There was a time when readers avoided memoirs. There was no spark to the story; it was dry and uninspiring; it just told a story about a person’s life. With the increasing demands to entertain readers, to capture their attention from the first line, the demands of a good memoir, one that would speak to generations of people, showing a life, a real life, memoir writers started to weave a little creativity into their work. The bottom line? Memoirs need the basic elements of a good novel: a riveting hook and a plot that shows the person’s story, but does not tell it. The end result? A memoir that bordered on historical fiction and was dubbed creative nonfiction. Diana M. Raab has inspired a generation of memoirists, writers of creative nonfiction, weavers of stories garnered from their own experiences or those amongst their close friends and family. She attracted a large audience of dedicated readers, first with her novel/memoir, Regina’s Closet: Finding My Grandmother’s Secret Journal (Beaufort Books: 2007), and then with her personal story, Healing With Words: A Writer’s Cancer Journey (Loving Healing Press: 2010). I had the privilege of being introduced to this aspiring author when I was first asked to review two of her books. Her writing inspired my own search to share my family stories, just as I’m sure it has and continues to inspire other memoirists.

When I read Regina’s Closet, I was overwhelmed by the approach. Here was a real life story that was being shared as a story, complete with a plot, realistic characters, dialogue and a sense of belonging. Yes, belonging, for the reader felt as much a part of the story as the characters within the story. The memoir spoke of a closet, a curious space. A place for storing clothes, shoes and who knows what else, it quickly becomes a wonderful place to hide. One can curl up inside a closet and snuggle into the racks of clothes, often laced with perfume. A closet is also a place to keep precious documents. One can tuck away birth certificates, marriage certificates, all kinds of certificates that identify an individual into a shoebox and stuff it in a corner of a closet. Indeed, a closet is a treasure trove of secrets and souvenirs, a place where sacred memories can be tucked away for personal viewing only at a later date. It is, quite simply, a small, private space, much like the human mind. How does one equate it with this idea of a closet? Its confining space suggests a place for storage: cramped, cluttered, seldom explored. And yet, Diana found so much more in this closet, more than just the ghostly skeletons one might expect. The closet revealed a life, a tragic life, and from this revelation, the author wove “a compassionate story of self-discovery, personal reflection, and self-worth into a dramatic and compelling memoir.” (review written by the author of this article as it appeared online for allbooksreviewinternational)

The written word is eternal. At least we presume that it is, although in this high tech generation where young people rebel at the simple concept of reading, one might pause to wonder at the future of the written word. Diana’s writing provided me with purpose and direction. When I wrote my mother’s story, F-Stop: A Life in Pictures (Baico: 2011), I reflected on Diana’s approach with her memoirs. I constructed my memoir from the present, when my mother was fighting her own battle with cancer, a battle that she quickly lost. I wanted my story to show the reader the raw brutality of cancer, attacking a person without any concept as to who that person had been before. Just as Diana portrayed her grandmother with raw realism, the harsh realities of tragedies in life, sugared with compassion, I wanted my mother’s story to show the world that she lived well, and she overcame many obstacles, except, unfortunately, the last obstacle: cancer.

Life is not easy. Life is often unfair. Life is definitely hard work. And, in the end, we’re all basically survivors. We battle the storms that life presents us and overcome countless obstacles. Our stories are important because our lives are important. It’s not easy to write about ourselves, about our families. By writing our stories, we’re laying our lives bare for all to see, for all to comment and/or criticize. Some people may think we’re placing ourselves on pedestals, honoring ourselves as being better than others. But, in reality, we just want to share our stories so that others will realize that they’re not alone in their daily struggles in life.

My last two novels, To Be A Duke (CFA Publishing: 2014) and Gerlinda (2016), show an intense maturity in writing style which, once again, I can add my thanks to the writing of Diana M. Raab. To Be A Duke tells my dog’s story, with compassion and caring for all those pets in the world that suffer what Duke once suffered before he came to live with us. My purpose in writing Duke’s story? Primarily, I wanted people to consider their pets as family members, not just buy them from a breeder or adopt them from a shelter and then neglect or abuse them.

Similarly, with the growing concern of schoolyard bullying and childhood abuse, I wanted to tell a story of a generation that ignored such outbursts. I recalled a childhood friend who was abused and bullied and I wanted to fashion a story out my memories of her. Gerlinda is the brunt of bullying at school. This was the 1960s, a time when people looked the other way, a time when a young girl had to make her own way just to survive. And all she really wanted was to belong. What transpired was a very raw story, very realistic, of a victim, a child of another victim.

Although I have never met nor corresponded with Diana M. Raab, I am grateful for her published work. Through her writing, she has helped lead me along my path to share my stories, a list of which never seems to end. I sense, through her writing, a kindred spirit, one who cares about life’s stories enough to write them. Like Diana M. Raab, I hope that my stories do inspire others to write their own. That really should be the dominating reason for writing memoirs. Every life has a story and every story has a right to be told, a purpose for its telling. If we don’t write our stories, who will? And what happens to our stories if no one writes them? By writing them, as Diana so aptly puts, we make our stories immortal. We make our lives perpetuate for eternity.