Do you ever think about the story of your life; and who should write it? To be honest, I never have. I think a lot about life stories I’d like to read. And I even think about life stories I’d like to write.
But not about my own.
Until this past Saturday’s WordPress Daily Prompt: “From a famous writer or a celebrity, to a WordPress.com blogger or someone close to you — who would you like to be your biographer?”
I thought about it all weekend.
Right off the top I wondered whether or not my life is even a story worth telling. I had to remind myself this is “pretend”. It’s a hypothetical question, intended only as food for thought. Fodder. For a blog post. So whether or not it’d be an interesting read, or whether anyone would buy it, is a non-issue.
Fine. I moved on.
Which then made me think about diaries. Do you keep a diary? I wish I had a dime for every diary I’ve started and never finished. From the time I was maybe eight or nine years old. I’d get all enthusiastic.
At first I’d write down just about everything I did or thought about. Then it slowly tapered off to once a day. And then once every few days. And then once a week. And then once a month. And then once in a while. And then once in a blue moon. And then, never.
Until the next time I decided to keep a diary.
The short answer is, “no”, I do not have one. A diary.
It’s a shame, actually. Because if I was going to ask someone to write my biography, a diary would be very helpful, don’t you think? Especially if it went all the way back to my childhood.
My first crush. My first date. My first boyfriend. My first kiss. My first sexual experience. My first broken heart. My first job. My first apartment. The first time I got grounded. The first (and only) time I got drunk. The first time I smoked a cigarette and almost choked to death. How I quit smoking. The first test I flunked. My first detention. The first time I got caught chewing gum in class. The teachers I despised; and the few I really loved. The bosses I despised; and the many I really liked.
My favourite songs. And singers. And movies. And books. And writers.
Learning to drive. My first ticket. My first fender bender. My ups. My downs.
All lost because I couldn’t stick to the plan. Couldn’t keep a diary going, to save my life.
Well, this certainly adds a bit of a wrinkle, doesn’t it?
Okay, okay, okay. I know. I’m getting way too caught up in reality. This is just one of those “Imagine ifs …”
Who’s going to write the damn biography, then?
Isabel Allende came to mind. She’d add a wonderful spiritual quality. And her descriptions are always so vivid. She’d really make my story come to life. Is her style, her voice really ‘me’, though? Not sure.
Then I thought about Maya Angelou. I think she is, hands down, one of the most powerful thinkers and writers of our time. I love, love, love her stories. But honestly, I’m not so sure my life lives up to her words.
Next thing I knew, there was this big clap of thunder, figuratively speaking. And it was like I got hit by a lightening bolt.
If anyone should write my biography, it’s ME. When you think about it, to some degree it’s what I’m already doing. Here, on WordPress. With this blog. I share a lot. You know where I was born. You know I’m an only child. You know a fair bit about my family, especially my parents. You know a lot about my career and some traveling I’ve done. You know I’m a somewhat crazy cat lady.
You’ve had a chance to read about a lot of my experiences, both good and bad. You know how I feel about a lot of political issues. And politicians. You know I love movies. You know what kind of music I like. That I love flowers. And peaches. And the sound of rain.
Oh sure, there’s some blanks that still need filling. But for the most part, if you’ve plowed through the 342 days that came before today, you have a pretty fair idea of who I am and what I’m about.
Forget having someone write my biography. I’ll write my own autobiography. I am a writer, after all. And who could ever know me as well as I know me?