I just had the hugest epiphany. I was sitting on my couch, and I started to read a book, and then some sort of massive neural solar flare thingie happened in my brain and suddenly everything I’ve been struggling with in terms of the memoir became clear. Absolutely, sparklingly clear, as if someone implanted the finished manuscript into my brain and all I have to do now is type it.

You might have guessed by now that I decided to write the memoir first, before the poetry manuscript (see yesterday’s post.) Originally, it was because I have 56,000 words of memoir already written, but now that point is moot because I won’t be using a word of that 56,000. Yes, that’s right. I’m starting over entirely from scratch. I might be insane, but I think I had to get all that out of the way so that I could get to what this memoir is really supposed to be, which is something completely different than the childhood trauma memoir I started to write. You might remember a week or two ago when I was musing about whether I could write about trauma by using humor. (Because, honestly, it was running out of gas as a serious memoir.) I tried, in fact, by rewriting the first chapter, but it didn’t really flow. I made a new outline of scenes that would work better with humor, but it wasn’t coming together as a narrative. And then BAM! The epiphany. And now I know exactly how to do it.

So, here’s what I can tell you: There will be no trauma (at least not real trauma.) It’s going to be hilarious. I’m going to give away all my deep, dark secrets. And you’ll feel much better about yourself after you read it and realize that nobody on earth is a bigger dork than Laurie Junkins.  Oooooh yeah. My greatest hits of good-intentioned dorkitude, from my childhood dreams of being the next Liza Minnelli, to Bad Fashions I’ve Known and Worn, to the time I decided to indulge my inner Martha Stewart and become the perfect housewife–which resulted in my son barfing up my “delicious” meatloaf onto his dinner plate after a single bite.  It’s good stuff, people, and the kind of thing I do best. (Writing humor, I mean, not being a dork. Although they’re really hand-in-hand.)

I have never been so excited about a project. Now, if you wouldn’t mind seeing yourself out, I’ve really got a lot of writing to do.