City memoir.

After being back in my beloved suburb for a couple weeks, my two trips downtown for my internship this week were like coming home.  Ah, tall, shiny buildings.  Pedestrians galore.  Business people everywhere.  It fits me.  I appreciate quiet and green trees and the many lakes of my homeland, but I’m still a city lady.

I’m a city lady who is a copywriting intern and writes press releases.

I just finished reading a collection of essays (really more of a memoir) entitled, I Was Told There’d Be Cake by Sloane Crosley.  Her funny and poignant recollections got me thinking that maybe I have enough interesting life experience to write a memoir.  Or a collection of essays.  Granted, I think everyone has enough material to write a memoir, and – because I love reading memoirs – I wouldn’t complain if there was an influx.

When does one start writing a memoir?  Do older people scoff at you if you start one too early?  (Not that that would keep me from writing one, but…) For another matter, when does one start sending things off to publishers?

I still sort of feel like an impostor when I refer to myself as a writer. That might sound silly.  Or maybe you think I am an impostor, in which case, I politely request that you find another blog to read.  (ooh, there’s some sassiness!)

If I send something in to a publisher, which I am contemplating doing this summer (not that I have anything to send yet… I’d have to write it first), I won’t tell you.  Sorry. I’ll buy myself a Writer’s Market and secretly send things off to Canadian magazines and obscure bird-watching magazines first, and I won’t tell you so that I won’t have to tell you when I get a rejection letter.

That’s not me being self-deprecating, people.  Stephen King got tons of rejection letters.  Everybody gets rejection letters.  They make good stories later when someone else accepts the manuscript, and it becomes a bestseller.

I’ll let you know when someone accepts something, a few years down the line though.  And you can say that you’ve been with me through the whole journey (even though I’ll keep all the rejection letters a secret from you).  You’ve still been here.

By the way, I don’t say this enough, thanks for being here.  Thanks for reading.  Thanks for sharing this with your friends.  I’m glad to have you here.

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