The amount of writing advice out there can feel overwhelming, and when you’re writing a book with no experience, it’s easy to feel lost and underprepared. When we start writing, we’re often drowning in advice, most of which isn’t very helpful. It’s not that the advice itself is bad or given with poor intentions, but that we’re expecting too much from generalized advice, especially as first-time book writers. When facing a long and difficult project, we want to feel fully prepared, like we would for a test. We’ve gotta start somewhere, so no shade for reading the internet’s advice, but if we keep waiting to feel that tipping point between learning and doing, we never get to the point where we actually apply the things we’ve consumed. In fact, getting stuck in a unending diet of advice can hurt our writing more than it helps. So if you have been bingeing writing advice and hoping to feel like you “know enough,” today we’re talking to you.
Most free advice is too general
The first way I see memoir advice fall short, especially when you’re writing a book with no experience, is simply this: most of it is far too broad. This is especially true of free advice—the YouTube videos, podcasts, blogs, downloads, all of it. But the problem shows up everywhere. And it shows up in two distinct ways.
The first issue is that the vast majority of writing advice online is created for fiction authors. If you found me after wandering through the maze of free writing resources, you already know this. And while memoir blends elements of fiction with the philosophy of nonfiction—meaning fiction craft can be incredibly useful—it will never get you all the way there. Fiction writers have endless choices for how a plot unfolds. Memoirists do not. Your story happened the way it happened. So fiction advice can only take you so far, and sometimes it can take you in the wrong direction entirely.
As a quick but important extension of that point: be very cautious about taking publishing advice from fiction‑focused sources. The querying and publishing processes for fiction and nonfiction are dramatically different. What works for a novelist will not translate cleanly to memoir.
So the first problem is that most advice is either too broad or aimed at the wrong audience altogether.
The second issue is even more important: even good memoir advice isn’t automatically good advice for your memoir. I see this constantly in The Memoir Method—our small, curated group program where women get both structured training and weekly live support. We provide step‑by‑step development lessons, yes, but we also offer weekly one-on-one check‑ins and group calls for a reason. Writers don’t struggle because they lack information. They struggle because they don’t know how to apply that information to their specific book.
And when writers are unsure, the question they ask themselves is almost never, “How do I apply this to my memoir?” It’s, “Am I doing this wrong?” That’s the danger of generic advice, particularly when you’re writing a book with no experience. Memoir is uniquely personal—every book is different because every life and every interpretation of that life is different. That’s what makes the genre beautiful, but it also means broad advice can easily mislead you, distract you, or send you chasing the wrong problem.
So to recap: memoir advice often fails writers in two ways. First, it’s too broad—usually geared toward fiction or business books rather than memoir. Second, even when it is memoir‑specific, it rarely tells you how to apply it to your story. And without someone to help you translate that advice into action, it’s easy to stay stuck in learning mode, seeking reassurance instead of making progress.
This is why having a professional in your corner matters. A professional can say, “Yes, that advice is solid—here’s how it fits your book,” or, “I know that advice, and here’s why it won’t work for your project.” Without that guidance, it’s far too easy to keep consuming content instead of actually writing.
Uncertainty is always part of writing a book with no experience
Just in case you think I’m simply saying “stop wasting time and start writing,” let me add a layer of nuance here. Far too often, I see aspiring authors who have convinced themselves that they need just one more answer, one more resource, or one more explanation before they can move forward. They are often training themselves reject uncertainty altogether.
But here’s the truth we don’t like to admit: uncertainty is built into the process. Every book—memoir, fiction, nonfiction—requires you to take steps before you can see the path. There is no version of this work that doesn’t involve moving forward in the dark, especially when you’re writing your first book with no experience. That’s uncomfortable, even frightening, and it’s exactly why it’s so helpful to work with a book coach or other professional. When you have someone beside you who has watched countless writers navigate that same darkness, you gain the reassurance that you’re not wandering around lost and that the uncertainty won’t swallow you.
Unfortunately, I find that many first-time authors are resistant to working with a professional along the way (hiring an editor after you’ve drafted and revised is a different story, but as I often remind folks, you can’t hire an editor at the end if you haven’t produced anything for them to edit. And yet…). If you recognize that resistance in yourself, consider this your invitation to stop trying to master everything on your own. You likely know enough. You are likely ready. Those awkward, clumsy, lurching baby steps into the unknown are not a sign you’re unprepared. They’re just part of learning and refining your skill.
When you realize that all your learning has shifted from preparation into avoidance, the goal isn’t to shame yourself or to bulldoze forward. The goal is to recognize the moment you’re in, get the support you need, and take the next step. It doesn’t have to be the perfect step, just the next one.
How a flipped classroom teaches skills
One of the points I want to emphasize is that learning is not the same thing as doing. Pedagogically, we’ve known this for a long time. I spent over a decade teaching at the secondary and university levels, and I saw firsthand how different teaching models shaped the way students actually learned.
In a traditional classroom, the structure is simple: the teacher demonstrates, you practice under supervision, and then you complete homework on your own. It’s a model designed to prepare you for a test. You watch the teacher work through a math problem on the board, you try a few with the teacher circulating nearby, and then you take home a worksheet to prove you understood the steps.
But writing a book with no experience is much messier than completing a math problem. That traditional model—where the teacher shows you the “right way” and you replicate it—breaks down completely when the work becomes nuanced, creative, and deeply personal. You can’t watch a teacher write your chapter. You can’t observe someone else making the exact decisions your book requires. So most writing instruction ends up being conceptual. That can be useful, but it’s not enough to bridge the gap between understanding an idea and actually putting words on the page.
This is where the flipped classroom shines. In a flipped model, you learn the material independently—through videos, written lessons, diagrams, whatever format helps you absorb it—and then you bring your attempts into a space where you can get feedback. Instead of watching someone else do the work and then trying to replicate it later, you try first. This allows you to do one of the most important things when you’re writing a book with no experience. It lets you wrestle with the material in your own way, on your own timeline, but not completely on your own. When you’ve made your full first attempt, you come back with questions, ready for feedback and efficient, effective book coaching.
This is exactly why our group program is structured the way it is. We don’t want you to learn how to write a memoir and then go off to write it. We want you to write the memoir as you learn. The development curriculum gives you step‑by‑step guidance so you always know what memoir-writing stage you’re in, but the real transformation happens when you try it, bring your work in for feedback, try again, and keep moving. Twice a week, we ask you directly whether you’re applying what you’ve learned and how. That pushes you to bring in real application questions, rather than just bingeing content forever. And, bonus, seeing others struggle forward in the dark is
Applications starts when you’re still learning
The third way memoir advice can actually hurt your progress is that learning takes time, but so does watching dozens of videos on YouTube. It’s easy to spend an entire weekend listening to podcasts or reading blog posts and walk away feeling like you’ve “worked on your memoir,” when in reality, nothing has changed on the page.
I know this pattern well, not from writing advice but from business advice. When I first started my business, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I’d been an academic, I’d run a theater, I’d been an actor, but I had never built a business or even spent much time thinking about business. So I binged so many podcasts. Some of that content was helpful, but most of it just made me feel worse about myself. I didn’t believe I could do it, so I kept listening instead of trying. Entirely predictably, all of those podcasts taught me a few things, but they didn’t move me one inch closer to where I wanted to go (well, with the exception of the podcast where I found my business coach. Once I took the leap and hired her, everything changed for the better! There’s a parallel here… turns out writing a book with no experience isn’t so different from starting a business with no experience. In both cases, the solution is in the coaching!)
Now, I want to make an important distinction here, because not all non‑writing activity is unproductive. Some parts of memoir work don’t look like typing words into a manuscript. Sometimes you hear a new idea and need to sit with it. Sometimes you need to think through how a concept might apply to your story. Sometimes you need to journal, brainstorm, or let a new insight reshape how you understand what you’re trying to write. Those things can be productive, and often they’re not optional.
So how do you determine whether your activity is procrastination-through-learning or actual productive time spent? You’ll know because you’ll be learning as much from the application itself as you are from the resource.
The goal isn’t to eliminate all the thinking, processing, or internal work that happens alongside words on the page. The goal is to make sure you’re not confusing consumption with creation.
Learning how to discard advice that doesn’t apply
The more advice you consume, the more rigid and high‑stakes everything starts to feel. When you’re swimming in tips, rules, and “must‑dos,” it’s easy to raise your expectations of your own performance without even realizing it. Suddenly, every choice feels like a test you could fail. This is its own kind of trap, because unfortunately, there is absolutely no advice that applies to every memoir all the time.
The good news is, if you’ve been following the advice in this blog post and actually practicing as you learn, you’ll get more than just words on the page. You’ll start to build discernment.
You started out writing a book with no experience, but wouldn’t you know it, the longer you write, the more experience you actually do have. And that makes all the difference when you turn to the internet for advice.
When you’re actively writing, you can hear a piece of advice and immediately sense whether it fits your book or not. You can say, “That’s not for me,” without spiraling into self‑doubt.
When I first started my business, I binged podcasts endlessly. I wasn’t implementing anything, so every episode made me feel like this new idea was finally the solution. When I started actually doing the work, and even moreso the longer I continued down this path, I began to instantly spot things that had nothing to do with my business (plus some that seemed ridiculous for any business. And the longer I did it, the more empowered I felt to actually disregard those pieces of advice.
The same is true for memoir. If you haven’t started applying what you’re learning, you simply won’t know which advice matters and which advice is noise. But once you start writing—once you put rubber to the road—you gain clarity, confidence, and the ability to filter out what isn’t meant for your book.
PS. Searching the internet for writing, publishing, and book marketing advice can be exhausting to say the least! If you’re ready for hands on, one-on-one support for your memoir, check out The Memoir Method. We’d love to welcome you into this nine-month group program specially designed for women writing their first memoirs. And don’t forget, if you’d like to chat with Amanda about the program (or any other services we offer), you can book a free consult any time!
