Stranger than Fiction...and Funnier, too

I was talking to a friend of mine the other day, one who I grew up with back in Oregon, and she was telling me about the book she's writing. It's about her life, and as she was telling me about some of the events that will be included in the book, I was shocked. Truth is stranger than fiction, everybody knows that--or at least everyone should--and I actually found myself at one point asking her, "He really did that??" when she told me about one of the scenes from the book. I honestly couldn't believe it, to which she quipped that it would not be possible to make this stuff up.

That's why I love real life. It's why I love reading about real life. And I know I say it all the time, but I just love memoirs for that reason. It's so satisfying knowing that what you're reading about really happened. And I think the potential for grand emotions is heightened. Real life has the potential to be more heartbreaking, more inspiring, more joyful, more hilarious, and certainly more unexpected than anything we can make up. That's probably why I'm sixty pages into a new novel right now (I know! I know! What am I doing reading fiction?) and can't seem to get into it but was in stitches when my friend read me the opening pages of her hilarious memoir. Life is just funnier. Now, back to this novel. Groan. (Watch, it will turn around any second and become the best thing I've ever read and I'll be eating crow for days. Which, incidentally, would also be pretty funny.)
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Heads in Beds

Here's why this memoir works. Well, it's fabulous. But more than that, it's an ideal kind of memoir to read. It's not so removed or unrelatable as many memoirs today are (I lived in the slums of some third world country for a year, I was in jail, I climbed mount Everest, blah blah blah.) True that those memoirs can be fascinating, but they have nothing to do with us and our lives. Heads in Beds offers both fascination (more like genuine shock and intrigue) AND accessibility. Relatability. The hotel industry affects all of us. Business trips, vacations, get-a-ways. We all stay there, and we all know nothing about what it's like behind the scenes. It's a dynamite combination.

If I were on Goodreads (I know, I've already admitted that I should be on Goodreads), I'd give it 4 out of 5, only because I did find the swearing excessive to the point of being distracting, but honestly, if you like memoirs and can tolerate some irreverence and more honesty than you might be comfortable with about what actually goes on inside our homes away from home, this book will be a treat. And if you don't believe me, here's a baby brick. Which should help you see it my way.
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What I Learn from Awards Season

That I really should get a pixie cut, incorporate tons of sex into whatever I write or create, that an organized speech is always better than winging it (especially when alcohol is involved), dresses that fit are preferable to ones you spill out of, and that you can't ever beat Daniel Day-Lewis--even if you deserve to.

Despite all the ridiculousness celebrities inspire, what I learn in pretty much every awards season is that I'll never cease to be fascinated by them. Not really because I want to shoot movies or be followed by paparazzi, but because being beautiful and rich is something I could totally get on board with. I guess it's hard not to be jealous of a life where money is never an issue, where 8 to 5 at the office is a thing of the past, and where I have people to do things like my calendar scheduling. And my hair. So, yes, I'll never quite get over my fascination with all things Oscar or the pang of longing that surfaces when I flip through the People magazine and see shots of all the people who get to hang out (or live) in New York City...which is apparently everyone.

That said, since I've started writing--more specifically, since I've started writing about my life--I find that I'm much more content with my own circumstances. My own brouhahas and misadventures. Because they are mine, and because they are reality. As I've said before, I gravitate toward books written about real life, by real (read: not famous) people. Because to me, the authors I most enjoy reading are the ones who are good storytellers, regardless of the "grandness" of their content; the ones who can turn an everyday experience into one that is as entertaining as it is insightful. If I can ever get to this point in my own writing, I will consider myself a success. With or without a pixie cut.
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Thanks

I've been traveling this week, and it's the first time in probably years that I didn't bring a computer with me. I knew I wasn't going to have time for writing, plus I wanted my focus to be on my family, as they were the entire reason for the trip anyway. I'd be lying if I said I didn't at times feel crazy for being completely disconnected from the land of www, but spending so much quality time with  my family had me really reflecting on how grateful I truly am for the blessings in my life.

Last week a pretty harsh review of Schooled popped up that complained about the lack of opposition, trials, or legitimate "memoir" subject matter in the book. I won't go into how this person sort of missed the universality boat like I did in my popularity spiel inspired by another review (although I certainly could), because my reaction to this latest review has actually been one of gratitude. Not for the review itself, because reading it really sucked, but for the chance it has given me to be grateful for such a trial-free upbringing.

Let's be clear, this is not to say that there have not been trials. But compared to so many in this world, I've been fortunate. My parents are still married, and they treated us and each other with love and respect. We never had a lot, but we always had more than enough for what we needed. I was raised in a religion that gave (and continues to give) me hope and comfort in an increasingly corrupt world. I can see and hear and walk, and I've been able to receive a quality education that has prepared me well for the workforce. I could go on and on. I suppose if I had battled a drug addiction or escaped an abusive situation or been homeless or imprisoned  for a time that I might be selling more books. But personally, I'd rather be me, here, now, in my abundantly blessed yet somewhat less than noteworthy life.

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