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One of my ultimate goals in life is to become a published writer. Sure, I'm a blogger for Brand-Yourself.com and a writer for the Examiner.com and I've got street cred out the wa-zoo it's all fun and awesome, but I want to publish a book. Specifically, my memoir.
So, I've been reading a lot of great books lately. Like Michael J. Fox's new book, A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Future and Jennifer Love Hewitt's, The Day I Shot Cupid. Both of these are amazing and funny. I'm not a big JLH fan, but my BFF wants this for her birthday next month, so I found it cheap on Amazon and figured I may as well read it, right? The verdict is in: every woman needs to read this book. I mean, I hate all things chick lit, but this one is definitely worth it because she talks about crabs. The STD, not the food. And yesterday, on a whim, I decided to buy Jen Lancaster's Such a Pretty Fat, and holy cow this book is hilarious!
Note: I'm a sucker for really good memoirs. Especially anything by my two favorite authors, David Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs. Because reading about someone else's messed up life makes me think that maybe my life isn't that bad.
Maybe.
So, I'm writing my memoir. It's been a work-in-progress for about seven years now (albeit slow progress), but it's officially crap and not something I want published. Or even read by any of my friends.
See, that's the thing about memoirs. It has to be good. Like, really, really ridiculously, mind-blowing-ly, "ohmygawdthatwasawesome"-ly good. Whether it's about overcoming some kind of horrific, life-changing disaster or going from zero-to-hero, it has to be something your audience wants to read.
And therein lies my problem.
What do I have to provide to my audience? Why is my story worth telling? What can my audience learn from my book?
Absolutely nothing.
Sure, I have tons of crazy, drunken stories to tell. Like that time I boarded the wrong plane and landed in Jacksonville. Or that time I got propositioned for a threesome in Vegas and mistaken for a prostitute all in one night. Or that time I had sex with a ziplock bag (no, I wasn't fisting myself with a ziplock bag). Or that time a guy went wrist deep inside me to get a condom out. But do people really want to read about that?
My current angle for my memoir is about how I transformed into [my version of] Superwoman by overcoming the loss of both of my parents and cervical cancer by age 25, and embarking on changing the world, but I realize that people probably wouldn't want to read that either, because it's just another cancer story and it's not like I'm curing AIDS or anything that a real Superwoman would do.
My flaw is, I feel like I have nothing to give people. No one really wants to hear my story. Sure, I've endured a lot in my 26 years, but who hasn't? What makes my experiences any more challenging than your experiences?
I've always felt this way. Maybe it stems from not having a close relationship with my parents, but I always feel like I don't have anything to give anyone. I don't tell people my past experiences because it's all "Debbie Downer" and depressing and who really wants to hear about that?
I've wanted to write my memoir since I was 12 years old because I want to believe that I have a good story to tell and that maybe someone out there can relate to it or learn from it, but I don't know how to write the damn thing. It's about believing you have an important story to tell, a life lesson to teach someone, an experience that changed your life that someone can learn from, and I don't know how to do that; I don't know how to write well.
Again, this all goes back to my #1 stunna flaw of feeling like I have nothing to give. I also feel like I'm a terrible writer, but that's neither here nor there.
It's hard to change the way you view yourself, and what you do, after so many years. I want to believe that I'm a good phenomenal writer who has an amazing story to tell, but wanting to believe it and actually believing it are two different things.
It's like hot gay men. I want to believe I can change a gay man who is ridiculously good looking, to be straight, but actually making him swing on the other side of the see-saw is a completely different story.
Good anal-ogy? Ha! Get it? Gay men. Anal.
:::crickets:::
No? Just me?
I relate to this so much. I tend to walk a fine line between feeling like I have a lot to give and feeling like I have very little to give. It's a pattern I'm working to lose.
ReplyDeleteAnd actually, just so you know, I would love to read a book that tells your story.
You not having anything to give?
ReplyDeleteEff that.
You can tell a cancer story that will take you on an up and down roller coaster of emotion. From happy, to sad, to dancing in the Gayborhood near BFC but knowing he wasn't going to puncture your vag, but still trying.
IT WOULD BE GREAT.
I think the trick with any memoir, no matter how good a writer you are, is to relate to people and get them to relate to you. As long as you can do that and you have some message of growth (which you do), I think you're on the right track.
ReplyDeleteKeep plugging away--I look forward to seeing you in Barnes and Noble :)
I absolutely believe you have something to give... I think you have a message that people need to hear, a voice that people would certainly listen to. Don't give up love. Believe in yourself, cliche but necessary.
ReplyDeleteBest,
Hannah Katy
Dude. I know exactly how you feel. Well, not EXACTLY, but... close. I also want to have a book, probably a memoir, but I'm not really that interesting so probably no one would read it except my mother and lord knows that is the LAST person I would want reading my memoir because I would very probably say not-nice things about her in it.
ReplyDeleteSigh.
However. That said. Obviously YOU are an interesting person with something to give because I am here right now and hanging on your words and people want someone they can relate to and enjoy reading about, not just someone who, like, did that One Thing That One Time and that was it.
Just do it. Make that shiz happen. And it will be awesome.
Also? I recommend "Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress" by Susan Jane Gilman. Hi-larious. My favorite memoir I've read thus far/lately.