Reflecting on my life, I think the various highlights and lowlights would make for a good read, provided the book was targeted to readers in the finance or management arenas. Otherwise, yawn.
You?
Nope. I can’t imagine anyone finding anything about my life fascinating.
Nope. I’ve kept diaries since the day I turned eight, but nobody would be interested in reading them.
My life is kinda like a black Forrest Gump’s. If I could consistently channel Sampiro’s writing voice or detatched amusement I might have something worth reading.
Nope. The only reason to write about my life would be as a cautionary tale on the dangers of procrastination.
Definitely! I’ve raised hell and partied like a rock star, traveled far and wide, hiked a good part of northern California and northern Vermont, loved and lost and loved again, been promiscuous and adventurous, done dangerous drugs and came back from the edge, and I’ve bicycled across three and a half states. I have exacted deservedly horrible revenge on people, I have helped someone get her life back after an abusive relationship, I’ve loved then hated then loved my twin again, I’ve ridden in the front seat of a twin-prop plane flying sideways through the Grand Canyon. I’ve been thrown by horses and jumped right back on before they even knew it. I’ve rescued animals and chased down a runaway baby carriage. And I cook really good chicken. Plus other stuff.
I was going to say no, that I’d pity anyone that had to read about my life for fun, but then I saw what Ghanima wrote and reconsidered.
There’s probably a niche market for memoirs like mine. I’ve also done the party like a rock star thing, abused nearly every chemical possible up til about…when I stopped. Met and befriended some famous people. I’ve travelled by car for two months through most of the country west of the Mississippi with two other guys when I was 17 armed with nothing but a lot of cash, sleeping bags, a pound of reefer, two pistols, a shotgun and a 12 year old station wagon.
I’ve jumped out of second floor balconies as husbands were walking in the front door, hid under porches when parents walked into the back yard, dove under a pew when we didn’t know the priest was coming in early for mass (yes I’m going to hell), left my boss’s secretaries underwear on his chair for him to see in the morning, and went on a jilted bride’s honeymoon with her. I got caught having sex by the 2 kids my girlfriend was babysitting. Then when they went back to bed, their mom came home early and caught us again.
I’ve stood on the ledge of high rises 800 feet in the air with nothing between me and the city street but a favroable wind. I almost drowned in a rip tide in a lake. I drove a 71 XKE at 140 mph+ down an interstate for 20 miles at age 19. And somehow managed to morph into a boring coot that spends his days working and hanging out here with you all.
People, people, people… :rolleyes:
Y’all lack imagination.
For example,
You could write “I had a few problems with a children’s toy last night.” or you could write this.
Or you could write “I had a few problems with rodents on my farm.” or you could write this.
Or you could write… well… I got nothin’… but you could write this and I would definitely buy it. No question about it.
You’re not saying you lead boring lives; you’re saying that you’re boring writers, and I know better.