The problem I have with writing memoirs is making them interesting. I have lived a life without lies, and find it difficult to turn the story of that life (of nothing) into a — something — worth the ink it’s printed on; oh yeah, it’s gonna be printed … on dead trees … trees are free … until they’re not. How do I start? How do I continue? How do I … when there are so few left to worship; they don’t care because they don’t know; they don’t know because I never told them; I never told them because… I never knew how. Memoirs, are they really worth the effort?