The novice’s guide to writing a shitty memoir
I’m not going to write a memoir, but if I had been thinking about it, this is how I would go about producing the best memoir ever written.
Decide to write about something I know. In this case, it’s being part of a family that prides itself on rarely being in the same room. And on the rare occasion that we are, we double down on teaching the young ones how to focus on the stuff that matters: producing judgy chicken noises, cheating at cards, and trying to protect your napkin at the dinner table from Grandma Deb.
Realize that writing about what you know is an emotional mine field because even if you’re strongly committed to documenting all the good things, you’re inevitably going to skip over or leave out other things. Opportunities abound for pissing people off, either by including them in an unflattering light or leaving them out entirely. Alienating what’s left of your friends and family is not widely seen as the best interpersonal strategy.
Change course. Write about something that you know nothing about.
Have a moment of deep interest in quilting and/or psychic massage.
Wonder if people will read into your writing about the one thing everyone knows you don’t know anything about. Will they wonder what I’m hiding? Will I accidentally develop a deep, life-changing interest in psychic massage?!
Get really self-conscious whenever anyone mentions psychic massage. Act like you don’t know what they’re talking about whenever it’s mentioned in mixed company. (Which is totally a thing in 2021, because we’re totally hanging out in large, mixed groups where the topic of psychic massage is likely to be a hot topic of conversation…)
Imagine friends and family hiding in your bushes.
Drink. It worked for Hemingway, why not me?
Remember that you’re trying not to drink. Ack.
Remove bushes.
Revert to step one, but giving less fucks. Nobody’s gonna read this shit anyway.
