Last time we asked readers to share their thoughts on autobiographies and possible titles. Turns out several had something to say.
Ready Nancy P. weighed in on several topics but can be summed up here…
It is important to write our memories of how things used to be.
…and she thinks her title could be “Nine Lives and Counting”…
Make sure you read the rest of her insightful comments.
Who’s the crowd pleaser? Hands down it’s Marie…
I’m writing my autobiography and the name of it is Buttercups and Daisies. Its about growing up in Ireland in the 1940’s.
Reader Paul G., Sr offers some good advice for would-be autobiographers, so check out his comments and look up “Defining Moments” on LinkedIn.
Make sure you read all the comments, including the gripping story by Barbara T. about healthcare battles, her own and others – like Henrietta Lacks. She’d call it
“pHARMed: Healing the Shackles of the Past.”
It’s my tribute to the Henrietta Lacks family, Tuskegee Syphilis.experiment and all the other still unknown injuries inflicted on Black, Brown and Indigenous people and justified by the “doctrine of discovery.”
We’ll keep the comments open for a while – please share your title and why you chose them!
Original Column below:
The focus on “Spare” – the autobiography of the man formerly called Prince – got me thinking. His main credential is being the embodiment of the Lucky Sperm Club. If he was the son of the operator of a bowling alley, few people would care…but at least he could use the same title.
I’ve always tried to live my life focused on considering the downside risk. However, every so often I tell myself “Nine times out of ten I do the safe thing. What about the tenth time?”
The tenth time is when I roll the dice. The results are the more interesting, hair raising, or satisfying stories: the close shaves, narrow escapes, windfalls, heartbreaks, catastrophes, winning streaks. That’s why I’d call my autobiography “The Tenth Time.”
Like the time in my college dorm when I uncharacteristically decided not to leave the joint on my desk and stuck it in a drawer. I just got a hinky feeling.
I returned from my errand, looked down the hall (my room was the last one, right next to the stairwell), and saw cops walking in and out of my room.
WOW. Turns out that someone deployed the fire extinguishers in the hallway and the cops – I was told, at least – were checking all the rooms near the hallway for the missing fire extinguisher. Talk about a close shave/narrow escape/lucky break!
But that’s me. What about you? What close shave would inspire your autobiography title? Let us know in the comments!
Virge Randall is Senior Planet’s Managing Editor. She is also a freelance culture reporter who seeks out hidden gems and unsung (or undersung) treasures for Straus Newspapers; her blog “Don’t Get Me Started” puts a quirky new spin on Old School New York City. Send Open Thread suggestions to email@example.com.