The Bravery of Memoir

I’ve ghostwritten or edited more than a dozen memoirs. No two are alike: Different lives, different voices, wildly different stories. But every one had this in common: bravery. Not the chest-thumping kind. But the quieter, harder kind. The kind where they look at their life, sort through the mess and meaning, and said: Here. This is what I’ve lived. This is what I’ve learned.

Among the memoirs I’ve worked on are those of a U.S. presidential candidate, a military spook, and a presidential aide. Currently, I’m helping a spiritual healer and mystic. In each one, I've helped them to reach deep into their lives and pull out the granular details that bring their lives alive.

Remember, a memoir isn’t just about you. It’s also about the reader. By the time the reader turns the last page, you want them to feel something has shifted—for them, not just for you. One of the most effective ways to achieve this is by drawing them into your world with vivid, resonant details that spark recognition, emotion, and insight.

In American Reboot, published in 2022, presidential candidate Will Hurd—then Texas A&M’s student president—describes rushing to the scene of the 1999 Texas Aggie Bonfire collapse. The 59-foot pyre had suddenly caved in on dozens of students. Twelve people were killed. Twenty-seven people were injured.

It was an incredibly painful memory for Will, but as we worked through it together, his once-fragmented recollections came into focus: The lights that rescuers set up to shine down on the wreckage that cast a misty sheen. The silence that settled over the site when rescuers needed to use sensitive equipment to listen for survivors under the tons of logs. Will also recalled cranes moving logs off the stacks one at time, and having to calm desperate students trying to rescue buddies.

From that experience, Will said, he learned how to stay calm under pressure—along with the empathy and compassion that would serve him well later, both as a CIA undercover officer and as a member of Congress facing tragedy in his district.

“Sometimes just being there and hugging someone is all you can do when words won’t work,” he writes. “And sometimes it’s sufficient just to say ‘I don’t know,’ when there are no answers.”

Of course, not all details like Will’s experience with the Aggie Bonfire tragedy come back to everyone with such clarity—and that’s okay. No one remembers every element of their life.

That’s where a collaborator comes in: asking the right questions, reviewing journals, emails, other writings, even news accounts. I’ve also often interviewed dozens of people close to my subject, gathering their memories and insights to help piece together the moments that matter most.