Tuesday, March 18, 2008

How to write your fake memoir

"It's not the true reality, but it is my reality. There are times when I find it difficult to differentiate between reality and my inner world." ~~ Mishe Defonseca

“For whatever reason, I was really torn, and I thought it was my opportunity to put a voice to people who people don’t listen to,” ~~ Margaret Seltzer

“I don't think it is a novel. I still think it's a memoir.” ~~ James Frey

Everybody has a story to tell. Nobody says it has to be true. Mishe wasn't raised by wolves? Well, what do you know. You can make this s*** up. get a pencil, and an unsuspecting friend.

"[loud noise - all caps]!"

The sound woke me from a dead sleep. I rolled over, [physical condition], and blinked at the [light source] piercing my eyes to the back of my skull. My head was pounding, my fingers [color] and there was an incessant [sound] in my ears.

"Who are you?" I said, unable to see how many of them there were. "Where am I?"
Then it all came back to me.

I remembered that I had left my [relative's] home just last [day of the week], tired of the [colorfully bizarre abuse] and thinking only of my next score of [drug of choice]. I'd been hard-pounding since I was [age under 10] and now all I cared about was getting more. Throwing together a [sad cliched clothing container] of jeans, a sweatshirt, [drug paraphernalia] and [Rosebud-like childhood totem to be explained later], I had taken to Highway [#]. I didn't know where I was going, but I already knew where I'd been.

I already knew what it was like to [verb] over a [furniture] and [bodily function] out [building material]...already knew how to [verb] for cash without [-ing verb]...already knew that [dull proverb your Aunt Mable might say, like "no good deed goes unpunished"]. Now I wanted to know what it was like to feel [outdated slang for "good"].

I was [age between 15 and 20] years old........
..........[unusual first name from literature] tossed a cigarette to the ground where it hissed in a puddle. We had been travelling together now for [#] days, having slept in [inhuman location], [top that], and one night [a dangerous scene, featuring at least 2 hoodlums and a suspicious animal]. Tonight I just wanted to [verb], like the rest of the world does. I lay on my [body part] and thought about [food item]. [Literature name] pulled out a [noun] and treated us both to a [work of art]. For the first time, I [tired phrase for calm, formed in the past tense].........


......"You're all against me!" I [-ed verb] and [-ed martial arts move] my [body part] at the [adj] [adj] [fairy tale creature] that appeared on the end of my [piece of silverware]. "[Expletive borrowed from film]" it replied. I [-ed phrase borrowed from Appalachian folksong] and reached for [Rosebud totem]. Perhaps for the last time.....


.... Dr. [type of fabric] looked at me over his glasses and nodded slowly. "Are you telling me...?" He paused, and leaned forward, his [body part] on his [body part]. "Or are you telling... you?" I choked down a [fruit] in my throat and collapsed into tears. "[Outcry from popular culture]!" I sobbed....


[Relative] died at age [# greater than 80]. We never spoke again.

After [#] years of sobriety, [literature name] committed suicide by drinking [fuel].

I still keep in touch with Dr [fabric], but it's different now. He reminds me of where I've been...instead of where I'm going.


  1. Folks have made millions out of writing romance novels the same way, i.e, Danielle Steele and others. Guess it all depends on personal integrity. :o) Marn

  2. Whom should I choose? Dr. Chenille or Dr. Boucle? Dr. Taffeta doesn't ring true enough, and Dr. Calico only treats cats.



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