Random

I've mentioned, I think, that I sometimes work onsite writing copy about "consumer goods." One of the benefits other than the money, of course, is that there is a certain social aspect of being on site; not that it's a cocktail party, but...one talks, you know?

Another benefit is that the company provides lunch; most of the time we go to the cafeteria, get our food and bring it back to eat at our desks. For a change of pace, a group of us decided to sit together instead. At one point in the conversation, one of my co-workers asked if I'd read Isabel Allende's memoir. I have; in fact, I've read both "Paula" and "The Sum of Our Days," both lovely pieces of work. And how nice, I thought, to talk about books.

Except.

"Now, I understand why Isabel Allende would write a memoir that everyone would read," the coworker said. "But why would someone want to read your memoir?"

I ask myself the same thing every day. In part I'm asking in hopes that the answer will be a clear, "There is no reason, so you don't have to write it. Go do something else, for pity's sake."

As a result, I didn't take offense (and I believe none was intended—it's an honest question, after all). Instead I muttered some catch phrase that I've been practicing in preparation for developing my "elevator pitch."

"Mostly, though, I guess that will be the test of how well I've written it. People will only care if the writing moves them in some way."

Which is the truest thing I had said all day.