A memoir differs from an autobiography in that it is theme-oriented and draws upon only certain events in your life to serve that theme.

Memoirs that don’t work shy away from facing the depths of pain. Sugarcoat your life and you’ll omit those universally applicable truths that can make even the stories of unknown people resonate with the masses.

For the memoir of an unknown writer to become a breakout success for a publisher, readers must be able to see themselves in the stories.

So unless you’re a household name everyone is interested in merely because you’re famous, you must be willing to mine the depths of your experience.

Does that mean telling the truth about abuse, betrayal, sin, regret, shame—the ugliness of real life?

Yes!

If that’s too much to ask of yourself, and you still want to be an author, choose another genre.

Am I suggesting you turn your memoir into a novel?

I’m not. The reason? Because you will be tempted to almost tell it as it actually happened, and the strangeness of real life rarely seems plausible enough to work as fiction.

Readers will say, “That’s unrealistic! That would never happen!”

You would want to insist, “But it did happen! This is my story!”

And they would wonder why you didn’t just write it as a memoir.

So if you’re brave enough to expose your own weaknesses, foibles, embarrassments, and yes, failures to the world, what about those of your friends, enemies, loved ones, teachers, bosses, and co-workers?

If you tell the truth, are you allowed to throw them under the bus?

In some cases, yes.

But should you?

No.

Even if they gave you permission in writing, what’s the upside?

Usually a person painted in a negative light—even if the story is true—would not sign a release allowing you to expose them publicly.

But even if they did, would it be the right, ethical, kind thing to do?

All I can tell you is that I wouldn’t do it. And I wouldn’t want it done to me.

If the Golden Rule alone isn’t reason enough not to do it, the risk of being sued certainly ought to be.

On the one hand I’m telling you your memoir is worthless without the grit, and on the other I’m telling you not to expose the evildoers.

Stalemate? No.

Here’s the solution:

Changing names to protect the guilty is not enough. Too many people in your family and social orbit will know the person, making your writing legally actionable.

So change more than the name. Change the location. Change the year. Change their gender. You could even change the offense.

If your own father verbally abused you so painfully when you were thirteen that you still suffer from the memory decades later, attribute it to a teacher and have it happen at an entirely different age.

Is that lying in a nonfiction book? Not if you include a disclaimer upfront that stipulates: “Some names and details have been changed to protect identities.”

So, no, don’t throw anyone under the bus. But don’t stop that bus!

Tell me below how you will camouflage someone’s identity in print to protect their reputation.

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