The nature of autobiography
One day, as it is on my list of things to do before I die, I will sit down and try to take account of all my years as a human being on this planet of ours. And it makes me wonder what I'll have to say about them, so far on. Will I feel any urge to embellish or conceal, twist or condense? Do all autobiographical authors go through this? I'm sure they do, but to what extent, and would they ever admit it?
I also find it amusing when autobiographies - or even biographies - of people who are famous for being famous, or otherwise only 23, come out. Some I will grant are appropriately thin, which leads to the question why bother just yet? But others, more confusingly, when their authors (or supposed 'authors') fall into the aforementioned category, end up being as thick as Bleak House. I can't say I've picked one up to see how large the font or margins are, admittedly, so maybe it is just as sparse as the thin ones. But still - how can there be that much material? They're not Queen Victoria or Louis Armstrong. Surely there must be a hell of a lot of twisting and embellishment?
I wonder, if I ever get to write an autobiography, what category I'll go in. Will it be as someone notable, whose name is recognised, praised and sought post-humous; or will it in fact be more of 'memoirs', of a person merely very observant of time, people and place? For example, will I be able to call myself a contemporary of so-and-so, or simply recall that I went to school with them and nothing more? Curious stuff.
Following the appraisal of my writing here at university by writers who have been published and awarded, I've also been reflecting on my writing. Particularly after Annie McGann pointed out that I have a 'rich use of language - sometimes too rich'. I'm not disputing her. It can't have escaped everyone's notice that my natural writing voice - even to a certain extent my speaking voice - verges on the edge, or sits on the plateau (depending on the purpose of the writing), of elevated, sometimes even archaic, romantic and generally cerebral language. I'm not sure why I let it be like that, as I can't say I do it deliberately, or why it developed and established itself so firmly. A lot of the time, in fact, I have to restrain myself from sounding downright 'poncy' as they call it over here ('fancy-smancy' to the rest of you), because that's just counter-productive.
I mean, I use words like 'incongruous', 'celestial' and 'catharsis' quite regularly. I confess I'm known to shorten more common words, like 'situation' into 'situ', and create still others in place of words that were less interesting, such as 'tizzle' for a light argument or 'hispy' for stereotypically womanly. The result of combining all this sophisticated vocabulary and altered words is a smattering of an idiolect that sways from barely-noticeable to overpowering, depending on the context. Have to say I like it this way. I like showing that I'm intelligent, articulate and imaginative. I love words - there's no way around it. You only have to look at / listen to IIM to tell.
Anyway, my point there is that I wonder if people would find that enjoyable, if I were to write an autobiography or 'memoirs' just how I like. Or would I have to hire a ghostwriter (as no doubt many of these so-called 'celebrities' have) to translate? Wouldn't it be more true to myself to do the former?
Of course, this is all provided I even have something to write about. Naturally there are things that have been important to me but they may not exactly make for interesting chapter-length reading. I also think, considering some of those things, it may be better to wait until my parents are dead. But hell, when's that? That'd be very ironic if I was only staying alive to wait for my parents to die so I could write an autobiography. (Yeah, I want to die young-ish. At the moment anyway. I'm not seeing the charm of being 40+, the way I'm going.)
What would I include...parents divorcing, that year of homeschooling, Pawpaw dying, the first day I sat down to write something 'serious' and decided I wanted to be an author, the move of course, first being published, the start of EoF, the Alex thing, influence of Claire-dear, uni and the personal rennaisance...as a quick run-down. Obviously if I thought about it a bit more I could come up with smaller events that have influenced me. But none of these will carry much weight unless I become a notable person. Or unless I pawn it all off as 'the memoirs of an American in the UK', which sounds a bit drole.
I certainly hope I become a notable person. I think I may have briefly mentioned this some years back, but, concerning me becoming a successful author, it hasn't seriously occured to me that I could fail. Obviously yes I know it's a hard road to be picked for, and that there will be 'dark ages', but I have never imagined myself struggling so much that I'd have to change career - that kind of failure. Is this a good thing or not? I'd hope that it's kinda good, since I consider myself not to be under any disillusion that it'll be an easy life. But, heaven forbid, what if it isn't? I can't imagine myself doing anything else. *askew mouth*
Oh well, just carry on.
You'll find it hilarious - endearing, please? - but, I have a file on my laptop known as 'The Inochi Painting'. It's basically one huge, self-indulgent self-profile. An accumulation of lists, more like. But for some reason I can't bring myself to stop and delete it. It's valuable, in its own eccentric way. It's interesting to see what your character's composed of - I don't think many of us actually sit back and examine all our component parts in one go like that. I recommend it. A little introspection is healthy.
Looking back over this debate on the nature of autobiography...maybe it'd actually be easier to just publish journal entries. Ha.
~ Live beautifully. ~
~ Fade out. ~