My Story Writing Process - Preserving My Childhood Memories
Over the past few years, friends and acquaintances have often asked me how, or even why, I began writing the Malli stories. Some of them ask what the story writing process I follow is, whether I simply sit down, remember something from childhood, and write it as it happened. Or whether it is fictionalised. Their questions made me pause and think about why I started writing in the first place.
Almost every incident in the Malli collection is drawn from my life and real experiences. The courtyard existed. The mango orchards near Parakote were real. The falls, the teasing, the festivals, and the sibling arguments were all part of my growing years. I have changed names, softened certain edges, and shaped conversations for clarity, but the emotional core remains real. Maybe in the future I may continue the series with real fiction; time will tell.
As I grow older, I have realised that memories are often all we are left with. Many of the people who filled those years with affection, advice, mischief, laughter, and discipline are no longer here. When I want to say, “Do you remember that day?” there is sometimes no one left who remembers it the same way. That absence created a huge void.
Writing the Malli stories has become my way of documenting those memories before they fade. For me, it is not merely fiction; it is a way to preserve those memories.
How My Story Writing Process Actually Works
Although the material comes from real life, I do not write casually. My story writing process begins with a central emotional question or an incident. Every story has a central emotion and a learning. I sometimes wonder if the learning came much later in life (when I looked back).
For example, one of the stories is about a monkey (male monkey) which entered our house one day, very early in the morning, it caused havoc for 2 days, destroyed many of the plants, books and generally gave us a headache. Then the owners (the pet parents) brought the female monkey to catch the male monkey, unfortunately, the female monkey also escaped and caused more trouble. When I wrote the incident, many things became clearer in hind sight.
Hence, I try to look at the incidents to see whether they were about a sense of belonging. Was the incident an act of showing courage? Was it about sibling rivalry?
Is it about learning restraint after a mistake?
Over time, I realised that if I could not explain to myself what a story was truly about, I should not begin writing it. For me, some of the incidents were more than explaining it in one sentence.
Childhood contains hundreds of incidents. I have chosen some that were difficult to forget.
For example, in Malli and the Courtyard Games, the heart of the story is Malli wanting to be taken seriously as the youngest in the group. In Malli and the Big Jump, the central theme is bravery crossing into carelessness. The incidents serve the emotion, not the other way around.
Setting Is Not Decoration
Mulky in the late 1960s and early 1970s is not a generic backdrop. Those were days when children had to make do with whatever means they had, very few could afford toys. We did not have television or phones to distract us. So our games became very creative. And that creativity shaped the children who grew up there.
Schools were Kannada-medium. English was introduced only later. Children walked to school. Preparations for Festivals began weeks ahead. Courtyards were playgrounds, stages, and battlegrounds all at once.
I describe the tiled roofs, the jackfruit trees, the attic where rice was stored above the bathroom, and the walk past Parakote because those details are not ornamental. They anchor the stories in lived cultural memory. Without specificity, nostalgia becomes vague. With specificity, it becomes real. And in the process of writing stories, my memory of the past has become sharper.
Malli Was Not Perfect
If Malli were always obedient and sensible, she would not be human.
She hides Chandamama inside her textbook.
She steals raw mangoes but escapes before the orchard owner catches her.
She argues with her brother.
She takes dares seriously.
Children are contradictory. They are thoughtful and impulsive, kind and competitive, brave and reckless within the same afternoon. Allowing Malli to remain imperfect made her human, believable, and a child.
Real Memory, Shaped for Story
Not everything that happened can go into a single story. One of the challenges I constantly work on is pacing. Memory tempts me to include every cousin, every detail, every conversation. But if a story becomes an incident catalogue, it loses emotional depth.
So I ask myself:
Does this detail strengthen the central theme?
Does this moment change Malli in some way?
Is this anecdote necessary for the emotional arc?
If not, I save it for another story.
This discipline has become central to my writing practice.
Writing as Part of My Author Journey
People often describe writing in terms of publication and visibility. For me, this part of my Author journey has been more inward than outward.
Writing these stories allows me to revisit people who are no longer here. It allows me to hold their voices, habits, and mannerisms in place for a little longer. Even if their names are changed, their presence remains intact.
As we grow older, we realise we cannot return to our childhood homes as we once knew them. Even if the house stands, the people may not. What remains is memory. Writing gives that memory structure and continuity.
Balancing Child and Adult Readers
Although the primary audience of the Malli stories is children aged 6-12, I am aware that adults read them as well. I would love if parents, grandparents, teachers, and librarians read these books.
Children enjoy the monkey in shorts, the jump from the wall, the teasing among friends, and the taste of festival sweets. Adults notice the doctor’s fees, the quiet labour of mothers, the authority of grandparents, and the economic realities beneath everyday life.
The story must speak to both without becoming heavy.
Avoiding Overstated Lessons
At the end of each story, I include a short reflection titled “What Malli Learned.” I keep those sentences simple. Childhood learning is rarely dramatic. It is gradual. A fall teaches something. A fight teaches something. A moment of embarrassment teaches something.
Children are naturally curious, that curiosity helps them learn and grow.
I did not feel the need to declare a grand moral. However, I also think that growth happens incrementally.
Why I Continue to Write Stories
If there is one intention behind the Malli stories, it is this: to record a childhood honestly before time blurs its edges.
These stories are not an attempt to romanticise the past. They are an attempt to remember it faithfully. They are a way of honouring the people who shaped me, even if they are no longer here to hear their names spoken.
Perhaps that is what storytelling becomes as we age. Not invention for its own sake, but conversation with memory. Not escape from reality, but a careful preservation of it.
And that, more than anything else, is the heart of my story writing process.
I hope these stories encourage parents and grandparents to share their own childhood memories as well. If a reader closes the book and begins telling a story from their own growing years, then Malli has done her work.
Sharing My Story Writing Process
If You Are Thinking of Writing Your Own Stories and ff you have been carrying memories that feel too precious to lose, perhaps it is time to begin writing them down.
Many people believe they need a dramatic life to write meaningful stories. I do not think that is true. What matters is honesty, emotional clarity, and the willingness to look at an incident long enough to understand what it was truly about.
If you are interested in understanding the nuances of my story writing process, how I identify the central emotion of a story, shape memory into structure, and avoid turning incidents into mere nostalgia, you are welcome to write to me. I would be happy to share what I have learned.
Sometimes, preserving memory begins with one small story.