Thursday, January 1, 2009


Do you have to be famous before people want to read your memoir? I'm afraid my relative obscurity precludes a destiny of hardbound (heck, even paper bound) printed words with an ISBN. Maybe someday, but until, thank heavens for the world of free words I can spill out with the rest of the masses.

As far back as I remember, I've narrated my life inside my head. Whether tragic, dramatic, or mundane, nearly every moment has been chronicled in real time with a pop of wit or spin of sentiment to flatter me like so many photos taken in the perfect light.

This explains, of course, why I've not panicked over every embarrassing moment, knowing it could become at least an entertaining paragraph, if not entire chapter. It also explains why I'm never bored--a mental Book on Tape constantly regales me with tales of my favorite protagonist.

But sadly, laziness trumps dreams of fame and glory and I never write down the brilliant yarns I spin...

until now.

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