Because I think my life is so damn interesting.

I needed to start taking small breaks from the editing process to work on other stuff.  I make it a point to get at least a little bit of some type of creative endeavor worked on each day, but the constant removal of strange symbols, quote replacement, and paragraph creating is dragging itself out and tiring me in a way I didn’t think possible.  I find myself absentmindedly floating through pages, fixing things without realizing that I’m doing so.  This is a problem, because I need to make sure that everything is perfect, down to the last comma.  So to give my brain a break from the mundane, a new story was created.  I decided that I wanted to try writing a memoir, which is hard for me, because a memoir implies that the author feels their life is interesting enough for others to want to read about, and I have a hard time feeling like my life is worth anyone caring about.  But I am taking this memoir on from a broken brain point of view, a story about growing up around mental illness, suffering from it myself, and watching the early stages of the disease begin to creep out around my own daughters psyche from time to time.  I want the story to be about symptoms, having the courage to admit that there is something wrong, and not being afraid to fix it.  I am also hoping to incorporate a bit of child care concerns in the book, considering it a sort of guide for parents who have children that are suffering from some form of mental illness.  There aren’t many books on the subject, which I find depressing.

I have tried writing a memoir before, focusing more on my own child and not my fucked up childhood.  I want this book to be uplifting though, and funny in an awkward kind of way. Something to make people giggle about uncomfortably, I guess.

It’s worth a shot.

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