Your Memories Are Their Gift
I help you share memories with your loved ones.
Some of my favorite memories involve sitting with my grandma while she told stories of her early life in North Dakota, of her Scottish heritage, of teaching in a small town, of raising my father. Her memories tied me tighter to her and gave me a glimpse into the many years she lived before I was even a thought.
As a writer and lover of history, I continue to cherish life stories. We can learn so much from the past—and people’s memories link us there. For years I had the privilege of telling people’s faith stories in a church magazine I edited. And now— in between editing academic papers and resumes—I remain passionate about telling people’s life stories so that they can share them with their children and grandchildren.
How it works.
As your writer, editor, and designer, I:
Create a unique set of questions to ask the featured memoirist
Sit down for a one-hour interview with him/her
Record our conversation and then transcribe it
Using his/her words, write and edit their memories into a clear, compelling narrative
Design a text-only book or text-and-photo book in a special design software
Make sure the final product is exactly what the client wants and do a final, thorough edit
Have your story professionally printed and bound
You can order as many copies as you would like to share with your family and friends (books can run from $3/book all the way up to $30+/book). This is a wonderful gift for birthdays and holidays!
Example of a Mini Memoir
Excerpt from “It was a good life”:
I can remember Grandpa driving us places. He had a little Ford car, not very big. A big shift on the floor. He’d be easily distracted, looking at crops—ope, we’d go down into the ditch. Ope, we’d come out of the ditch, back onto the road. He’d say, “Don’t tell Grandma.” We’d laugh. We’d always ask, “Can we go in the ditch today, Grandpa?” He was funny that way. My grandma couldn’t drive. When my mom drove us someplace, Grandma would tell her, “You don’t have to stop at that stop sign.” My mom would say, “Well, why not?” “Carl said you don’t have to stop at that one.” And Grandma believed him.