Inner Critic rants can cause you to severely block, even give up the idea of a memoir.
When I wrote Love Is No Excuse, a YA novel based on a secret between my father and me, I was very clear in my mind that I had to write the book, but could say no to publishing.
Growing up, I'd been incapable of standing up to a psychologically domineering father whom I loved deeply and fiercely admired.
When I was unable to keep the secret hidden, I created Julia, a fifteen-year-old who had the strength to say, "I will not do something I know is wrong, not even for you, Daddy!"
When the novel was finished, my editor wanted to publish it. I feared my father would have a heart attack when he read it, yet I had to show him the manuscript before I could make a decision. So I mailed him manuscript.
My mother told me my father wanted me to come to the house to talk. When I arrived, he was his pleasant self. He gave me a kiss and hug and said, "Let's have lunch and talk."
We did, for four hours. We discussed the book on many levels. He, too, was a writer. When all was said and done though, he told me, with an equanimity that was as disturbing as it was welcome, "What you wrote never happened. It's pure fiction and you're brave to have written it. Go ahead with the publication." Which I did.