Notes on Memoir and Some Other Shit

I just read a blog that was quick to point out that it was NOT ABOUT THE WRITER. God, calm down, dude. I don't get it. So I stopped reading his stupid not-about-the-writer blog (plus he lives in NYC. I'm against any writer that lives in NYC. I don't believe in them. They really live in Oakdale, Kansas. I know this for a fact. Plus they have this attitude like, I'm from NYC, bitches. I'm the REAL THING. I say we all stop reading NYC writers immediately, for two days. It will be like a gas station boycott, or turning your headlights on for peace before we had to turn our headlights on just because the man said so.) I find it infinitely interesting to read other people's thoughts. OK, I don't find it infinitely interesting to read other people whining about their lives, or going on and on about their beautiful recovery/enlightenment/ah-ha moment(s), because mostly I think it's bullshit, but I think people are, deep, deep, deepdeep down, mostly kinda interesting.

But I also think I might be weird that way, since more and more journals are going the way of memoir-light (memoir-lite?), or memoir free. I don't know. I get it, I guess. I mean, nobody wants another crybaby account of some kid being locked in the closet his entire life, or raised by wolves, or drug addicts, or cult members, or republicans, I guess. Except, I do. I love that shit. The my family was really fucking crazy memoir (no they weren't.  I'm going to read it just so I can be like, her family's not that crazy...Whoa, yes they are) The I had sex with a lot of guys memoir (no you didn't. Whoa, that is a lot of guys. This makes me feel better about myself!) The sex with my father memoir (HEY! I love that book.  Of all the sex with my father books, it's my favorite). If it's well written, and not overly whiney, and it says something important, I'm down wit it. I think we should all love that shit.

But the good news is, I got my first review! "Read my blog," I wrote to my brother on Facebook chat.
"I did," he responded.
"No, you didn't.  There's no way you could have read it that fast."
"I did."
"No. You didn't.  Read it slower.  Really savor it.  Maybe journal about it for a while, then read it again," I wrote.
 "I did too... It seemed amateurish to me, maybe even plagiarized."