R for bleak fatalism, deep and irredeemable sadness, talking puppy
The challenge of memoir is knowing what to include. Somewhere in your lifetime, scattered among several decades of tedious filler, is a pretty decent two-hour story. But what do you include: The vandalism? The moving traffic violations? The resisting arrest? The meetings with your exasperated attorney?
No, of course not. You include the talking dog.
It’s savvy choices like this that make Beginners work. Beautiful French love interest, yes; paperwork, no. Random fireworks, yes; grocery shopping, no. All of which makes me worry that my autobiographical film about paperwork and grocery shopping will never find a distributor.
Puzzle of the Day: What genre would your memoir be? (Mine: space western.)