How to Start a Memoir (Even if It’s Just a Page)

Starting a memoir can feel like standing at the edge of the ocean. You’re holding a pen (or staring at a blinking cursor), knowing that once you step in, the water might pull you deeper than you expect.

For many memoir writers — especially those telling personal or traumatic stories — that first page is daunting. Not because you don’t know what happened, but because writing it down makes it real in a way your mind has kept at arm’s length. It turns memories into something tangible, and that can stir emotions you thought you’d packed away.

But here’s the truth: you don’t have to write your whole story today. You don’t even have to start “at the beginning.” You just have to start.

Give Yourself Permission to Begin Messy

Perfection is the enemy of beginnings. Many would-be memoirists stall because they think they have to craft the “perfect” first sentence or open at the “right” chronological point. Truth is, the first words you write may not even make it into the final manuscript.

The real starting point is that one memory you can’t shake. It might be something monumental — the day you left home, the night a loved one died. Or it could be deceptively ordinary — a childhood meal in your Nan’s kitchen, the sound of rain on a tin roof during an Australian summer.

Write the scene that won’t leave you alone. You can figure out later where it belongs.

Think in Snapshots, Not Chapters

A memoir isn’t built in sweeping “whole life” chapters from the outset. It’s made of moments, stitched together over time. If you sit down with the goal of “writing a book,” you’ll likely freeze. But if you commit to capturing just one moment today, the pressure lifts.

A scene can be 150 words. It can be the way the air felt in the courtroom. The smell of mangoes at the Brisbane markets. The quiet of the Redcliffe hospital corridor at 3am.

You don’t have to connect the dots right now — your future self will do that.

Anchor the Reader — and Yourself — in the Senses

Memoir is memory, but memory isn’t just facts. It’s the texture of the experience. Sensory detail helps you hold the moment steady, even when it’s emotionally heavy.

If you’re writing about growing up in Far North Queensland, tell us about the oppressive wet-season heat, the cicadas’ chorus, the stickiness of the lino on your legs. If you’re in a hospice room, show us the smell of antiseptic, the beep of a monitor, the scratch of the wool blanket.

This doesn’t just paint a vivid picture for the reader — it grounds you as you write, making overwhelming memories more navigable.

Honour Your Emotional Energy

If your memoir involves trauma, you’re not just writing — you’re processing. That’s not something you can (or should) do in a single sitting.

Set a timer. Limit deep writing sessions to what you can recover from. Have a ritual for closing your writing space — even if it’s just saving your file, closing the laptop, and stepping outside for a breath of fresh air.

Balance heavy scenes with restorative activities. Go for a walk. Call a friend who makes you laugh. Plant something in the garden.

And if you hit a wall, don’t push through blindly. This is the moment to visit Zahra Bloom’s Digging Deep blog on Scribbly. Zahra specialises in helping writers navigate emotional landmines while still telling their truth — without burning themselves out.

Ignore the “Rules” (for Now)

Should you write in first person? Past tense? Chronological order? Honestly, it doesn’t matter at the start. The only “rule” is to get the memory down in whatever form it flows.

Later, when you’ve got something on the page, you can work with an editor to restructure it for impact, shift the point of view if needed and/or refine the tone so it’s consistent.

But none of that matters if you never get the raw material out of your head and into words.

Accept That Others Will See It Differently

Your memories are your own. Others may have different versions of events — or want to deny them altogether. That’s okay. You’re not writing their memoir; you’re writing yours.

If you stick to your truth, avoid unnecessary harm, and back up key facts when possible, you can tell your story with integrity and confidence.

Make Peace with the Small Start

It’s tempting to think that if you’re not sitting down for three hours a day, you’re not “really” writing a memoir. That’s nonsense. A memoir can start with a single paragraph written on the back of a shopping list, or a voice memo recorded on your phone while waiting in the car.

Every memoir — even the bestselling ones — began with a single page. Yours will too.

Final Encouragement

If you’re sitting there with a story inside you but feeling paralysed by its weight, take the pressure off. You don’t have to pour the whole ocean onto the page at once.

Start with a teacup. A teaspoon. A single drop. The act of beginning — no matter how small — is the bravest thing you’ll do for your book.

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☕ If this post helped you take that first brave step, you can shout me a coffee at buymeacoffee.com/scribblyteam. It keeps the words flowing and the encouragement strong.