The initial idea would have been to write about world peace. Honestly, who doesn’t want that?
If I could say anything really stirring on that goal I would have said it a long time ago, not waiting for a blogging prompt to say my piece.
Then there’s my love of cake. I love a big, delicious piece of cake, but then something else popped into my mind.
In fact, it’s always in there somewhere, so it just pushed a lot of other stuff in there out of the way and made itself at home, front and center.
When I was in the eighth grade I started writing a diary. Well truthfully, I called it a log, not wanting to call it a diary because I felt the word was becoming a cliche of sorts for young girls.
I wanted somewhere to write down my thoughts, somewhere with a name as different as I felt.
Silly of me. It was a diary.
From there, the idea sprung up in my mind, that I would write my autobiography.
What did a fourteen-year-old have to put into an autobiography anyway?
Well, I had just been through a year or more of illness, medications, missed school, and surgeries. I wanted to call it The Year and a Half From Hell.
This was back in 1998 and just barely was I using a computer at all.
I started writing it and I did this in braille, using the old, heavy-duty Perkins Brailler.
I soon had pages and pages of braille, a towering pile of pages filled with row after row of raised dots, telling my story, but only I could read it, with maybe the exception of my brother or maybe my mother.
Then, just as suddenly as the idea came to me, it faded. I ran out of steam, but the dream never left my mind entirely.
I didn’t know where to go from there.
Now that I have this blog, I wonder if my long harboured dream of writing, what I now call my memoir, if that is less necessary.
I now have a place where I can write, in a broken up manner, when I feel inspired.
The problem is that I didn’t know how to downsize something so integral to my life, into a book.
I didn’t know what to say and what to leave out.
Also, I have decided to scrap Year and a Half From Hell, in favour of a title that takes me back to that cliche question.
Piece of Cake:
It’s a phrase meaning a task that’s thought to be simple or easy to accomplish. No problem at all.
Of course that year I spent in hospital and attached to dialysis machines was anything but simple or easy, but I would have no idea as that fourteen-year-old girl, just how much harder the following years would be after the idea for a memoir first occurred to me.
I think it sums up the sort of sense of humour I possess. I am not overly funny in any real ha ha sense of the word.
I am more dry, ironic, witty sense of humour girl.
Both titles felt authentic to me, even if one is a highly repeated, widely overused cliche from way back.
I like it and, besides, it makes me think of that sweet sweet piece of cake I so often deny myself.
I would have used it as reward for all that hell I’d been through, and have done at times, but all in moderation.
Besides, those two things don’t go together for someone who was put on steroid medication from age twelve onward.
Oh, and I almost forgot to mention, I am just as sweet as any cake.
Plus, I don’t like pie, so Easy As Pie was never a possible title for any autobiography or memoir of mine.
That was my offering for this week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday:
I was sorry to hear that this weekly blogging prompt almost came to a halt, so soon after I came across it.
Would have been a real shame, but I would have understood if the blogger herself, in charge of SoCS, if she needed the break.
Thanks for keeping it going. It has come to mean something to my blogging schedule and to myself.
I may even take a stab at the Wednesday prompt next.
If you read the title of this post and expected me to write about Marie-Antoinette, sorry to disappoint. Perhaps I will work it into a future post on this subject, but for now…
As for that pesky world peace question, I’m open to a discussion, if anybody has any ideas or suggestions.