Writing my memoir is hard. Really, really hard. I’m working on a book proposal, which involves doing synopses of all of the chapters. Well, I hadn’t really thought too much about chapters, so here I go making chapters, seeing where the scenes naturally divide themselves, start and end. And they do, you know, the scenes of our lives just naturally divide themselves up: now we are cooking, now we are eating, now we are making love. And it all just flows. There might be some awkward scenes, but that’s natural too.
Mainly, my jaw is dragging around on the floor that there are so many, so so many, scenes in my life. So many just trying to keep alive, trading some kind of commodity for some other, just to get a place to spend the night out of the elements, or a hamburger. Jeez, most of them are pretty gritty. Heh, she thinks cynically, maybe that’ll sell more copies. Ugh.