I fear snakes and sharks. You know this, we’ve talked about it. But I also fear an embarrassing posthumous discovery. You heard me correctly. I’ve thought about this more than once. More than I care to admit. But the other day, when I went scrambling around my house trying to find an old college transcript,…
Note: This post stemmed from a prompt flashback to misery. I’m writing a book and it’s a shitty long look backwards. I mean the writing isn’t shitty, but the looking back certainly is. Memoir seems to be a deliberately-written exploration of a series of miserable flashbacks. Or flashbacks on misery. Flashbacks with misery? Flashback…