You Can't Make This Up ...

The past year has been ... interesting. I've embraced that old saying that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I tell jokes that I could have my own daytime soap opera (except there'd be a lot less sex). And I have a lot of people telling me I should write a book. Seeing as I am a writer, writing a book is obviously something that appeals to me. It could be cathartic, and I'm pretty sure that most people would find it pretty funny ... and make them thankful that they're not me!

But I'm not sure where to begin. My 1,000+ mile move? My divorce? Or back further, to my wedding reception, where my bouquet ended up in the chandelier and several of the table decorations burst into flames? Or back even further, to my childhood in an underground house and naked rubber chicken show-and-tell escapades?