Before a memoir takes shape on the page, it begins in the quiet moments between interviewer and author. With nothing more than a notebook, a recorder, and a willingness to listen, the interviewer’s job is to step quietly into the life of someone who might never before have shared their story. They prompt and guide memories, draw out detail, offer reassurance, and create space for reflection, laughter, and—sometimes—tears. What unfolds from that simple beginning is a unique partnership built on trust, curiosity, and the gentle art of drawing a life into words.
For readers who might not know the process, Alicia Denny—a veteran of several LifeBook projects—lifts the curtain on the ebb and flow of an interviewer’s day, illustrating how exchanges of trust and conversation slowly bring a narrative to life.
Starting the day: preparing for a new story
Standing on a stranger’s doorstep, knowing that you’re about to play a big part in their life over the next six months, might sound daunting but, in my experience, it is exciting, fascinating, and a real pleasure.
Until that front door opens, all I know about the person who’s about to trust me with their memories comes from a phone call or an email from their LifeBook Memoirs project manager. I’ll have a short biography of the author, together with any salient points about their background and their reasons for wanting to commit their life story to print.
To reach this point, I will have contacted the author and made arrangements for our first face-to-face meeting—time, date, and place. An introductory phone call is better than an email when it comes to making these arrangements. Some authors have practical questions, such as how long interviews last, but once we’ve allayed any concerns and compared calendars, we set a date.
Almost all of my authors have lived within half an hour’s drive of my home. Before setting off for that first doorstep meeting, I find the address on Google Maps and work out a route—better not be late for the first visit.
If my author happens to have been in public life, I will look online for a profile to give me a few clues for conversation. I always hope that my interviews will feel more like a conversation between two people with a shared interest in establishing facts and hearing opinions than a one-way Q&A.
On the road, and at the threshold
As I drive to the author’s home, I try to picture the person I’m about to meet—someone who may want to explain how they became successful in business or how they coped with illness and other problems. But as soon as I see them, I just want to smile, be natural, connect, and hear whatever they want to tell me.
Before I set off, I check that my LifeBook Memoirs bag contains my personal identity tag, logbook, and pens and—most importantly—that the handheld recorder is working and I have spare batteries. Only once have I had a heart-sinking moment when an author was in full flow with a detailed reminiscence and I realized the recorder’s battery power was fading. Fortunately, that situation was a one-off, and I had my spares with me.
Opening the conversation
A person’s home surroundings give you plenty of clues for how to start a conversation: “What a lovely view from your window,” “Who is in this photo?” “I’m fine with dogs, but it might be better if we can sit somewhere quiet so the recording isn’t interrupted.”
With a new project and a blank interview log, some of that first interview is spent collecting general information: noting down the author’s full name and date of birth and starting a basic family tree. With the growing popularity of genealogy, researching ancestors has fueled some people’s interest not just in their own generation but in others further back in the past.
I have been offered family trees that go back hundreds of years, detailed and ready to be included as an illustration in the finished book. Other authors offer only the barest of details about their parents and don’t wish to say more.
Finding the motive
A question I ask early in the interview process, and sometimes return to, is to seek the author’s motive for wanting to have an autobiography or memoir. Usually, the answer relates to legacy of some sort: personal, professional, or both. This information can be used as a preface or introduction to the manuscript or be added later.
Two of the women I’ve worked with were widowed at a young age and wanted to ensure their children knew about their father and the early family life of which they had little or no memory. Even fifty years after the death of a beloved husband, there may be tears at such a recollection. As an empathetic stranger listening to the details of that loss, all you can do is sit quietly and express sympathy until the author is ready to go on.
Building trust while shaping the story
This can be a sensitive area. Illegitimacy, criminality, adoption, and stepfamilies discovered by chance are all possible. Treading warily around failed relationships is part of being considerate as you speak with an author.
Sensitivity isn’t only about family history. Health can shape the process too, but health issues—either the author’s own or a family member’s—can be tricky to handle. Usually, we interviewers are forewarned of any potential problems, and I’ve found that most people are upfront about their physical conditions.
One of my authors, who was recovering from a serious accident, told me that he had dreaded our sessions at first but that my patience and understanding of his needs had made all the difference to his willingness and ability to complete his book. It took more interviewing time than we had originally scheduled, but we got there.
Another author, who had been married more than once, had gone through a bitter divorce from the mother of two of his children and did not want to mention her, or his daughters, in his memoir. I gently suggested that ignoring their existence would leave a gap in his book’s chronology and that, once it was printed, he might regret the omission.
I suggested he think about it and let me know the next time I called. At our next interview, he included a brief mention of his ex-wife and their daughters, and he added more detail in the final chapters. I didn’t comment when he said, “Well, I can’t deny it. They’re part of my life.”
Once you’ve gained an author’s confidence, it’s easier to guide them later in the process, when there are revisions to be made to the manuscript and photos are being put forward for inclusion. They’re more likely to tackle the tasks of correction and selection with enthusiasm than with weariness.
You have to tread a tightrope: being a guest in someone’s home and life while also doing the best job possible for them in curating their story. Get it right, and it’s rewarding for both of you.
Keeping the conversation on track
Once you’ve established the author’s motive and built trust, the next step is helping them shape a lifetime of memories into something coherent, without rushing them or taking control of the story.
Pacing an interview has its challenges. Within each ninety-minute conversation, you need time for courtesy before you even set up, and some people speak more slowly and deliberately than others. I’ve found it helps to start a session by agreeing what you both aim to achieve by the end of each interview and to make notes as you go about anything that needs checking. You need a balance between listening carefully to stories and knowing when to step in for clarification or to say something like, “Can we return to your university experience?”
And sometimes, the most practical of interruptions can help too. Bathroom breaks can give both author and interviewer a moment to collect their thoughts and come back to the conversation ready to move on.
You also don’t want to cram everything into the first six interviews and then realize that all-important detail—the texture that brings a life to the page—has been left out. Equally, many people have fond and detailed memories of growing up, for example, and such memories are vital in setting context, but too many very minor descriptions can bog down the narrative. Gently but promptly getting the author back on track will help the ghostwriter to make the manuscript as strong as possible.
Although you hope that every author will have done a little preparation before each interview, inevitably some are more organized than others, and, even with the best of intentions, memory rarely unfolds in a neat line. Some people stick closely to chronology; others range more freely. And even the most prepared authors can go off at a tangent. An anecdote from middle age, for instance, might trigger a childhood memory that the ghostwriter will have to weave into the earlier narrative. As interviews progress, interviewers need to read—and, hopefully, remember—facts from the developing manuscript to help authors with names and chronology. It may be the story of their life, but when you’re talking about decades of experiences, a “Stephen” and a “Simon” can easily be mixed up. As an interviewer, I need to stay on my toes to check as I go along.
Different authors, different approaches
Alongside the authors who appreciate a lot of metaphorical handholding and support, there are others who have done their homework and can almost dictate quickly and confidently into the recorder as if they’re completing a report for a business meeting and I’m the assistant taking notes.
Authors in this latter group sometimes want to write part of their story between interviews and have it added without dictation. In this scenario, a tactful response might be: “I’ll pass this to the ghostwriter for inclusion, and we’ll see how it fits with the rest of your story.”
Quite often, people write differently from how they speak. The written version can become stilted and unnatural. Encouraging authors to be themselves, by asking such questions as “Was that how your colleagues spoke to you?” can add vital authenticity to the manuscript.
The key to finding the story inside someone’s head is to draw out that authenticity by listening, learning, and responding on a human level to a life well lived.
After the interview: notes, follow-ups, and shaping the next conversation
Once I’m back in the car, my job isn’t over—it’s simply shifted. When I get home, I upload the recording to the Engine, our online platform where interviewers, ghostwriters, editors, and project managers collaborate. It’s a quiet but important handover: the conversation is now safely stored and available to the team who will help shape it into a manuscript.
While the details are still fresh in my mind, I also write up notes alongside the audio—the names that need checking, the dates that don’t quite add up, the anecdotes that call for a return visit, and the moments that felt particularly meaningful. Sometimes, there are practical follow-ups too: a request for a photograph, a document, or the spelling of a school friend whose name matters more than you’d think once it’s on the page.
Between every other interview, there’s another layer of preparation: reading the most recent iteration of the manuscript. It’s how I keep the thread of the story in my head, spot gaps, and avoid the easy mix-ups that come with decades of accumulated memories. By the time the next meeting comes around, I’m not just arriving with a recorder; I’m arriving with the shape of the book taking form and a sense of where we need to go next.
Written by Alicia, LifeBook Memoirs interviewer
