Discipline, party of one
You want words? I’ll give you words and you will follow them with breathless anticipation. And each word will be better than the next until you look back and see what I’ve created and your sheepish blinking will be taken over by thunderous applause.
That’s the plan.
It’s been exactly 219 days since I began writing my memoir - a story about a young woman with orange eye-shadow, white pumps and over sprayed hair who graced the adult entertainment stage. Serenaded by 80’s rock bands like Poison, Jon Bon Jovi and Mötley Crue, she reveled in the spotlight for the better part of a decade. But what started out as a way to feel attractive ended up stripping her beauty away.
I thought I’d be finished by now. How hard can it be to tell a story about yourself? I mean, it’s my memoir, not The Catcher in the Rye.
My writing journey so far has unveiled to me a simple truth: There is nothing more personal than creativity that pours through another human being. Musicians have melody. Artists have paint. Writers have words. Great writers will make you hear the music and see the brushstrokes on the page. It’s what I am aiming to do.