Martin Cavannagh of Reedsy has sent me a link to a thorough and crystal clear post on writing memoirs.
What he had in mind is probably not this.
The Day the Dog Ate Popcorn
excerpt by Marian Allen
Now, we raised the chickens in a cloistered henhouse, but a day came when we remitted their vows, and they roamed free.
As the day passed, Lizzie studied the chickens, and apparently concluded that these were creatures she could do business with. She shook herself, as a man might roll up his sleeves, and moseyed toward the hens.
“Lizzie’s going after the chickens,” Ruthie warned me.
“She’s not going fast enough to be after the chickens.”
Lizzie began to pick up speed.
“There she goes!” Beth shouted.
Ruthie snatched up a switch: long, slim, whippy, and more suited to elevating impressionable young minds than to driving off determined carnivores.
The terrier struck. Popcorn, surprised by a rear attack, tore herself from Lizzie’s jaws.
I was raised in the inner city; I wasn’t accustomed to the random violence of the barnyard. I screamed. Little Meg, in my arms, tried to climb my head for a better view.
“Charlie! Lizzie’s killing the chickens!”
Popcorn streaked around the edge of the cleared land. Lizzie was right after her, her mouth foaming with feathers. Ruthie began to gain ground.
Lizzie caught Popcorn and Ruthie caught Lizzie. Ruthie thrashed at the terrier while Popcorn flopped, like a boxer saved by the bell.
Charlie pelted around the corner of the house, brandishing his weed-cutter.
The new cry rose: “Daddy’s going to kill Lizzie!”
Charlie dropped his tool and went at the dog hands-on.
Lizzie bit him.
“You bit me, you dog!”
Lizzie knew when to fish and when to cut bait. Now she ran, dribbling feathers and a drop or two of the Master’s blood.
A WRITING PROMPT BASED ON MY POST: Try your hand at writing memoir.