The Key to Great Memories

December 21, 2025

As I was thinking through past Christmases, I wondered, what makes a great memory? And, as a corollary, what makes a memory fun to share, both for the teller and for the listener?

The memories I relive are the ones with strong emotional resonance, whether positive or negative. I can remember every detail of the day Mark proposed vividly. I remember that pandemic Christmas I referred to in an earlier blog just as vividly in part because it unfolded in such an unexpectedly magical way. The flip is also true—I inadvertently relive not-so-great memories, for the same reason— they come with strong emotions. Generally, though, those aren’t the memories I want to remember or to relay to someone else.

Then the question becomes, how do I convey emotions that are so vivid for me so they are just as vivid for the listener or reader? That ability, I think, is the nub of good memoir. I have to communicate in such a way that the reader or listener feels the emotions too. Otherwise the story will fall flat.

It will definitely fall flat if I tell the reader or listener what to feel, ie, “It was a great afternoon.” Not only does that sentence tell the reader what I want them to believe about the afternoon, but it doesn’t give the reader any evidence to decide for themselves whether they think it was a great afternoon. Writing or telling in that way doesn’t respect my reader or listener as a thinking individual.

So, it boils down to the age-old advice for writers, “Show don’t tell.” Don’t tell me it was a great holiday; give me the details of the day so I can make my own assessment of your day.

“Despite the snow falling thickly outside, the family room, with the Christmas tree, fire, and sparkling garland, was ablaze with light when we crept downstairs Christmas morning. Our stockings no longer hung on the mantle but bulged so heavily that Santa had lined them up on the sofa for extra support. ‘Look,’ my little brother whispered from the doorway where we stood, ‘that game you wanted, I think that’s poking out of the top of yours.’ So taken by the wonder of the room, I hadn’t yet looked at my stocking. Now I did. Jimmy was right! I was pretty sure Santa had brought me Autopilot! With that, we all dove onto the sofa, and shrieks of joy rang through the riot of wrapping paper that rained down.”

The paragraph above doesn’t tell you how to feel about my day, but the details allow you to make your own decision about my holiday. Doing it this was runs the risk, I suppose, that the reader might read that and think it doesn’t sound like fun at all. But it’s not as though me labelling it is going to convince you of its greatness either. If, however, you read the paragraph above and think that holiday sounds magical, since you’ve owned the decision, you’re more likely to 1. Believe it, and 2. Possibly remember it.

I realized that the emotions attached to the memory are what make the story relatable. To convey it so that someone else might also experience the memory with me, I don’t want to label the emotion. I want to construct the scene so it creates the emotion in the reader. Labeling is almost a cheat—for the author because they don’t explore what led to that emotion, and for the reader because the label means they don’t feel the emotion themselves. Emotional resonance is the key to great memories!