by Priya Murmu
My earliest memory of boarding school is stepping into the cavernous dormitory hall as a five-year-old, accompanied by a caretaker whom the children respectfully called aayaji. I was greeted by the matron who ushered me to my bed, which was fifth in a row of endless cots, while the 1973 Bollywood hit Anamika played on the CRT TV in the corner. The title track of the movie suddenly started playing, and I remembered the matron frequently beckoning a second-grader named Anamika. I was utterly confused at the coincidence of the man on TV singing Anamika’s name repeatedly in a chorus.
I don’t recall crying for my parents that night, but I vividly remember being thrilled to meet the girl in the next bed. She showed me her three Kelly dolls, slipped a pair of tiny doll shoes onto her fingers, and started the finger walk that had us both bursting into laughter. Later, though, the night took an eerie turn. My new friend and I, along with a bunch of other first-graders, were made to stand on the chilly stairway as punishment for being too chatty. The matron, cold and ruthless, told us that a vicious bilauta roamed the corridors and bit children. She locked the sliding grille door behind us. Back then, with my limited Hindi vocabulary, I didn’t know that bilauta simply referred to a male cat. In my five-year-old mind, I envisioned a wild beast lurking in the dark. We all broke into tears, pleading with the matron to let us back in. I have no memory of how long we stood on that stairway before we were finally allowed to return to our beds. The wait felt like an eternity.
These boarding school years have profoundly influenced my personality, self-awareness, fears, coping mechanisms, and love for stories born of memories and lived experiences.
The power of memory in writing
Memories are like photographs, and they vary in clarity. Some are clear, while some, blurry – but all come together to form the larger narrative of life. Memory-driven writings can evoke deep emotions and offer reflections and insights. My recollection of the first night in the boarding school dormitory – being awestruck at the coincidence of the name Anamika, exchanging giggles with a new friend, and being frightened by the prospect of a bilauta biting me – captures emotions of confusion, joy, and fear that are universal experiences. Personal narratives like these in the form of memoirs or essays resonate with readers because of their realness, sensory details, and heartfelt sentiments.
An editor’s guide to refining memory-driven stories
Writers often submit drafts of their memory-based pieces to editors in raw and subjective forms. These drafts might also include overly emotional language, non-linear timelines, and cultural nuances that can be challenging to shape. A writer may suddenly shift from a childhood memory to an adulthood experience in the middle of a paragraph. In some instances, they may also use excessive adjectives in the narrative, which can give rise to confusion. Editors can help writers transform their memories and lived experiences into clear, coherent, and emotionally resonant stories. Here are some strategies that I’ve found valuable while editing narratives written from memories:
Maintain the writing style and voice. A writer’s personal experiences, emotions, and cultural influences have a big impact on their writing style and expression. Including small details like a CRT TV, Kelly dolls, and the Bollywood classic Anamika in my story is a way to highlight the cultural and generational markers of my childhood. A major aspect of my lived experience will be omitted if these details are edited out from the narrative. Editors can preserve the writer’s authentic voice by identifying and retaining distinctive elements such as local phrases and cultural references. It’s their responsibility to avoid unnecessary corrections in the narrative and ensure that the revisions are consistent with the writer’s tone and style.
Find meaning in fragmented memories. Memories are often disjointed and unravel in an unpredictable, zigzag fashion. They travel through different moments, moods, and emotions. Likewise, personal stories written from memory don’t follow a linear timeline. They contain random recollections, conflicted emotions, and abrupt resolutions. My dormitory memory moves in flashes, hopping between people – the caretaker, the matron, and my new friend. Editors help piece together random memories into a story that flows, while staying true to the writer’s voice and feelings. They help clarify confusing emotions, incorporate seamless transitions, and use relatable themes (such as belonging, faith, or self-discovery) for linking scenes without the need to follow a chronological sequence.
Bring emotions to life. Memory-driven stories are powerful. They’re packed with real emotions – joy, heartbreak, hope, or that bittersweet nostalgia that grabs readers. But sometimes, the emotions get muddy or way too intense, and the story loses its punch. It’s tricky to keep that raw truth shining without overdoing it. The story’s emotional resonance can be increased by replacing vague or exaggerated emotions with clear, vivid descriptions, while maintaining the writer’s unique voice. Simplifying sentences and choosing the right words can really amplify the emotion in a scene. In my story, by adding details like, “We bubbled with laughter, lost in our own world, too caught up to notice when the lights dimmed, the movie ended, or the TV turned off,” I was able to capture that carefree joy – something personal, but also familiar to anyone who’s ever felt that moment of pure happiness.
Verify facts, with respect for the story. It’s not uncommon for stories rooted in memory to reflect subjective views that might not always line up with facts. In my story, I’m sure that the song titled Anamika was playing on TV, but what if my five-year-old brain got the movie’s release year wrong? When it comes to non-fiction, it’s important to check facts, but just as important, to do it in a way that doesn’t make the writer feel their lived experience is being dismissed. A gentle query or a quiet cross-check with a reliable source – like an old newspaper listing or a library archive – can go a long way. A good editor fact-checks information with sensitivity, while preserving the writer’s emotional perspective.
Edit with everyone in mind. When writers write from memory, it’s natural for them to include things from their culture or upbringing that might require additional clarification for readers. My reference to a Bollywood movie in my story may puzzle some readers, and “Kelly doll” might not be universally known. An editor can open up the narrative to readers by providing enough context for unfamiliar cultural or regional references. It’s always a good idea to retain original terms instead of changing or removing these details. For example, a quick explanation like “aayaji, our beloved caretaker,” can keep the cultural richness of my story intact while making it clearer to everyone.
Refine, but preserve rawness. Stories built from memory can be incredibly moving, but they’re not always tidy. Thoughts can spill out in fragments, the sentences might wander off, and the transitions might often feel a bit jumbled. That’s part of their charm – but also where an editor comes in. Instead of fine-tuning everything, keep the raw, emotional essence of the story intact so that the story still makes sense. In my early draft, I had notes like “Anamika song. Matron’s voice. Confusion.” – a string of impressions trying to capture the confusion of being five years old. With careful editing, that same moment can take clearer shape while keeping the original feeling: “The Anamika song played on TV; the matron called out for Anamika, and I couldn’t understand why.”
The writer-editor dynamics
Editing memory-based stories is really about partnership between a writer and an editor. It’s built on trust and mutual respect. Good editors refine a story while making sure it still sounds and feels like the writer who lived it. Sometimes, it’s as simple as asking the right question. In my story, an editor query such as “What did the matron’s voice sound like?” can encourage me as a writer to add sensory details to enrich the narrative, and I might be inspired to write, “Her voice was raspy and commanding, the kind that could silence a room in an instant.” That’s the kind of support that keeps the writer’s voice intact. When editors offer thoughtful suggestions instead of rigid changes, they give writers the space to open up and tell their stories with honesty and heart.
The editor’s finishing touch
Editing someone’s memory-based narrative is like restoring an old photo wherein the editor brings out the faces and details more clearly but does not scrub away the wear and tear that gives the story its character. These raw, emotional stories come pouring out in bits and pieces, and editors help turn them into something that truly speaks to readers. It’s not just about commas; it’s guiding writers to keep their voice, sort their tangled thoughts, and make emotions pop without losing that realness. I’ve learned to ask gentle questions like “What did that moment feel like?” to dig deeper, and I’m always careful when approaching topics like grief or identity. Trust is the key. It takes both heart and skill to help stories come alive. Ever brought a memory piece to life with just the right edit? Let’s hear your magic touch. The stories we work on carry real human truth.
Priya Murmu is a writer and an editor with a master’s degree in creative writing from Loughborough University, England. With more than seven years of experience in the e-learning and education sectors across India and the UK, she is dedicated to simplifying intricate concepts and making content more accessible. Now based in Fredericton, New Brunswick, Priya is an avid storyteller, passionate about writing fiction, poetry, and personal reflections that capture the essence of modern life. She can be found on Medium and LinkedIn.
This article was copy edited by Ambrose Li, a freelance copy editor based in Toronto.
BoldFace 