This morning I read about a father and a son who have both written memoirs about the son’s meth addiction. And they’re being published at the same time! How awkward is that? I can just see the two men sitting around the kitchen table a few months ago.
“Dad,” says the son, “I think I am ready to conquer my demons. I’m going to write about my meth addiction. Maybe my cautionary tale will connect with some young, would-be meth addicts. Maybe I can keep them off drugs, and in the process, make a name for myself.”
“Son,” says the father, “That is some major bullshit. I started writing about your meth addiction first.”
The New York Times article gives the father’s memoir top billing. I hope the son’s meth addiction wasn’t originally brought on by the pressure to prove himself to his competitive father, because if so, that kid will probably be smoking a whole lot of crystal come book tour time.
I wonder about these awkward moments whenever there are two writers in one family. Do Amy and David Sedaris have to check with each other before submitting a personal essay to the New Yorker? Did the Sedaris siblings wrestle for who would first chronicle their crazy childhoods? I would have fought to the death for the right to unveil The Rooster. Anyway, I want to get this stuff straight before my sister Margaret and I start shopping our competing memoirs:
How I Survived My Formative Years with a Self-Obsessed Older Sister Who Always Ate All the Ice Cream by Margaret Murray
versus
I Love Ice Cream and You Can’t Have Any: A Childhood by Wistar Murray
*I am trying to drum up some good lawsuit publicity for my blog by rearranging other peoples’ headlines/book titles.