I have always been intrigued by autobiographies and memoirs in our culture. How many women can actually retell their lives in all honesty and truth without having Fatwas issued against or without getting disowned by their family?
For the already controversial, a bellydancer with a sex tape or an actress who lured a famous politician, I suppose it is easier. But for the rest of us, the ones who appear so harmless and innocent to all those around us, it is a different matter.
The fictional autobiography is nice; many things can be left unsaid. Yet still, there is a liberating power in saying everything like it truly was. I feel like it is a first-rate cathartic experience.
But then again, who am I to know. I have never written a memoir– at least not yet!