My husband asked a good question yesterday.
“What if you died suddenly?”
I raised my head.
“What do you want me to do with all your writing? Would you want someone to finish and publish it posthumously or would you prefer it just lay there lifeless, like you?”
So this is what you worry about? Hm….let me think.
While my desk top is a disarray of file folders, many of them are in various states of completeness. MANY. I’ve have some fictional stories but most of what I write is creative non-fiction which means they include, not only events in my life but also, the truth as I see it. Would I want someone tampering with that? Making assumptions about how I feel or what I must have done?
I’m leaning towards no. If the purpose of my writing is to document my life story, in my opinion, it would be rather boring and narcissistic. I write to entertain and I use reality to do it. I may not hit that high note every time but I do think humor can be found in the everyday. I’m just not confident that everyone sees it, as I do.
I’m also surrounded by people who cannot predict me well. Heck, it took 17 tries at lobster dinner before my dad finally remembered I’m allergic to shellfish. And my closest companion, my husband, and I have very different dispositions. He’s patient and I’m eager. He’s polite and I’m outspoken. He's technical and I'm creative. He’s kind and I’m a ……
I can only think of one person whose style and humor could complete me but I haven’t seen her since high school and frankly if she wrote her own book, it’d be miles better than mine.
So I’m going to go with no. That may be subject to change the closer to the end I get. The book end, that is.