It kind of hit me in a flash last weekend. I’ve been flailing around for some kind of creative project to work on as of late, but nothing was really making an appearance. I’m trying to write a Netflix series, but I’m stalling out on the tone and the pacing of what I want to write. It’s easier to write a movie than a TV series, but I have eight episodes that I want to crank out, so at some point, I’m going to have to figure out that tone and pacing.
But that’s not what I am devoting my full energies towards yet. There was something else that was just sitting there, something that, when I thought of it, seemed so obvious. So, once I decided to do it, it all came so easily.
I decided to write a memoir.
Now, for those of you who are a bit slower on the uptake, here is the definition of a memoir:
This will probably make your skin crawl. That’s right, folks, I am going to write an autobiography and it is going to deal almost exclusively with my career as a teacher. I say that I’m going to write it, but in all honesty, it’s already being written. I am approximately 6000 words in and I’ve only been working a week (a novel, for those who don’t know, can average between 60,000 and 90,000 words in total). This thing should flow quite well, though I am still working on the overall structure of the story I’m trying to tell.
But why a memoir?
Well, in all honesty, sometimes I sit back and look at the life that I’ve led and I just marvel at the vast amount of experiences that I’ve had. I could put all of this together as a book about my life in general, but there’s too much to tell there. So, for this particular memoir, I’m only going to focus on my life as a teacher. And quite frankly, after twenty-five years in this business, there’s a lot to tell. I have stories about students. I have stories about parents. I have stories about my fellow teachers. I have stories about administrators. Hell, I have stories about random people who wander into band practices and start playing music with us.
The key here is that I have stories. I have experienced quite a bit, and all of the stories are unusual.
Considering the amount of former students I have on this list, there might be some sweaty palms and sick stomachs after reading something of this nature. Rest assured, former students, I will not be using your names. But that’s kind of the fun of it, isn’t it? Now, what was a memoir becomes a mystery. “Mr. G changed the names and locations, but are my powers of deduction strong enough to figure out who he’s actually talking about?” Probably not. I’m pretty good at twisting and altering these stories so that no one will know who is who.
I am savvy enough to change things. There are too many legal battles that would rear their ugly heads if I didn’t change the names and locations. However, if you’re willing to let me use your real name to tell stories about you, then don’t hesitate to send me an email and we can all go down together!
But why should I talk about my memoir, when I could actually have you read it? When I decided to start writing the book, I sat down and wrote the following passage almost immediately. It is how the book will begin. Here’s your sample:
LONDON
I am sitting in a darkened theater, just off the Thames River. Around me are the fifteen students that I have taken to London, all of them ranging in ages from fourteen to seventeen. Also there is one of my fellow teachers, who has agreed to chaperone the trip. We are watching a production of La Soiree being put on at the National Theatre. The music is loud and bawdy. The crowd is going completely insane; cheering, hooting, hollering, roaring with laughter, and having the time of their lives. It is a show to end all shows.
But I’m not enjoying myself. I am looking at the stage, wide-eyed and fearful. I have a sick feeling in my stomach, but at the same time, I feel strangely detached, as if I have left my corporeal form and am now hovering above the crowd, watching the events as though I’m not there. I could be in a coma. I might be dead.
Why do I feel this way?
Because the naked woman on stage just pulled a red scarf from her vagina and tossed it into the crowd.
We’ll see where this leads us. Talk to me in about a year to see if I’ve actually finished it.
In the interest of full disclosure, I’ve published two books in the last two weeks. One is The Completely Unreliable Travel Guide to Walt Disney World’s Magic Kingdom. I’ve been paying for a bit of advertising on Instagram with this one and making a few commercials for it. It’s only been published for a short time, and I’ve already received my first review!
Look, this book is definitely not for everyone, but it’s a heck of a lot of fun. Go buy a copy. I don’t think I’ve put more work into a book than I have with this one.
The other book that I published has a bit of stealth behind it. I’m always writing goofy books about yetis or talking beavers or time-travel, but this one was something else. It’s called Oklahoma 1981-1991, and it’s an actual novel-novel. I started writing it in 2014, but because it was an actual serious book, I always kept it on the back burner. I never really felt it was good enough to publish, but there was something about it that I liked. It’s set in a fictional small town in Eastern Oklahoma (funny enough…a town very similar to the one that I grew up in). It’s a murder mystery that is also about growing up in Oklahoma in the 80s. It’s weird. It’s depressing. I quite like it, but I’m not sure it would be everyone’s cup of tea. There’s a great deal of autobiographical elements to it, and yet none of what is inside this book is actually true or happened in any way. It’s definitely an adult book. Basically, I’m not sure how to describe it. But I published it and it’s out there in the world now.
Okay, so that’s all I’ve got for this week. I’m going to go order some Starbucks, turn on the final episode of this season of Ted Lasso and start relaxing. Ciao!