WRITE YOUR LIFE STORY---AS ONLY YOU CAN DO.
YES. Simply- open your mouth and start talking. You can worry about putting everything in perfect-order, later. Share everything about your happy or troubling childhood—write about your high school memories, your shocking events---and your life-changing situations like-- marriages, divorces, births and deaths.
EVERYONE has stories to share with the world---stories that make you stand-out-from-the- crowd. AND—only you can share your opinion about life, love, events, people, jobs, neighbors, sex—and on and on. Once you begin talking and writing, you realize how many different subjects-- involve you. Only-you know the details of your life and exactly how you’ve lived them so---your life story can only be written—by you.
You start the writing process with blank pages and you-alone supply the details, the stories, and the words. Don't worry about sentence structure, grammar, punctuation, or editing-in-general until everything is written. For now--Just write and keep writing-- day after day--and continue to write until you have exhausted every memory. Don’t stop writing until you feel totally-empty of all stories. AND---provide photos and documentation--- when possible.
Before finishing my book, I remember asking one important question to a close friend, a professional portrait painter: "How do you know when to put the brush down and declare the portrait is finished?" In response, my friend said: "you'll know. There comes a moment when you look at your project and hear a voice inside that says: "It's Over-- It's Finished."
I recall all those hours, all those days, just typing away, wondering when I'd write the final page and then, without warning--it happened. Something clicked as I was re-reading a paragraph on the page in front of me and suddenly I realized--- I was writing the final page of the book; I was writing the book’s ending. I finished the final sentence—then waited a second before saving the page and shutting down the computer.
At that moment-- I felt completely-exhausted, like I'd finished running a marathon. I grasped the closed computer in my arms-- leaned over with my head down-- and began crying. I cried for hours. My tears were not the result of grief or sadness or loss. Instead, my tears were tears of relief--- tears of love and happiness and--- my tears were tears--- for only-me! My tears were my applause for finishing a life-long journey---alone.
Best of all, I'd succeeded in sharing my story; my shameful secrets were now—publically-shared--- for all to read. I'd finished the longest struggle of my life and---despite the-many life-threatening obstacles along the way---I survived. YES! I am the winner.
SO....WHO hasn't read my book: THE BEAUTY QUEEN?!?!? You must read it or...forever-wonder what you missed.
From the book's Beginning until its end---your mind will experience the Roller Coaster-Ride-of-a-Lifetime. How do I know?!?!?!?! I know because--I lived every second of it.
I survived what many have called-- an "impossible" life BUT---I refused to give up or be a victim. I speak frankly about being sexually-abused from childhood; bullied and mocked as a teenager; snubbed as a new bride---and constantly- ridiculed, criticized, hated, and controlled by my Mother-- my- own flesh/blood.
As the Author/Publisher of my true story, I was able to applaud my successes, my accomplishments, and directly-challenge those who questioned my intelligence. AND—not-once did I hesitate to reveal the antics of those around me--including the nauseating tidbits from the ex-husband-from-Hell:
"He (my ex.) had a thing for secretaries...."
"Like past secretary-girlfriends, Jack’s latest didn’t have secretarial training but the way she dressed-----short skirts and tight sweaters--- insured job security.
Remember, it was the sixties and very much a man’s world. Unlike his flat-chested secretary from Southern Federal, Jack’s new personal secretary, his latest queen-of-typewriters and all-things-long-and-short-hand had two, very-large and lively assets. She didn’t have attractive legs and her face was homely but, as the male majority would say, “Who the hell is looking at her face?”
Most intriguing, Our Girl-Friday didn’t shave her legs, underarms, or the curly hairs sprouting around the tip of each asset. Don’t doubt me. The day came when I saw them up-close and very personal."
From: “THE BEAUTY QUEEN”-----LET NO DEED GO UNPUBLISHED.