In this candid interview, JJ Lee guides us through the tricky waters of memoir editing. From the mentoring skills needed to do the job to identifying an author’s narrative springboard, JJ’s insights can help enhance any editor’s toolkit.

WCE

Let us start. How do you approach storytelling and personal narratives in your work? And what drew you to the nonfiction genre?

JJ Lee

Oh, that’s a three-part question. What drew me to nonfiction is my background. When I was approached to start writing, I was already a radio journalist and had started participating in semi-experimental programs like Outfront at the CBC, where they were bringing in first-time broadcasters to do small 15-minute documentaries. I challenged a former Globetrotter, Mel Davis, to one-on-one basketball, then I did a documentary called “Typewriter Guy” and another one, “Sing Like Marvin.” That began my role of jumping in and doing things. 

Later on, I was kind of a reporter without assignment. They would send me out into the world to just get myself into trouble and report from wherever I got myself in trouble. Then I did a couple of documentaries and began to bring social history and ideas to the table for my storytelling. I aired “The Measure of a Man,” a radio documentary on my life as an apprentice tailor. Because of that, McClellan and Stewart approached me to write a book based on the documentary, and that led me onto the road of nonfiction. I have a natural journalistic edge, even when it comes to my own private life, and that has governed my choice of genre to this day. I apply a journalistic lens upon my work and encourage my students to do so, too. 

Since my memoir has come out, I’ve been thinking about the genre, what it could mean, and its implications. In a way, I’m not a great student of the form, which is a little bit funny. I very much enjoy technical or political thrillers and more pulpy genres of writing. I like crime novels, horror, and fantasy quite a bit. I’m not sure if I have a natural affinity but I do have an ability, if that makes any sense.

WCE

Yes, it does, and you’re the first sort of professor that I would hear admitting that they like pulp fiction. Everybody just naturally gravitates toward literary fiction.

JJ Lee

That’s why they call me a mentor and not a professor—I’m not tenured anywhere. Mentoring is different. We’re in a very special program at The Writer’s Studio at SFU, where we cultivate speculative fiction writers and people who want to write. I think ours was one of the earlier ones in Canada—UBC also has people teaching science fiction, horror, and more. People have been writing horror and coming-of-age crime novels in my class and have gone on to write really wonderful works of fiction. When you’re sourcing your own life, or portions of it, and then directing it to more genre-type fiction,  interesting things can happen, especially in horror and crime. There’s a natural fit.

WCE

My next question is really piggybacking off what we just talked about. How does your experience as an educator influence your writing and your mentoring?

JJ Lee

I learned so much from teaching, from my students, what their needs are, and what they are able to achieve. Some of them are brilliant and many have taught me to appreciate more lyrical writing styles. Originally, I stuck to the style that I was comfortable with, and I taught that style. I knew it was a reliable one for people because it was nearly bland, right? It was nearly generic. But then I encountered Heart Berries by Terese Marie Mailhot. It’s a wonderful memoir by the Sq’éwqel (Seabird Island Band) author. Very beautiful. It had a much more lyrical literary essay style to it. I use that as a model for students who lean more in that direction, so I’ve opened my mind.

I’ve also seen the level of trust between my students and me. Given time and space to let people express themselves, they will trust you with their really personal, precious stories. It doesn’t take much because we want to share. It makes me understand why people do read memoirs in the first place; it’s very reassuring. All we need to do is allow that trust to develop to make something quite beautiful happen between the writer and the reader.

WCE

Let’s move now toward editing. A significant portion of an editor’s job is to give feedback and communicate. How would you advise editors to approach memoirs and working with essayists?

JJ Lee

I’m going to focus on the memoirist because I think essayists are different cats, really. The memoir cat is a person that might be barking up the wrong tree. I think the first job is to detect whether the memoirist knows what they’re writing about, what they’re actually expressing on the page. It has to be early in the stage of the manuscript, maybe at the end of the first draft. The reader knows, but does the writer know?

To broach that subject, it is really important that memoirists understand the subtext and the context in which the reader perceives the writing to occur. If the editor finds out that the level of self-awareness or insight that the memoirist has doesn’t allow for them to even see what a sensitive reader, any reader, would notice, then that’s a red flag. There has to be a process to get control of the voice so that those components of the writer aren’t being exposed unwittingly or so that the writer evolves to accept that there is a subtext, context, or even a backstory or unbidden theme of the work that needs be addressed now or in subsequent edits. The important thing is to make sure that the memoirist knows what they want to write. The reader knows what they want to read, and the publisher knows what they want to publish. Do they even overlap? 

To help, say, “Look, this is what the industry expects. This is what you’re delivering. How can we bring them closer together?” On a really fundamental conceptual level, what are the storylines that we’re telling? How are we going to interleave these storylines? Just because you were born in 1969 doesn’t mean you start writing about events from the year 1975 onward in your memoir since that’s your first memory, right? That’s not really what the reader wants to know. They want to know what the story is, how you’ve assembled the events in your mind, what informs your understanding of the past. Those conceptual things have to really happen at a fundamental level, or the ship is going the wrong way and any edit you’re doing is literally on a story that’s going the wrong way. That’s the problem. Making sure that the memoir as a whole is actually going in a direction that will be fruitful for the writer is such a big and demanding task. It takes a lot of coaching and a lot of negotiation with the writer to see if they’re willing to go there or not.

WCE

Let’s talk a little bit more about that. In my experience as an editor, the problem usually is that the writer wants to say something that people don’t want to read. The writer is saying, “Well, this is my truth. This is how I want to tell it and I don’t really care what the industry wants.” How do you deal with that?

JJ Lee

There are two solutions to that; I feel quite strongly about this. 

One is, not all memoirs need to be published. There’s a long history of memoirs that exist outside of publishing, right? And it’s not the same as fan fiction or manuscripts that have been tossed into the bottom of a drawer for a novel. I’m talking about memoirs that are written for families. They’re primary or secondary historical documents, when you really think of it. Memoirs can also go into an archive and provide materials for researchers—there are many unpublished biographies that have helped authors of military history, let’s say, fill in the pieces of the puzzle for a battle. That’s one extremely valuable role that the unpublished memoir can play in our culture and our history. Memoir is a very special genre that has meaning above and beyond publishing. In these cases, I have a duty to help memoirists organize their thoughts, their feelings, so that at least the work is rational. Now, if someone wants to publish, then they do have to acquiesce to the idea of a readership or at least approach a readership. Then, there are known skills that do that. 

Second is, I think that there are people who want editors but don’t need them. There’s always the option to say, “No, I don’t do that kind of editing,” especially if you find it boring or frustrating. I don’t see the point of just doing it for a paycheque because it is really hard, working with a memoirist.  It’s emotionally demanding and it’s a complex relationship that’s developed as a net result. If they want to be published and they give off a professional vibe, I think that’s cool. And if they don’t, I actually think that’s cool, too. But the editor needs to let go of that idea and not start a project that will continually create friction with their client. 

WCE

The reason I asked that question is because a lot of the people who will be reading this are freelance editors. And sometimes as a freelance editor, especially given the economy that we are living in right now, you don’t really get to choose because you need to pay your bills. 

JJ Lee

Well, it’s a logic problem at that point. You have a client who’s written something and is unwilling to address the material in such a way that would make it easier to find a publisher. That’s fine. You give them the best manuscript possible within the parameters that they’ve given you. You just don’t get to have every book that you touch get published. But here’s the funny thing: Are you the editor that edits memoirs that never get published? That could hurt your practice and what you’re trying to communicate about what you could possibly do for a client, given the chance. That’s a dilemma. Are we talking about memoir whispering now? Are we trying to move someone closer? I think you can. The problem is that a lot of editors don’t know how to make a memoir work in the first place. 

Lots of people can edit a memoir. The English is good, the grammar is good, there’s a narrative arc, but the concept is still way off base. That whole idea of understanding the expertise of the memoirist is part of the editor’s job, to help the client see what makes them special. You can use that as a springboard to reach all the other parts that you want. I wrote about suits, but really what I wrote about is how men dress. I used suits as my springboard even though I don’t wear a suit every day. I used to, though. That is an example of homing in on what makes someone special and what they love. 

That is the other hard thing to do: Coach the memoirists to identify the stake in their memoirs. Why does the story need to be told for them? What will be lost if they do not tell this story? What is the cost? To be honest, I think that’s a poor excuse for writing a memoir to just be overly didactic or think that people need to know a story. People don’t need to know. I’m just being practical. I don’t mean to denigrate the efforts of any memoirist, but if people needed to know, they would know. It’s not because they’re dumb or lazy readers. They don’t need to know unless you make a rhetorical case for why you need to tell us your story. The more they’re aware of that, the more rich and more beautiful their memoirs could be. That’s a much more rewarding project than assessing whether or not a memoir can get published.

WCE

So, what I’m hearing from what we have said so far is that the editor almost has to take a mentoring position.

JJ Lee

Well, I’m a natural mentor, right? I’m not an editor. I feel that if you’re just going to talk about it like it’s writing, you’re not going to get very far. Most of the flaws of a memoir are actually in concept. That’s  fundamental. Most memoirists can write or write at a level that could be quite interesting if they knew what they were actually writing about. Sometimes, it’s like you could be writing a really interesting memoir, but you’re not. Why is that? Because you picked the wrong subject. The area of focus could just be shifted, like millimetres over, and everything would be changed. It’s a different book. And that shift is so important. Otherwise, you’re just pushing words around. Who cares what tense it’s in in the end, or if it’s colloquial, or if it’s high literature, really? 

There are some other pitfalls, like trauma-ridden memoirs. The weight of the trauma outweighs all other things in the story, and it’s too heavy a load for a reader. That kind of judicious moderating and focus is such a big duty. So, yeah, it’s more coaching. 

WCE

Based on what we’ve been talking about, what advice would you give those who want to make editing memoirs their niche?

JJ Lee

Get in early. What I mean by that is, try to cultivate clients who want you to work with them before they’ve written more than two or three chapters. You don’t want a finished memoir. No one ever says, “Have you finished a memoir and need an editor?” That’s the wrong thing to say.

WCE

It’s interesting that you say that because the work usually comes to the editor’s table when it’s done.

JJ Lee

I know, and it’s nearly too late. It’s baked in. Instead of shoving it around, you should say, “Look, my initial service is conceptual.” The manuscript evaluation is principled upon concept development. You can outline a really clear process. The service I provide when I do this kind of work is I look at 12 to 20 pages. I don’t want to look at the whole memoir because I know the problem. If you don’t get it in 12 to 20 pages, you’re never going to get it. You can help them work on those first pages. It’s like you’re helping them point the cannon in the right direction so that when the writer gets fired out of the cannon, there’s actually a net on the other end instead of a bunch of thorn bushes.

WCE

What I’m hearing is the positioning of oneself, right? If someone wanted to edit memoirs, they would indicate on their website that they would like to work with memoirists early in the process?

JJ Lee

Just express the conceptual development and question the client. What is the goal of your memoir? What’s the mission statement? What are you after? I will help you develop the memoir question through an interview process. Together, we’ll develop the back-jacket copy that acts as a mission statement for the work. Then, if you can fulfill the promise of this thing, I’ll be happy to look at the full manuscript.

WCE

So that positioning is very important.

JJ Lee

I think it’s fun. I also think I do frustrate some memoirists who have a full manuscript ready to go. When I’m picking apart the conceptual direction of it, it annoys them. I get that. It’s nearly like what your job is; you have to mitigate the fatal flaw of the work. And sometimes it’s about adding, not taking away. The way editors can solve that is by asking clients the right questions. 

I did an edit recently where I just asked the person questions in an email. They wrote back, and then I plopped the answers into the manuscript. It changed the essay in a really profound way. That’s another way to proceed, not to be manuscript-focused, but rather think about how, in your collaboration with the client, you can create a solution to the problem. That’s the CBC way to do it. We used to interview people all the time for storytelling shows like Richardson’s Roundup  or Definitely Not the Opera. They would tell their story, and then we would ask them questions. They would answer the questions, and then we would weave that into the story. That’s what you hear on “This American Life.” It’s not that they’re great essayists figuring shit out and just saying it on the radio. It’s because there are producers carefully asking questions that generate a good story. I think that style of getting people’s personal stories out is great. 

WCE

I think this is good advice, even for other kinds of work, so I’m going to take it and use it in my own editing.

JJ Lee

It’s exciting when you push a writer and they verbally explain what they’re trying to do. You go, “Why didn’t you just put that in the book?” And they go, “Oh, yeah, that’s a good point.” That’s what I’m talking about. Sometimes writers say things and it’s just so beautiful and so clear. Why is that not in the book? So, ask them, “Why are you being so elusive? Why are you swerving from the real? When you talk to me, you’re not trying to prove that you’re a smart writer. You’re just telling me your story, and I’m moved by it.” And that’s all you’re asking your client, to be human with their text. You can encourage that by moving the text out of the way and allowing it to be a human-to-human communication. Then it comes out in real life, and that’s how we want to feel when we read a memoir.

WCE

Okay, so we have less than five minutes on the clock. Tell me two top memoirs that interest you.

JJ Lee

Now-ish? Okay. Well, Nishga still floors me. The work by Jordan Abel is not the way I write, but the space that’s involved, the use of a lot of it, is poetry, or uses the form of poetry and imagery. It’s probably going to create a whole new genre of memoir writing. Not quite scrapbook—of course, it’s more than a scrapbook. It’s not a poetry book with pictures, either; it’s this other order of writing. It’s amazing. That idea of gathering and bringing together artifacts and notes to oneself is really rich. That’s a primo kind of  memoir that’s out there that can be really inspiring, but I want to push people to old-school stuff. 

I’m never, ever going to let go of Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain as a great example. In that book, you’ll find out where your swagger is. If you really want to be all that, don’t play it safe. Be the person you’re supposed to be, the one that’s different. Be iconoclastic, stir the pot, be audacious. Everyone’s looking for the next dangerous cat on the block. Bourdain was like a fuel for me when I wrote The Measure of a Man. I said, I’m going to try to be as badass as I can be when I write it. I’m going to talk about things no one talks about. 

I’m going to add a third book. I know that it’s always the same, but I’m just going to say it: Julie Powell, Julie and Julia. That movie and that book really meant everything to me because they helped me understand what it means to go on a journey of an activity. She was going through the cookbook; I was altering my father’s last suit. This set of simple acts of love or reassurance that we seek in our activities was a template. And so, Jordan Abel, Anthony Bourdain, and Julie Powell, for sure. 

WCE

Thanks, JJ. I’m so grateful for your time.

JJ Lee

Oh, no problem. I hope that was useful.

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About JJ Lee

JJ Lee (he/him) is a memoir writer and essayist. His book The Measure of Man: the Story of a Father, a Son, and a Suit was a Governor General’s, Hubert Davis BC Book Prize, Charles Taylor, and Hilary Weston Writers’ Trust finalist for nonfiction. He teaches the nonfiction workshop at The Writer’s Studio (Simon Fraser University) and teaches writing at The Shadbolt Centre for the Arts. His essays and features have appeared in ELLE Canada, ELLE Man, Fashion, Flare, Montecristo, and Nuvo magazines. His latest work, Better Next Year: An Anthology of Christmas Epiphanies, is out now.

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Interview by Lola Opatayo; Stylistic and copy editing by Myriam Beaugé; Proofreading by Dana Sorensen

Myriam Beaugé is founder and principal of SWYM Communications. She specializes in stakeholder engagement, content development, and strategic communication focused on environmental, social, and corporate governance (ESG). An experienced writer and editor, Myriam holds an MA in Intercultural and International Communication from Royal Roads University. Connect with her via LinkedIn and at SWYMcommunications.com.

Dana Sorensen is an equity trader, editor, and writer. She holds a BA in Economics from the University of Calgary and certificates in Professional Editing and Writing and Editing for Business from Mount Royal University. She is a student affiliate member of Editors Canada and a member of ACES.

Lola Opatayo is a creative writer, communications professional, and editor. Her creative work has been featured in Obsidian, The Best Small Fictions 2020, Isele, and elsewhere. Lola is the founder of WordCaps, where she empowers small businesses and writers with writing strategies and resources.