How to Start Writing Your Story When You Don’t Know Where to Begin

One of the questions I get asked most often is how I decided what parts of my life to include in Brownsville Bred.

But beneath that question is usually a quieter one—one I hear from writers, filmmakers, and people who don’t yet call themselves either:

How do I even begin telling my story when there’s so much to tell?

The honest answer is this:
You don’t begin by trying to tell your whole life.

Why Trying to Tell Everything Stops You From Writing at All

Autobiographical storytelling isn’t about documenting every moment of your life. If it were, our stories would all begin the same way: waking up, brushing our teeth, making coffee, checking the weather.

Everyday life is full.
It’s also, by itself, deeply uncinematic.

When people try to include everything—every experience, every trauma, every turning point—they often end up stuck. Overwhelmed. Unsure where to focus. Afraid of leaving something important out.

But here’s the thing most people don’t realize:

Trying to tell everything is the fastest way to say nothing deeply enough to resonate.

Your Story Is Not an Inventory

One of the biggest misconceptions about writing your own story is the belief that more truth equals more honesty.

It doesn’t.

A story doesn’t need to prove that you lived. That’s assumed.
What matters is why certain moments are chosen to stand in for everything else.

That’s where storytelling begins—not in coverage, but in intention.

Start With the Question, Not the Timeline

Every autobiographical story is quietly answering a question, even if the writer hasn’t named it yet.

When I was shaping Brownsville Bred, the question wasn’t:

What happened to me growing up?

It was something closer to:

What defines us?
Nature or nurture?
Who we’re born to—or where we’re raised?

Once that question became clear, the story began to take shape.

The film looks at a girl’s life through her relationship with her father and the neighborhood that raised her—not because those were the only things that mattered, but because they were the right lenses through which to explore that question.

Everything else had to be measured against it.

That’s the part people often miss: leaving things out isn’t failure. It’s focus.

A Simple Exercise to Help You Begin Writing

When your own life feels too big to shape into a story, don’t start by asking what to include.

Start smaller.

Start with five minutes.

This is an exercise I use myself, and it’s one I return to whenever I feel stuck.

Set a timer for five minutes.

Don’t plan.
Don’t outline.
Don’t edit.

And most importantly—don’t stop writing until the timer ends.

Write as if no one will ever read it.

No audience.
No future version of yourself.
No imagined judgment.

Write as if the pages will self-destruct the moment the timer goes off—like those old Mission: Impossible tapes that erase themselves after the message is delivered.

Answer just one question:

Tell me about your first love.

Everyone has one.

It doesn’t have to be romantic.
It doesn’t have to be mutual.
It doesn’t even have to have gone well.

But it was formative.

As you write, memories will surface—some you haven’t thought about in years. Firsts. Excitement. Joy. Vulnerability. And very likely, heartbreak.

Let them come without judgment.

What This Exercise Is Really Doing

You might think you’re writing about another person.

You’re not.

You’re writing about who you were in that moment—and how that experience shaped you.

That’s the real work of autobiographical storytelling.

Not cataloging your entire life.
But locating the moments that changed you.

When the timer ends, stop.

Don’t reread it yet.
Just sit with what came up.

Because inside those five minutes is often the beginning of a story—not because it’s finished, but because it’s pointing toward the question your story wants to answer.

And once you know that question, the rest of the choices—what to include, what to leave out, what to look at closely—become much clearer.

That’s how my story found its shape.

And it’s how yours can begin to find its own.

P.S. If you’d like to see how these storytelling choices live on screen, Brownsville Bred is available to watch on demand on Prime Video and Apple TV. It’s one version of a life shaped by family, place, and love — told by choosing what to look at closely, and what to leave out.