The story of the story of my life
This is true. I started writing my autobiography approximately 55 years ago, at age 5 or 6. I sat down at the table in the bedroom I shared with my older brother, Larry, and opened a blank notebook to page one and wrote a sentence that, even though I was a child at the time, I’m too embarrassed to reveal at present. Like the character in Dick’s short story We Can Remember It For You Wholesale, my idea of my life is that it was nothing if not heroic on the grandest imaginable scale.
After that sentence I was stumped. A writer’s block set in that has barely dissipated in six decades. Within a week of composing that sentence I had already forgotten things and so felt hopeless to continue.
Hopeless.
May 20th, 2012 at 8:52 pm
I am loving your blog. Your memories of north beach, i.e., The Hot Dog Palace, are so interesting. My aunt hung out there in the 50’s, early 60’s; and, no, she wasn’t a cop… heh-heh… the part-owner at the time was Jimmy Valentine (don’t know the exact years for that). She lived with Shelly Robbin, the piano player at the Hungry i, in the late 50’s. Then, in the early 60’s, she lived there off & on in a flop house and eventually checked herself into synanon at the embarcadero. Your blog is wonderfully written (I will subscribe). Am looking forward to reading more.