- to write a book that would tear your insides apart with laughter, not heartbreak.
- to write tiny bites of my life with enough humor to leave my readers with howling belly aches over exaggerated blimps and bleeps.
- to write the best selling memoir full of wit and wisdom, one that would live on the nightstand of every parent on this earth who might need a quick dose of humor following a particularly harrowing day.
- to write with a keen sense of humor to keep my readers turning the pages (or swiping their Kindles) to the very last word.
- to write the takeaways that would lead to joyful resolution for all who read my words.
Meanwhile I have
- written the necessary 90,000 words of a pitiful and shitty first draft (ala Anne Lamott), just to get over it.
- highlighted the questionabull, deleted the distractabull, rewritten the sustainabull, and added the conceivabull.
- hit the muddy middle and squirreled away at least sixty hours of mindless FaceBook gaming in the last thirty days.
The time has come
- to send away the critics and bring in the clowns.
- to let go of the past.
- to write that final chapter.
If nothing else comes of this
- I can say I wrote a book
- My inner self will be sufficiently mended.
- I can be a better person.
- I still have a sense of humor.
BUT maybe one day I’ll sit at the Algonquin table in Dorothy Parker’s mink coat signing copies of my phenomenal book.
What are you reading? What shall I read next? No, don’t tell me. My TBR stack is taller than my bed; my tablet has an accumulation of at least 100 books that I have not read. Let’s not even talk about the Audible account. Fact is, I collect all these books with the best of intentions. Perhaps it’s an illness. Notice I did not say addiction. It’s healthy, isn’t it? Read a review in the paper – buy the book. Attend a book signing – buy the book. Visit the library – buy a book from the discards. Browse a book store (if you can find one) – buy a book. Go to a writer’s conference – raid the book table. Join a writer’s group – buy all their books. They are everywhere. I can’t stop.
If it weren’t for Goodreads, I’d have no idea which ones I’ve read. Just like movies – I know I enjoyed them – especially those I rated *****. BUT, if you ask me what they were about, I’d get confused, mix up characters, places and books. It really doesn’t matter. I’ve never been the kind of person to join a book club and critique each chapter page by page. I’ve never been much of a reviewer either. For me reading is an escape. It’s all about being entertained, having a good laugh, guessing the outcome, and feeling good that I’m not the only one who is writing the most dysfunctional life memoir.
Now about that memoir. Yes I have a few more words, maybe even another chapter. Save room on your TBR list. It will be available
soon… some day. Maybe by next September 6th when Read-A-Book-Day rolls around again.