Spinning Straw into Gold... how to write a memoir

You're lucky if you're a writer because even the worst shit is just material, fodder, gold. If you can spin it well.

Have to change the title. Sounds like I'm the transsexual. I'm not, I'm born female and like it that way. I never understood really the urge to be the opposite gender (AS IF...as if gender was so simple. There is no true opposite of any gender.

That was in Slaughterhouse 5 as well... I am Billy Pilgrim. There's a description of all the genders on Earth that we can't detect because they are in the 5th dimension. But all are necessary for the perpetuation of the species.

I was also reading about history based on DNA. There's a way to trace the female line mRNA or something and a way to trace the male like (that old fave Y chromasone) 

How do you tell a boy chromasone from a girl chromasone? You pull down its genes.

LOL. I speak LOL kitteh. I don't think I should write in that tongue. It is a raspy one. Will it go the way of Valley Girl talk? Do Valley Girls still talk Valley Girl talk?

I'm from the Valley. The Wyoming Valley which is not The Valley, nor is it in Wyoming. It's been called "The Valley With a Heart"...my GLBT friends from there (it's a great place to be FROM) re-dubbed it "The Valley Without a Brain". But there are mountains, small ones, like in Wales, which they think they were before the continents drifted apart.

Which is why so many Welsh settled there. Wilkes-Barre Pennsylvania. You may have passed it on your way to someplace else. Inevitably, when I tell peeps where I'm from, if they've heard of it at all (twin city Scranton is the home of Edith Bunker's relatives and The Office) it's from reading it on an exit sign.

My dorm-mate at Cornell asked me if I lived in a white house. Yes, I replied, why? Because she'd passed Wilkes-Barre/Scranton on Rt 81 and every house she could see from the highway was white. I'd never thought about it. Aren't houses mostly white? No, in livelier places they paint houses all sorts of colors.

I'm still slapped back by the chronic trauma of growing up in a colorless place.

This memoir is not therapy, but it may serve that purpose. If not for me, maybe for you.

Books do make people unhappy. (Farenheit 451)