Here I am, in bed with my laptop, immobilized with a slightly torn leg muscle, an icepack on my knee. Bleh! I’m unable to roam free in the nearby woods as is my custom at this time of morning. For the next few days there’s nothing for me to do but write in WITNESS, my excavation of ancient history. I’m usually good at self-discipline, but this injury guarantees I’ll be spending more time on the labor of writing.
The hard part is not documenting all the unpleasant events of my childhood, which are numerous, but rather to offset each of them with something humorous, clever, cheerful, redeeming, triumphant, or whatever. This memoir can’t be all doom and gloom, no, I gotta entertain my readers! I gotta make them smile, nod their heads in approval.
I’ve never been good at sugar coating, white-washing, spinning, propagandizing. But I guess I damned well better learn.