Where to start?
That question is the first thing that springs to my mind when I think of writing my life down. I could start with my birth: that’s dull and brings to mind Dickens David Copperfield, whether or not you have even read the book. I’m not him.
In reality, the beginning is where I say it is. Think of it as like picking a point on a circle to be the beginning of a circle. There is no beginning or end, not really. Just pick a point — any will do. It’s as arbitrary as that.
It — my life — only makes sense to me if I start with the here and now and work backwards.
That makes this piece of writing, here and now, the first chapter of my memoirs.
white pebble 