Twice I’ve tried to write something thoughtful regarding the celebrity autobiography or memoir as I have become intrigued with the mix of relationship-analysis; personal-decision evaluation; amusing anecdote; nostalgic musing; spin; score-settling; name dropping; advice; amateur self-depreciation; attempts to clarify the public record; listing of former beloved pets; and romantic (and other sorts of) conquests that go into such a tome.
I’ve read but a handful and yet, I imagine the difference between an entertaining (enlightening) autobiography and one that is dull or annoying is getting those components calibrated, or nearly so.
It can’t be easy.
And yes several of these celebrities have ghost writers or assistance in some way, but still, it must take a lot of negotiating.
I mean, who among us wouldn’t want to include all the stories about having laughed so hard we peed our pants at the optometrist’s office? It must be deeply disappointing to be told one such story would suffice.
And yet I have not come to praise Robert J Wagner in my third blog post regarding his “Pieces of My Heart” but to mock, because I’m better at that.
I, unlike a successful memoir, am not well-calibrated and balanced
Yes I came to mock and yet I won’t be doing so. Why?
Because I’ve come to respect his effort in turning out an entertaining and well-rounded book? Because I can find no more specific passages that I think are asking to be made fun of?
No, it’s because I had to take RJ back to the library.
He’s out of my life so forget about it already.
Next up: The Life and Times of Tennessee Tuxedo