I often thought of writing a book, maybe about the experiences of my life, but now I'm terrified to do that because Oprah might find out about it and read it. And if that happens there's a possibility that she might actually like it, though I think an average, thirtysomething, straight, white chick hardly qualifies for Oprah's kind of author. But what happens if she does like it? She'll want me to appear on her show. And what's going to happen when, after I appear on her show and we discuss the trials and tribulations of my life, and my booksales climb into the millions, the website smokinggun.com decides maybe they ought to check out the facts?
Like the time I ate dog food when I was a kid. If I mention I was on Alpo on and off for months and then smokinggun interviews my mom and finds out that it was gravy train or some other brand and it only happened for a week or so, what's going to happen?
Is Alpo going to sue me for misrepresentation?
Are those people who once ate dog food and went through therapy to break the addiction going to sue me because I lied to them about the brand and the amount of time I spent addicted to it?
Is my slight twisting of the truth going to throw them off the wagon?
Gee, I hope not. I don't know if I could sleep at night knowing the damage I'd done.
Or what about the time when I was playing with my sister when we were just little girls and I got hurt and had to be rushed to the hospital to get stitches in my head?
As I recall the story, I was about 4 years old and riding an inchworm and hit my head on the corner of the bedframe but my family recalls that sis and I were jumping up and down on the bed and I fell and hit my head. My parents drove me to the hospital in a maroon vega. What if smokinggun finds out that maybe I wasn't on the inchworm but that I really was jumping up and down on the bed?
Is the manufacturer of the inchworm going to sue me for bad-mouthing their product?
Are all the thirtysomething grownups out there who were once inchworm riding brats of the early 70's going to be upset because just when they thought I was bringing to light a painful memory that needed to be dealt with----they were let down?
Or better yet what about the time I ran away from home about 21 years ago? Let's see I'll write I just rode my bike about 25 miles to another town and met a girl washing the courthouse windows as part of her community service, then she hid me out in a rat infested house with serious juvenile delinquents I'd met there, and then later that night one of the girls turned me in to the cops and took me to where my parents were waiting for me with the police. For me the whole experience was pretty harrowing.
But what if smokinggun talks to the police in that town and finds out that the crowd I was hanging with when I got there wasn't dangerous at all, just a bunch of harmless juvies?
Or what if they find out that the distance I biked to that town was maybe closer to 18 miles?
And happens if it's determined that because I didn't actually stay out overnight, it wasn't really classified a runaway case--but rather an unauthorized outing?
What happens if smokinggun talks to my mom and finds out the reason I ran away is because one morning my mom made me wear these ugly read polyester pants to summer school? Because of course you know that the best runaway stories are the kids whose parents beat them and let's face it, the red polyester pants thing just wouldn't excite too many folks.
Will all the runaways who read my book think they'll be opening up a book written by someone who shares their pain, only to find out that I wasn't really a runaway at all..just a stupid teenager angry at her mom for making her wear ugly pants?
I'll tell you one thing, if I write a book, it will be embellished. First off my life isn't all that exciting unless of course it's one of our family dinners which is really right out of the script of a Mel Brooks comedy, and second, there is absolutely no way in hell that if I write a book about my life, that I am going to tell the truth. So, if I write a book someday and some poor soul is led to believe it's a self-help motivational bestseller and then they become disappointed and disenfranchised and start calling Larry King to bitch about it, I don't care.
It's my life, and I'll lie, embellish and distort the truth as I see fit and maybe if I'm lucky I can make a few million off of it.
I know Oprah is so powerful she could make dirt a household product every woman in America would rush out and pay top dollar for if they heard mere mention of its greatness on her show, and so I know all too well that her opinion of my book could make me or break me. But you know what? I don't need more chaos in my life, so I think I'll just take my chances on my own.