I remember a freshman philosophy class in which we studied the classic Indian parable of six blind men conceptualizing an elephant by touching its individual parts. The smooth spear-like tusk. The floppy warmth of an ear. The bristly swatting tail. When the men described their experiences, each believed he knew the whole truth about the elephant, although their accounts were based on limited perspective. The parable’s function was to call attention to our common lack of objectivity and invite consideration of expanded ideas and universality.
My most important writing tip stems from this allegory: we need to approach personal narrative with objectivity and balance, which then yields empathy and wisdom. Personal stories suffer when they are too limited or biased in emotional perspective.
Writers, particularly those of us who write creative nonfiction or memoir, tend to focus on the story through a single lens: our own. After all, it is our life and our truth, and as the protagonist, we’re allowed to choose how we view our own experience. But critics of this genre suggest that personal essayists are “navel gazers,” too self-absorbed, too personally focused. Memoir calls for introspection and a bit of navel gazing in order to gain insight.
However, new writers, or those new to the genre, need reminders and instruction in finding the universal theme in their stories, the idea that extends beyond their own individual experience and unites personal narrative to the broader human experience. I teach my adult writers to look at their own particular stories within the context of universal themes such as love, grief, loss, healing, or change. How do we write a personal narrative that will cause others to nod in understanding? That’s when they’ve found the heart of their story.
This is especially important advice that I’ve learned as both a writer and a teacher. Personal narratives often attempt to explore or resolve difficulties that arise from close relationships: parents, spouses, children. Rarely do people write about their doting mothers, idyllic childhoods, or happy marriages. But if we write through personal issues without having a sense of the universal theme, we are in danger of becoming too myopic, touching only one part of the elephant. Even a narcissistic mother or an alcoholic husband cannot be written as thoroughly cold or evil in contrast to the flawless protagonist; the reader will not tolerate such narrative bias.
I encourage writers of personal story, in fact of all story, to find nuance in their characters. The writer of personal narrative may be the protagonist but must have empathy and emotional perspective to reveal a story that is more than a tusk or an ear. One of my students struggled for weeks with a particularly wrenching childhood story of abandonment. She arrived at class one day explaining how she finally understood the horrible choice her grandparent was forced to make and finally wrote her way to forgiveness. While we may not have experienced her abandonment, we all understood what it meant to forgive. That’s the power of the universal theme. That’s the whole elephant.
Diane Forman is a writer and educator who has published in Boston Globe Connections, Intima: a Journal of Narrative Medicine, WBUR Cognoscenti, and elsewhere. Diane lives and writes on the north shore of Boston, where she also leads adult writing groups.