Memoir is moving apace. Have been slaving over the chapters covering a painful part of my life but thankfully I am about to fly to Nassau, for sun, sand and millionaires. The reality? Sunburn and sandflies and the millionaires were mean. (gotta amass those millions somehow.) The upside? Meeting my husband to be. Even though he became an ex, he was a lot of fun then. He lived in a gardener's shed on Paradise Island and had a little boat. I learned to snorkel, and how to cut twitching conch meat from its shell and dice it into delicious conch salad.
I'm up to page 273 in the Family Britain Book, the year 1952. I was 12 and it's the year my brother was born. He was gorgeous and we had such fun with him. It was a relatively mellow year before I started acting out at school and becoming a gang leader.
I'm also reading Doris Lessing's autobiography, the first volume, Under My Skin, covering the earliest years in Persia then Rhodesia as it was known then. I'm very fond of this author because I discovered her fiction when I was a young mother and struggling to understand a woman's place in the world. Even though I was not politically aware as she was, I 'got' what she was saying and admired her for being able to put a voice to what I was feeling.
Got the Writing Magazine today. The editorial is saying how popular 'print on demand' is becoming and how well it may pay off for first time authors trying to crack the market. I'm wondering now whether to go straight to that rather than toting the memoir around the usual suspects. Food for thought. Which reminds me. Who got kicked off Masterchef last night? I was out and missed it. Must check it out.
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