It’s a damn memoir. That’s my “novel”. I was struck like a hammer one and a half pages in. I’ve been infused with the notion of “write what you know” and was buoyed by Gregory David Roberts Shantaram and figured I could pull off something similar. I can’t…or I won’t. If I’m going to write a memoir, it needs to be authentic, and I was wrestling with way too many plot devices to hide my identity. I just need to be honest and write the damn thing.
That said, now I’m fucking terrified that this memoir is all I’ve got in me and that I don’t have the creative chops to play make believe. To that end, I think the plan now is to seek inspiration for the work of fiction…the novel, and continue on with the memoir. Believe me I am the last guy in the world that thinks I’m special or that my life warrants a memoir, but I do believe there are some experiences in my life that might ring true for others and possibly help them. Or so I’ve been told anyway.
Where yesterday I was planning one book, I have now committed to two. It will be interesting to see if I can do both concurrently or if one will dominate the other. I really am anxious to see if I can write fiction. I submitted a short story in a local writing contest but it too was like Shantaram…veiled fiction. I really need to step outside the box and create my own world…it’s exciting to think about…now all I need is to be struck like a hammer again…this time with inspiration.