Life Stories,
that Remain
"But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin." — Aldous Huxley
Mini-memoirs in the genre of your choice.
Mini-memoirs in the genre of your choice.
Little books. Big memories.
At the end of life, it's often not about big words - but about real, loving memories.
I create short, personal memory books for people at the end of life - written with heart, poetry and respect.
These mini-biographies tell of childhood, love, turning points and what remains.
A gift for families. And a legacy for the soul.
I create short, personal memory books for people at the end of life - written with heart, poetry and respect.
These mini-biographies tell of childhood, love, turning points and what remains.
A gift for families. And a legacy for the soul.
Wha are
Mini-Memoirs?
Mini-memoirs are short, literary memoirs - short books that capture the essence: an encounter, an episode, a thought, a legacy. A tender, honest portrait - written with care and dedication, and in the genre of your choice.
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Poetic & Soft
Magical realism, simply atmospheric — whatever you like. -
Gothic Fiction
Classic Ann Radcliffe or Gothic Horror — or other wishes! -
Crime
All subgenres, soft, noir, classic or whatever your heart desires. -
Fantasy
All subgenres und genre-mix. -
Horror
All subgenres, such as cosmic horror, gothic horror, slasher, etc. -
Science Fiction
All subgenres possible. -
Historical Love Story
Jane Austen fans will find a place here. -
Genre-Mix
None of the categories apply 100%? Desired genre and genre mix is possible, across the board!
What Remains
Who is this offer for?
- For people in the final stages of life who want to share their story.
- For families looking for a lasting literary remembrance of a loved one.
- For hospices and care homes who want to give their residents a personal legacy.
who can leave a written legacy?
Why I do this
Hi, I'm Ariane Saltoris, and I wish I could have learned more about my grandmother.
When my maternal grandmother passed away, I was 18. I knew her as Carmen who always sang, who washed clothes for customers, who had unshakable faith, who was the glue holding our family together. But about the woman behind all that—her thoughts, dreams, and traumas—I knew nothing.
Today, as a grown woman and mother myself, I miss her story, her essence beyond the matriarch everyone loved. She was fascinating and wise, she had endured a difficult life yet always wore a smile on her face. And I never got to truly know her. Not really.
If only someone had written about her.
In my career as a ghostwriter, I meet many people who would love to write a book about themselves and their memories, but they run into various obstacles. The most common one is that they don't know how to write a book. Another is because they believe they aren't interesting enough.
My experience has taught me that every person is interesting enough—each individual is their own universe full of pain, beauty, and desire; everyone has something to teach, without exception. So I decided to be their hand, putting thoughts to paper in ways they cannot.
Like everyone else, I want to make something meaningful with my gifts, to contribute something that lasts, that makes a difference: Writing is my contribution.
Now I tell the memories of those who have so much to say but no ear to listen to them, in whatever genre they prefer.
I listen, I understand.
I transform their stories.
From the soul.
And I love every minute of it.
When my maternal grandmother passed away, I was 18. I knew her as Carmen who always sang, who washed clothes for customers, who had unshakable faith, who was the glue holding our family together. But about the woman behind all that—her thoughts, dreams, and traumas—I knew nothing.
Today, as a grown woman and mother myself, I miss her story, her essence beyond the matriarch everyone loved. She was fascinating and wise, she had endured a difficult life yet always wore a smile on her face. And I never got to truly know her. Not really.
If only someone had written about her.
In my career as a ghostwriter, I meet many people who would love to write a book about themselves and their memories, but they run into various obstacles. The most common one is that they don't know how to write a book. Another is because they believe they aren't interesting enough.
My experience has taught me that every person is interesting enough—each individual is their own universe full of pain, beauty, and desire; everyone has something to teach, without exception. So I decided to be their hand, putting thoughts to paper in ways they cannot.
Like everyone else, I want to make something meaningful with my gifts, to contribute something that lasts, that makes a difference: Writing is my contribution.
Now I tell the memories of those who have so much to say but no ear to listen to them, in whatever genre they prefer.
I listen, I understand.
I transform their stories.
From the soul.
And I love every minute of it.
Ariane Saltoris
An Overview of my Writing
See for yourself — read my portfolio!
Redemptio (Novella)
I pray Hail Marys. Only Hail Marys.
Mother is sacred.
Hail Marys are the smell of hot soup, the wet kiss on the forehead, the full breasts that catch the tears. Not Our Fathers. Those are the scars on my arms, legs, and back. They were once ruby red, the scars. Ruby red and slimy. They used to burn. Now, they are worm-like and numb, yet they never stop hurting. Not for a second do they cease to hurt. They say no pain lasts forever. But I know that is not true.
There are pains that seep into the soul and stay there, surely outlasting life.
When I was nearly thirty, I returned to Tuscany, you could say, in search of my identity. The land of my parents, surrounded by gentle hills that, like a vast, restless green sea, spread out into mountains—so different from the humid hills of the wild rainforest to which I had always fled. Where I ran when I wanted to escape my father's belt and his endless Our Fathers, forced upon me with his screams and blows. Drowning in my own tears, kneeling on corn until I bled. (...)
Mother is sacred.
Hail Marys are the smell of hot soup, the wet kiss on the forehead, the full breasts that catch the tears. Not Our Fathers. Those are the scars on my arms, legs, and back. They were once ruby red, the scars. Ruby red and slimy. They used to burn. Now, they are worm-like and numb, yet they never stop hurting. Not for a second do they cease to hurt. They say no pain lasts forever. But I know that is not true.
There are pains that seep into the soul and stay there, surely outlasting life.
When I was nearly thirty, I returned to Tuscany, you could say, in search of my identity. The land of my parents, surrounded by gentle hills that, like a vast, restless green sea, spread out into mountains—so different from the humid hills of the wild rainforest to which I had always fled. Where I ran when I wanted to escape my father's belt and his endless Our Fathers, forced upon me with his screams and blows. Drowning in my own tears, kneeling on corn until I bled. (...)
An Overview of my Services
All texts are available in English, German or Brazilian-Portuguese.
Process
How does it work?
- Contact meYou or the institution get in touch with me.
- Questionnaire and/or interviewI capture life's stages as the author imagines.
- Writing & DesignI write the story and design a small book.
(German, English or Brazilian-Portuguese)
Ready for the right words?
Whether for a funeral service, a memorial page, or an obituary – fill out the form or contact me directly for an individual consultation.
(free and non-binding)
(free and non-binding)
Copyright © 2025 Alle Rechte vorbehalten.
Ariane Saltoris de Melo, Berlin.
email: hello@casaltoris.com
Ariane Saltoris de Melo, Berlin.
email: hello@casaltoris.com
© 2025 Ariane Ghostwriting
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