I'm working with a new writing client helping her finish her memoir.  

Memoir is deeply meaningful to me, as it was the first genre that captured my own writer's heart. I was a senior in high school when I feverishly scrawled a story about my uncle's death and shared it with my family declaring myself a "writer." And in the 25 years since, I've penned blog post after blog post in that same earnest spirit of truth-telling and sharing.

So I was reading my client's draft this week, and I found myself embroiled in the details of her story, nodding along, gasping at times. She was building to this particularly big moment in her life when suddenly the story shifted forward a few years without warning.