From a famous writer or celebrity, to a WordPress.com blogger or someone close to you — who would you like to be your biographer?
Each biographer has an agenda, to sell books or stories – maybe even a speaking tour or lecture series.
There are two ways to sell a biography; it can be over-the-top dripping with gushing feel-good stories and sentimental anecdotes or a kiss and tell-all ruthless bring-‘em-down exposé.
I don’t like reading biographies because, except for time and place of events, they may as well be fiction or, at least, the biographer’s interpretation of events.
Knowing another man’s story makes for nice conversation. It preserves a person’s legacy or infamy, but I want neither. Who I am is only meant for those who actually come into physical contact with me.
People can try to figure out who I am by what I write: typos, bad grammar, misspelled words, stories that leave you scratching your head, unedited texts, a love of God, family, people, stories, goodness, and truth – that’s about it – no different from most.
Everyman has a story. Their story is no more nor less important than the next man‘s. Each person counts just as much as the next. Biographies tend to make us think some lives and people are more important than others. It’s nice to note their contributions, but I don’t want to know about affairs, preferences, disgusting habits, or daily bowel movements (or not).
No biographer for me. I don’t even want to make it into Wikipedia.