Among my many talents are writing creative nonfiction and memoir. The writing took years of practice and training, but the very colorful and weird anecdotes that add up to my life just sort of happened.
Case in point: the nutshell version is that my father faked his own death and I didn't find out about it until I was 37. True story.
Throughout the years, it isolated me, in so many ways. But it wasn't until I started talking about it and writing about it until I started feeling less alone. This essay helped me connect with other women who lost parents early, grew up with an addict in the family, or had to sever ties with a parent to protect their mental health.
Something else that happened after I shared the story: an author who was in the process of putting together a book about people who fake their own death saw it, and contacted me.
Long story short, she's included my tale in her book, Playing Dead, which will be released in August!
I've read an advance copy of the book, and it's awesome (not just because it features me). It's fascinating in both a forensic and a "wow, what a trainwreck!" kind of way. It's funny, warm, and compassionate.
I'm thrilled it came out so well, and can't help but wonder about what kind of opportunities it may bring me.
You're going to be hearing a lot about this book, so make sure you order a copy!