Don’t let the music die inside you

Even if you have resolved to exercise, unplug, eat healthier, broaden your horizons, wag more and bark less, consider adding another noble goal to your list of resolutions.

Write your memoirs.

Do what?

Allow me to issue a challenge for the new year.

Tell your story.

Twenty-five years ago, I sat across the kitchen table and invited my parents to write about their lives.

“Where do we start?’’ my father asked.

“How about at the beginning?’’ I said.

I promised if they would agree to be the authors, I would serve as their writing coach, editor, publisher. 

My mom and dad had no aspirations to make The New York Times bestseller list or be indexed in the card catalog at the library.

Making this happen was a priority for me after my grandmother died the year before. Although she had lived a wonderful life in the company of Southern storytellers, none of those front-porch memories were put down on paper.

 Sadly, when she left us, many of those stories went with her. I harbored a sense of emptiness and regret. Family members could recall the rough outlines of events. Over time, though, the details fell into the margins and pages of unwritten history slipped away.

 My parents began their writing project in the summer of 2000. Together, we developed a disciplined schedule. Six months and multiple revisions later, we went to press and printed 37 copies. It was the greatest Christmas gift their children and grandchildren received.

My father died six years later. My mother died this past November. My family has been blessed to have a permanent account of their lives … in their own words.

It’s never too late. I once interviewed a woman from Perry who finished her autobiography when she was 87. Margery Zerko, who was 97 when she died in 2014, was a Methodist missionary, a French teacher and a second lieutenant in the Women’s Corps during World War II.

 She called her 313-page book, “My Hopscotch Life.’’ I asked her what had inspired an octogenarian to tell her life story.

“Because,” she said, “nobody should die with music inside them.”

In 2003, I was asked by Wesleyan College to develop a four-week course designed to instruct and encourage folks to write their memoirs. It was offered through extended learning programs at area colleges, as well as enrichment programs at retirement communities and churches. I branched out to teach it at libraries, garden clubs and community clubs – whenever and wherever I was asked.

It was gratifying to take on the duties of part teacher, part cheerleader.

I am fully aware it can be an intimidating assignment, a daunting task.  I would try to assure those who were interested that no writing skills were necessary. I was not there to critique their writing prowess or grade their homework assignments. 

It was as simple as sharing their stories in their own voices, their own styles. “Write like you talk” … good advice from Mark Twain. Write it chronologically. Or scattershoot those stories and slices of life. You are the boss. You hold the pen.

More than 100 of my “students” went on to publish their books. For others, it’s still an ongoing work in progress.

 I preached that it is never too early – or late – to start the project. I once had a 20-year-old college student take the class when it was offered at a church in Warner Robins. A 102-year-old woman attended a class I taught at an assisted living facility in Macon.

I strived to make it informative and entertaining – filled with memory triggers, organizing tips and publishing advice. For our final class, we would have a “tea party” where everyone was invited to bring nostalgic food and tell the story behind it.

After making these classes available for 12 years, I soon had to limit the number of times I offered it. I became a member of the faculty at a local private school, and my schedule did not permit it.  I stopped teaching it altogether after the COVID year in 2020. 

I would still get asked about it. And I missed it. Since I left the academic world and returned to newspaper work this past June, I have been able to regain control of my schedule.

So I am happy to announce I will be offering my “Writing Your Autobiography” classes in Macon on Wednesday afternoons during the months of February, March and April. Space will be limited. Details and registration information are available at “True Gris: Storytelling from the Heart of Georgia” (edgrisamore.substack.com) A self-guided course will be made available online.

I’ve been working on my memoirs since 2019, with a commitment to finish by the end of this year. I am calling it “Gris I Know.” I have enjoyed drawing from the repository of personal experiences – from the pets I have loved to the people I have admired to the cars I have owned and the places I have traveled.

Sure, I still wrestle with what to include and what to keep out of the diary. I have no desire for my life to be an open book. I assure myself the statute of limitations has expired on all those wild oats from my college days, not to mention all the other crazy things I’ve done and decisions I’ve made. 

Just remember. It’s a story … not a confessional.

In my journalism career, I have conducted thousands of interviews. My subjects often question whether their stories are worthy. Of course they are. 

Everyone has a story. If you choose not to share it with your loved ones, at least do it for yourself. Move over and make room for some “me”  time. 

It’s a wonderful opportunity to reflect, reminisce and honor those who have made the journey with you.