 seconds or less. Here are some that you may recognize:

• An American teenager goes back in time thirty years and interrupts the moment where his parents meet, putting his future in danger.

• A group of seven disparate people embark on a three-hour sightseeing boat tour, encounter rough weather, and spend the next three years fabricating ways to leave the deserted island where they find themselves castaways.

• A young girl is swept away to a strange land where she makes odd friends, enrages a spiteful witch, and searches for a wizard who will send her back home. Here’s a funny one I found on the Internet for the same story: “Transported to a surreal landscape, a young girl kills the first woman she meets, then teams up with three complete strangers to kill again.”

• A financially bereft and earnest high school science teacher discovers that he has lung cancer, cooks crystal meth to pay his medical bills and provide for his family, and becomes a wanted drug kingpin.

• After a virus causes a zombie Apocalypse, a group of people must find a way to survive in an increasingly hostile landscape.

• A mad ship captain puts his men in peril on a vindictive hunt for the white whale that caused the loss of his hand.

• A precocious six-year-old girl living in a small town learns about racism by watching her lawyer father represent a man accused of rape.

• A great white shark terrorizes a small summer beach town, prompting the chief of police to take matters into his own hands.

• A docile and intuitive alien botanist becomes stranded on earth and befriends a young brother and sister who help him phone home.

 
2. What does my character want in this book/story? Remember, the character is you. If you can’t identify a clear desire, then you haven’t found your story yet.
 
3. What’s the story’s catalyst? What makes the character (you) take action? There should be one (perhaps more) very clear circumstances that force the character to act. Typically, these circumstances come from the outside, but inner conflicts make good stories too.
 
4. What action does the character take to meet his/her goals or ameliorate something that has gone wrong? Passive characters are not interesting. You should choose a story from your life where you did something as a result of something else that happened.
 
5. What does your character learn from his/her actions? In fiction, you may not be able to answer this if you’re writing a long piece. But in memoir, the story has already happened and you are past it. What did you learn from the experience you are writing about? If you learned two-dozen lessons, your story might be too big. Pare it down.
 
6. Am I starting my story in the right place? In a story with a lot of obvious drama, the story should start pretty close to the inciting incident, the catalyst. But what if your story is subtly dramatic? In that case, it may start in the middle of the action. If you start too far back, you chance boring the reader. 

Remember, all of these "rules" can be broken if you can pull it off.

Pacing is defined as the flow of your story. I want to use a river metaphor here, but I won't. You get the drift (insert rim shot and cymbal here).

Unless you're writing in the style of a Russian novel where you feel compelled to show the reader every footfall on every mossy stair leading to the palace (and I recommend that you don't), then you need to pick and choose what parts of the action to show and what to leave to the reader's imagination. Choose what's most important and leave out the rest. 

Don't write what you an infer. But don't rush, either. Discovering this balance in your writing takes practice.

Write what's important to furthering the plot or character development. Ask yourself: How does what I'm writing now matter to the discovery of new information about my story and characters? 

Here's a selection from Hemingway's brilliant memoir, A Moveable Feast. Hemingway proves here that you don't have to show each character's mundane actions or flesh out scenes that may be salacious. Rather, with a little craft, you can skip to the aim of the scene and/or leave out a scene altogether for a different kind of impact. Read it first without my notes, and then see my notes below. 
​(Click on Read More below)

"Finally when we were eating the cherry tart and had a last carafe of wine he said, 'You know I never slept with anyone except Zelda.'

'No, I didn't.'

'I thought I'd told you.'

'No.  You told me a lot of things but not that.'

'That is what I want to ask you about.'

'Good.  Go on.'

'Zelda said that the way I was built I could never make any woman happy and that was what upset her originally.  She said it was a matter of measurements.  I have never felt the same since she said that and I have to know truly.'

'Come out to the office,' I said.

'Where is the office?'

'Le water," I said.

We came back into the room and sat down at the table.

'You're perfectly fine,' I said.  'You are O.K.  There's nothing wrong with you.  You look at yourself from above and you look foreshortened.  Go over to the Louvre and look at the people in the statues and then go home and look at yourself in the mirror in profile.'

'Those statues may not be accurate.'

'They are pretty good.  Most people would settle for them.'

'But why would she say it?'

'To put you out of business.  That's the oldest way in the world of putting people out of business.  Scott, you asked me to tell you the truth and I can tell you a lot more but this is the absolute truth and all you need.'

'You could have gone to a doctor.'

'I didn't want to.  I wanted you to tell me truly.'

'Now do you believe me?'

'I don't know,' he said.

'Come on over to the Louvre,' I said.  'It's just down the street and across the river.'

We went over to the Louvre and he looked at the statues but still he was doubtful about himself.
'It is not basically a question of the size in repose,' I said.  'It is the size that it becomes.  It is also a question of angle.'

I explained to him about using a pillow and a few other things that might be useful for him to know.

'There is one girl,' he said, 'who has been very nice to me.  But after what Zelda said--'

'Forget what Zelda said,' I told him.  'Zelda is crazy.  There's nothing wrong with you.  Just have confidence and do what the girl wants.  Zelda just wants to destroy you.'

'You don't know anything about Zelda.'

'All right,' I said.  'Let it go at that.  But you came to lunch to ask me a question and I've tried to give you an honest answer.'

But he was still doubtful.

'Should we go and see some pictures?' I asked.  'Have you ever seen anything in here except the Mona Lisa?'
​
'I'm not in the mood for looking at pictures,' he said.  'I promised to meet some people at the Ritz bar.'"

THE VERSION WITH MY NOTES: 

 "Finally when we were eating the cherry tart and had a last carafe of wine he said, 'You know I never slept with anyone except Zelda.'

'No, I didn't.'

'I thought I'd told you.'

'No.  You told me a lot of things but not that.'

'That is what I want to ask you about.'

'Good.  Go on.'

'Zelda said that the way I was built I could never make any woman happy and that was what upset her originally.  She said it was a matter of measurements.  I have never felt the same since she said that and I have to know truly.'

'Come out to the office,' I said.

'Where is the office?'

'Le water," I said. MEANING THE MEN'S ROOM

HERE A NOVICE WRITER MIGHT INSERT WALKING TO THE RESTROOM,  MUNDANE ACTION. 

We came back into the room and sat down at the table.

IT WOULD BE TEMPTING HERE TO SHOW THE SCENE OF ONE MAN PULLING DOWN HIS PANTS, AND THE SUBSEQUENT EVALUATION. THIS IS AN IMPORTANT SCENE, BUT IT IS MADE MORE IMPACTFUL BY LEAVING IT TO THE READER'S IMAGINATION.

​HEMINGWAY ALSO SKIPS SHOWING US THE TWO MEN RETURNING TO THE TABLE. 

'You're perfectly fine,' I said.  'You are O.K.  There's nothing wrong with you.  You look at yourself from above and you look foreshortened.  Go over to the Louvre and look at the people in the statues and then go home and look at yourself in the mirror in profile.'

'Those statues may not be accurate.'

'They are pretty good.  Most people would settle for them.'

'But why would she say it?'

'To put you out of business.  That's the oldest way in the world of putting people out of business.  Scott, you asked me to tell you the truth and I can tell you a lot more but this is the absolute truth and all you need.' 

'You could have gone to a doctor.'

'I didn't want to.  I wanted you to tell me truly.'

'Now do you believe me?'

'I don't know,' he said.

'Come on over to the Louvre,' I said.  'It's just down the street and across the river.'

HERE THEY LEAVE THE BAR FOR THE LOUVRE. WE DON'T SEE THEIR JOURNEY, BECAUSE THAT WOULD INTERRUPT THE FLOW OF THE SCENE AND IT'S NOT THE POINT.

We went over to the Louvre and he looked at the statues but still he was doubtful about himself.

'It is not basically a question of the size in repose,' I said.  'It is the size that it becomes.  It is also a question of angle.'

I explained to him about using a pillow and a few other things that might be useful for him to know.
​
'There is one girl,' he said, 'who has been very nice to me.  But after what Zelda said--'

'Forget what Zelda said,' I told him.  'Zelda is crazy.  There's nothing wrong with you.  Just have confidence and do what the girl wants.  Zelda just wants to destroy you.'

'You don't know anything about Zelda.'

'All right,' I said.  'Let it go at that.  But you came to lunch to ask me a question and I've tried to give you an honest answer.'

But he was still doubtful.

'Should we go and see some pictures?' I asked.  'Have you ever seen anything in here except the Mona Lisa?'
​
'I'm not in the mood for looking at pictures,' he said.  'I promised to meet some people at the Ritz bar.'"
​

It might seem like a good idea to keep your prose clipping along with action after action, but like a person, your prose must breathe to live. Give the reader moments of suspense followed by moments to relax.

Too much "slow" can bore a reader. Too much "fast" and the story will lack tension because the entire thing is tension. 

To accelerate a scene (pick up the pace, move faster) try the following: 

1. Use dialogue, but cut any "warm up" dialogue. Your characters generally don't have to greet each other and make small talk. Remember, this is craft on a page, not real life, even if you're writing memoir. 

2. Avoid long description in dialogue. Your characters shouldn't be "talking heads." They need to "do things" while they talk, but excessive description inside of a dialogue section kills the action. 

​3. Scenes in which there tends to be a lot of action -- fight scenes, sex scenes, car chases, etc. -- don't require literal, elaborate, and particularized descriptions. Try to condense the action. For example, in a "sex scene," it may be enough to have one paragraph describing walking into the bedroom and the next paragraph describing the next morning's breakfast. 

4. Use sensory details. When the reader can see, feel, hear, taste, and touch along with the character, the prose seems to move faster. 

5. Shorten sentences. Now is not the time to channel your inner Poust. Shorter paragraphs will quicken a scene as well. 

6. Internal dialogue should be constrained. Save most of it for the before/after a fast paced scene. 

​7. Eliminate flashbacks. They slow down the narrative. 

8. Limit exposition. Save the explaining bits for a slower spot. 

 To slow down your prose's pace between moments of action and tension, try the following: 

​1. Describe setting and character details. Character history will also slow down a scene. 

2. Longer sentences and paragraphs will slow your prose.

​3.  Scenes depicting romance, familial tenderness, and other emotional moments should be slow. Don't rush these scenes. 

4. Scenes just before and after the sex scene, fight scene, or the car chase are typically slower. We need to know the impetus of the scene and we need to see and feel the aftermath. 

​5. Use internal dialogue. What the character (you, in a memoir) thinks will slow the pace. 

​6. Use flashbacks -- but sparingly. 

​7. Expository writing (explaining) will slow down a scene. 

The story, Bullet in the Brain, by Tobias Wolff is a great example of how to use pacing masterfully. The story is fast paced up front when it's written in scene and dialogue, but then slows into pages of lyrical prose that last less than a second in "real time." 

Part of pacing is choosing the right story to tell. If your story has a lot of moving parts (many characters, settings, dramatic scenes, lengthy time span, etc.), you will want to slow down give each element its due. If you rush, the reader will feel that something is missing. 

If your story takes place in a short amount of time, has few characters, and is about one dramatic moment (maybe two), you can quicken the pace. No need for lengthy flashbacks and a lot of exposition. Just tell the story in scene, simply, and make the dramatic tension the star of the story.