A Writing Book Everyone Should Read

Elissa Altman’s Permission is a book about writing memoir and finding the courage to create.

“Making art from chaos creates an environment ripe for understanding, revelation, and, ultimately but not always, healing.”

— Elissa Altman

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The Consequences of Truth-Telling

Though we teach our children to tell the truth, in the real world there are often dire consequences for doing so. Think of the nightmarish outcomes for whistleblowers, like Karen Silkwood, and the fates of political dissidents, like Alexei Navalny. 

Writers of memoir, though, often struggle with the question of whether they have the right to write the story they want to tell, the story they need to tell, the truth they need to address, but sometimes find themselves paralyzed when they sit down to do just that. 

This is what Permission: The New Memoirist and the Courage to Create by Elissa Altman, a new book on writing memoir, is all about. I came across the book on Altman’s Substack Poor Man’s Feast, a raw, honest narrative journal, which has won the James Beard Award and is filled with essays, conversations and recipes and is an excellent read.

The Stumbling Blocks of Memoir Writers

Altman has packed her latest book with chunks of wisdom from other writers scattered strategically throughout her own often painful but inspiring experience of becoming a writer. The book is not so much a “how-to-write-a-memoir” guide, but instead focuses on the common though somewhat more esoteric stumbling blocks that keep writers of all stripes up at night. Altman is an expert in this territory as her first memoir caused a rift in her family that resulted in painful rejection and estrangement. 

Altman asks, “Must artists ask permission — from families, cultures, from our own hearts and memories — to tell the stories of their own lives and the lives of their ancestors?”

When You Can’t Do What You Want to Do

Reading this book will serve most writers well, not just those who set out to write a memoir, but also those who write personal essays and autobiographical fiction, because writers in all of these categories are likely to grapple with many if not all of the problems elicited by Altman. For instance, Altman offers guidance for the writer who feels compelled to write a particular story, a story at the root of their desire to be a writer in the first place, while feeling at the same time that they can never write the story because of its potential to hurt someone or because of the writer’s lack of confidence in doing the story justice. 

Altman clearly explains the emotional journey the writer goes through while trying to discern if they have the right to share the story with the world at large. 

Writing about one of her students, Altman says, “Her story which had haunted her and shown up furtively in one form or another in everything she wrote (she is a poet as well as a writer of narrative) became the engine of her own recovery, and by that I don’t mean from substance abuse; it afforded her the ability to recover the creative parts of her story that were stuck in time and place and memory, as a result of The Thing That Happened. The thing she saw. The thing that she carried in her heart and her viscera, and, ultimately had to write about to organize the grief she wore on a cellular level.”

Whose Story Is It Anyway?

Altman’s answer as to what is holding writers back is, of course, permission. Writers themselves often are the culprits, but sometimes family, friends and acquaintances of writers claim the writer has no right to their own stories and those of their ancestors. Altman's clear answer to this assertion is that writers have every right to write about their own experiences and the people whose experiences intersect with their lives. 

This hard-won wisdom seems to pour out of Altman in Permission due to her own heartbreaking experience following the release of her first memoir. She was at a family wedding when a cousin cornered her in the bathroom and told her the family had not given her permission to share the story about Altman’s grandmother, who nearly a century ago had abandoned her young children for three years and returned with no explanation, causing a great deal of family trauma and shame. The cousin remained unforgiving even when Altman explained that she had not known the abandonment was a secret because her father had often discussed it with her. The abandonment mentioned in Altman’s book took up only about eight lines of text, but it was enough to result in several family members ending their relationships with her.

Don’t Let People Trying to Be Right Stop You

Altman bequeaths a lot of wisdom throughout Permission, including this sage advice, “A cautionary tale I share with every one of my memoir students: human beings are heavily invested in being right. If you write a story that conflicts with the established party line, or a secret that nobody bothered to tell you was a secret, you will very definitely hear about it, even if what you have done is simply told the truth as you know it to be. Especially if.”

Permission is a beautiful, honest and important book that almost anyone — writers and nonwriters alike — could benefit from reading because Altman gets to the heart of what it means to be a human struggling to understand both herself and the people in her life. Her book is a loving gesture to all those who dream of writing and stumble along the way. Keep going, she seems to be whispering, the way is not easy, but it’s worth every difficult moment.

If you've ever wondered what the stories that have shape your life are worth but found yourself fumbling in the dark, never finding enough clarity to create harnessing the power they hold, Permission may just be the cheerleader you need in your corner to start penning down words, using colour, giving shape. The journey Elissa Altman takes her readers on is part memoir, part encouragement to shake whatever's been holding you back so far.

Through seventeen short chapters, Altman takes fellow artists on a journey that covers the main obstructing thematics to creating from a place of story ownership. Themes include shame, relying on Brené Brown's definition (citing Brown multiple times), family secrets & taboo, intent (hint: revenge is not a valid motivation), risk (of becoming an outcast, first and foremost) and more. Her journey starts with the fall-out that came from revealing the not-so-secret family secret in a memoir, that of her grandmother abandoning her children for several years when they were young. As Altman revisits her life, both as a child herself, bearing the weight of her father's obsessive abandonment issues, a memoirist revealing what the rest of her family wanted to keep hidden, a memoir workshop teacher, writer, friend and spouse, she pens down a simple and easy route to keep those wanting to create from a place of personal narrative on the right path, that is to say: forward.

Movement is a core theme of Permission. Altman encourages her readers to be productive no matter what, to keep writing or creating despite what society and the laws of family structure dictate (unsurprisingly, silence). She relies on a lot of quotes and I-once-heards, sometimes verging on being a little too heavy on the name-dropping (even when she can't name the actual best-selling author she's mentioning, noting that her readers would surely know of this person were they to be given their name) which was less to my personal taste, feeling too pop psy-heavy at times. I enjoyed her actual journey as a daughter-niece-cousin memoirist the most.

Ultimately, Permission is a permission slip to create from pain, secrecy, truth despite the invisible shackles we feel weighing us down and holding us back. It is not an essay that will give you they keys to creating but rather point to the lock of the door you must find a way to open within yourself. There are no writing prompts, no decision trees, no multiple choice answer quizzes that will figure out autobiographical narrative ownership for the readers. But for anyone looking for a short and energising read to start creating, this may be the right book to open the door ajar.

"Quiet is the peace that you find when, after a day or a decade, a week or a month, you allow yourself to crack open the story that you must tell in order to find its pulsing heart, and to devote yourself to it and the crafting of it as art."

You don't need permission to create. But, then why do so many of us wait until we have it?

I really enjoyed this book. It's beautiful, it's brave. The author was cut off from her family after publishing a memoir that aired a "dirty" family secret about her late grandmother. We risk so much when we make the choice to write and share, but does that risk mean it's not worth it? Does that risk mean we shouldn't do it?

Reading this book came at the perfect time for me. I myself have been in a creative slump, but this book has helped me to burst through some of the walls I erected.

I recommend this book for artists, writers, and anyone who wants to create art.

In Permission, memoirist Elissa Altman asks “Who has the right to tell a family’s story? Who “owns” a family’s history? Do we need permission to tell our story?”
Altman says, “The writing of memoir is often fraught; our friends, colleagues, families, entire cultures turn writers into pariahs for what we create, for who we are, for how we dare take ownership of our own stories.” She also writes “Beyond time, space, and money to write, permission is the single biggest hurdle that the creative—new or accomplished—faces, and often over the most mundane of issues.”
I am not a memoirist; most of what I write is completely made up, influenced by true events perhaps, but very loosely so. I do not feel the desire to tell true stories, and I have never considered what my family’s reaction would be if I chose to do so. I expect there would be anger, as Altman experienced. I am sure I would be told I was wrong, lying, or accused of fabricating everything for attention. Others would relish the attention it would bring, being of the mindset that adverse attention is better than lack of attention. I do not think I would be disowned as Altman was; I think I would be allowed to remain so people could be disgusted with me.
Altman reminds her students, “No one owns the right to craft our story but us, but we must remember that the complex work of memoir demands that we also write with clarity, compassion, and ambiguity, which allows the reader to determine their own response to the story.”
Elissa Altman’s Permission is an outstanding presentation of memoir, writing, self-exploration, and how one experiences (and suffers from) a family’s reaction to a secret that needs to be told. I will be supplementing my e-copy with a print edition for both reference and the reminder that sometimes being true to oneself means standing alone in the face of disapproval and still telling my story.

An interesting and informative book that could be well used in teaching, especially in a graduate level nonfiction class. I appreciated the tone of this craft book, as well as the way Altman utilized personal details of her own writing and experience.

this was an enjoyable read - almost a blend of the abandoners by begoña gomez urzaiz and body work by melissa febos. the description had me thinking that the book would be more instructional and might not appeal to me as a non-writer, but i like how she blends personal/family experience with writing wisdom. if you enjoy hearing writers talk about writing, i think you’ll get something out of this.

i haven’t read any of altman’s other memoirs, but in this book, she examines the fallout from her revealing in a previous memoir that her paternal grandmother abandoned the family almost 100 years ago. upon publication of the single paragraph within the memoir mentioning the incident, she was completely cut off by the rest of her family members, who still hold a lot of shame surrounding the situation and didn’t believe it was altman’s place to tell that story.

using that event as a catalyst, altman explores the concept of permission in memoir writing: who gets to tell what stories, how to weigh the risks of writing about certain subjects, and how to avoid writing for revenge, among other topics. the chapters were quick and engaging - she expertly weaves in her family history and you can see why she is now a teacher of the craft of memoir. even though i don’t have any writing aspirations, the book made me think differently about using journaling to freely work through my thoughts. i can see this being very inspiring and helpful for someone with legitimate writing aspirations.

In *Permission* by Elissa Altman delivers a deeply moving and necessary exploration of the emotional and ethical complexities of storytelling. With the precision of a seasoned memoirist and the warmth of a trusted mentor, Altman invites writers both aspiring and experienced to confront one of the most paralyzing barriers in the creative process: understanding the journey of writing than the end of it.

Every writer, at some point, faces the daunting question of whether they have the right to tell their story. Through personal insight and years of teaching experience, Altman delves into the fear, shame, and societal constraints that silence so many voices before they ever reach the page. Her approach is both practical and deeply compassionate, providing not only the encouragement to write but also the tools to navigate the emotional and ethical responsibilities that come with storytelling.

The pacing of *Permission* is deliberate and reflective, mirroring the process of self-discovery that memoir writing demands. Rather than rushing through instructions or quick fixes, Altman guides readers with a steady hand, allowing them to sit with the discomfort of their own doubts and fears. This measured approach makes the book not only instructive but also profoundly affirming and it respects the reader’s personal journey as much as it does the craft of writing itself.

Altman’s prose is lyrical yet clear, effortlessly blending memoir with practical advice. Her writing has an intimate quality, as if she is speaking directly to the reader, urging them forward with every page. She does not sugarcoat the struggles of writing, nor does she minimize the risks of telling the stories we are often warned against. Instead, she offers a path through the uncertainty, reminding writers that their stories matter, not despite the resistance they face, but because of it.

*Permission* is more than a guide to memoir writing; it is a manifesto for creative courage. It challenges writers to embrace their truths and to understand that storytelling is not just an act of self-expression but of self-liberation. For anyone who has ever hesitated to put their story into words, this book is a vital companion, one that doesn’t just give permission, but demands it.

Elissa Altman has written an open honest guide to memoir writer.Her personal story of being cut off by her family due to sharing a personal family story in a previous book.Elissa shares advice to guide you through your own memoir writing.in a guide that will enhance your own writing.#netgalley #godine

I have been a fan of Elissa Altman’s since reading her first memoir, Poor Man’s Feast. I always seek out her writing, be it her books, essays, or Substack articles, so I was thrilled to be able to read an ARC copy of her soon-to-be-released memoir, Permission: the New Memoirist and the Courage to Create, to be published in early March.

Part memoir and part loving encouragement, Permission is a powerful, insightful, gift to writers and, in fact, to all creative souls merely trying to carve out time to practice their art. The writing is sensitive, deeply-personal, and inspiring. I appreciate Elissa’s willingness to share her own tender experience, both in her teaching workshops and in her own memoirs.

I would have to say that memoirists . . . are the most obvious audience for this book. But Elissa’s words reach far beyond that particular group of artists to serve anyone trying to live a creative life. I am not a memoirist myself, although I do a fair amount of writing. I’m also a garden designer, a watercolorist, and a mixed media artist. I found many, many nuggets of practical advice and encouragement for giving myself permission to step into my personal brand of creative life right there, within the pages of this gem of a book. Some sections of the book resonated with me (as a non-memoirist) more than others, but I found relatable advice and practical tips throughout. In fact, I’m looking forward to picking up a copy of this book when it’s published so I can highlight and write in the margins to my heart's content.

Additionally, the cover is gorgeous.

Thank you to NetGalley and Godine for providing an advance copy of this book in exchange for my honest review. The book will be published on March 11, 2025.

4.5 stars, rounded up to 5.

This was an interesting perspective on writing, and specifically writing autobiography. I’m not sure if I agree with everything being presented, but it was an engaging read overall.

What a great book for writers, and people who aspire to write. "Permission" is a rich and multilayered text for writing. "Permission" by Elissa Altman does not focus on giving the reader tools or advice for the mechanics of writing, but rather, the author shares her own lived experience in writing her memoir, and the painful process that ensued. Highly recommended. Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the ARC. Pub Date: March 11, 2025.

#Permission

Wonderful storytelling. ? If you are an aspiring writer I would recommend. Heartfelt and a wonderful journey to share.

"Permission" by Elissa Altman is much more than just a memoir; it's a profound reflection on the writing journey itself. The book captures the struggles, triumphs, and emotional complexities of writing a personal story that may not be universally accepted—whether or not permission is granted to share it. Altman weaves her own narrative with the challenges she faced in writing her memoir and the painful consequences, particularly the rift it caused with her family.

What makes this book so compelling is its layered exploration of the craft of writing. Altman does not just tell her story; she invites readers, especially creatives, to embark on their own journey. She encourages us to confront our personal histories, to dive deep into our own truths, and to honor the writing process with the respect it deserves. This book is a permission slip for anyone who has ever struggled to share their story—both personally and professionally.

Through heartfelt anecdotes and the stories of other authors who have faced similar familial challenges, Altman provides a roadmap for finding the courage to write the stories we need to tell, even when they come at a personal cost. "Permission" is a beautifully layered, raw, and intimate look at the memoir-writing process and the emotional toll that often comes with it.

If you're a writer, a creative, or simply someone interested in the intersection of personal history and the craft of storytelling, this is a must-read.

Giving it decent 3 ⭐.