My Fake Memoir

I'm sure many of you have heard of the James Frey controversy. The author of "A Million Little Pieces" was officially spurned by Oprah, and made a pariah on her hour-long special berating the former addict who likes to lie.

The thing is, I sort of feel a little sympathy for Mr. Frey. I mean, let's face it, if I wrote a truthful memoir, then it would involve me in my pajamas 80 percent of the time, where my most exciting event of the day would involve me standing in front of my refrigerator, sniffing at old yogurt and trying to figure out whether or not it's edible, even if it's three days past it's due date.

It's not exactly the sort of mind-blowing, nail-biting, page-turning writing that makes for a best-selling memoir. I suppose that's why I write fiction. My own life is pretty darn boring.

Still, I can understand why people feel angry about being mislead by Mr. Frey. But, I also think there are bigger problems in the world than having one author mislead us about whether or not he got a root canal without novocain. I am a big believer in the power of books, but I also think books only take us so far.

And I'm going on record as saying that if I ever write a memoir, trust me, I will exaggerate. In it, I'll be model-thin, tall, and have never had a zit my entire life. Oh, and in every argument I ever had with my husband, I was totally right. And for that last one, I don't even have to lie.