Write Part of My Memoir in November, Day 16: Paris Edition
My own private Paris, from the fantasies I had about the city as a French-studying high school student to the realities of Friday’s violence.
My own private Paris, from the fantasies I had about the city as a French-studying high school student to the realities of Friday’s violence.
How I got my first travel writing assignment: An excerpt from Getting Naked for Money.
Don’t call me a dilettante because I like to shift writing topics. I am, instead, a literary serial monogamist.
Why can’t I just enjoy finishing a chapter? Why do I have to write the rest of my book? These are questions for which I know the answer, but I am required to ask.
When the going gets tough, the tough post statistics: 12 out of 16 chapters are more or less finished. And now I have a plug in to nag me.
A semi-scatological contemplation of confidence, aging, and the bitchiness of karma.
Writing is part inspiration, part perspiration, and part confidence. I’m pretty good at the first two, but the third always proves very slippery.
A cynical memoirist has a woo-woo experience. It didn’t make me give up drinking or anything but maybe it made my book a bit kinder.
My parents are no longer alive, so it’s too bad my childhood wasn’t worth writing about. Many of the people I’m dissing are still kicking.
Avoiding memoirs, I bought a book on memoir writing. What I learned from it surprised me.
The line between autobiography and memoir is often blurred, and I’m not sure where Getting Naked for Money fits. Should I call it a memography? An automoir?