...Plotting to Take Advantage of Opportunities in the “False Memoir” Genre, by Guest Blogger Dorian McClaslow (age 9 1/2)
Posted by Steven Wingate at 3/7/2008 11:00 AM and is filed under Dorian McClaslow,pursit of fame,Memoir,Literary culture,lies 
TO: Dear Agent and/or Editor
FROM: Dorian McClaslow (age 9 1/2)
re: many entertaining possible false memoirs available to you
Whether you already have the moniker “soon to be fired” attached to you, or it has yet to settle upon your glorious person, you have no doubt noticed recent opportunities in the exciting new genre of “false memoirs.” I have a number of works in this genre available to you for immediate granting of obscene advances, and they are sure to generate much publicity for you and/or their ultimate publishing house. Samples include:
My Game was Called Surviving: My Three Mommies from Hell
Memoirs about surviving the archetypal mommy from hell are a dime a dozen, but who can claim to have lived through three? Here I describe life with the three hellions my father married: (1) my bio-mom, who forced me to recite the 97 Fundamental Errors of Liberalism before each meal; (2) the punk-rock heiress who introduced me to the joys of the mosh pit at age three; (3) a seductive high school student whose constant humiliation of my sexual organs delayed my puberty. Note: a companion memoir of happy American family life is ready for publication after news of this one’s falsehood is leaked.
Me & Uncle Jihadi: On the Road with Mr. b
Follows my three youthful years evading capture in the high mountains of Pakistan and Afghanistan with my uncle, Mr. bin Laden—better known to me as Mr. b, which he insisted on being called. Documents his frequent binges of self-invented role-playing games, most involving characters from the novels of P.G. Wodehouse (not everyone knew he was a fan!). True to its subtitle, it possesses a rollicking Kerouacian tone imbued with the smoky flavors of Senegalese Muslim reggae. Original manuscript, once final edits are settled, can be typed out on a highly auctionable scroll of hand-made paper for authenticity.
One Year of Silence: On a Rock with a Renegade Monk
After my first mommy from hell abandoned me, I fell under the spell of a Rasputin-esque monk who founded his own brotherhood based on complete silence. This beach vacation page-turner recounts how we survived on the coast of Nova Scotia eating only the detritus of human civilization that washed ashore, learning the language of sea birds and inventing entire hieroglyphic languages each low tide, only to have them washed away by the ocean. “The fleetingness of language has never been rendered so deftly!”—as a famous writer might say in a blurb.
Two for the Head: Reinventing Myself Through Music
Growing up on the mean streets of Killadephia wasn’t easy—especially when, at age six, I got shot in the head by two bullets meant for another gang’s top assassin. But immediately upon waking from my eighteen-month coma, I discovered a new reason for living: music, particularly that which I could suddenly perform on the baritone saxophone. Though barely tall enough to reach the mouthpiece, I somehow managed to muster enough air to play this instrument that I had never even heard of before my tragic accident. And what music! Transformative not only for me but for all those who heard it, including my fellow gang-bangers—who joined me in pursuing my newfound love for music and became ambassadors of peace in the hood.
I reiterate that these are only a few of my current/possible projects. I am flexible and can write to meet perceived demand. Looking forward to your decision,
Dorian
FROM: Dorian McClaslow (age 9 1/2)
re: many entertaining possible false memoirs available to you
Whether you already have the moniker “soon to be fired” attached to you, or it has yet to settle upon your glorious person, you have no doubt noticed recent opportunities in the exciting new genre of “false memoirs.” I have a number of works in this genre available to you for immediate granting of obscene advances, and they are sure to generate much publicity for you and/or their ultimate publishing house. Samples include:
My Game was Called Surviving: My Three Mommies from Hell
Memoirs about surviving the archetypal mommy from hell are a dime a dozen, but who can claim to have lived through three? Here I describe life with the three hellions my father married: (1) my bio-mom, who forced me to recite the 97 Fundamental Errors of Liberalism before each meal; (2) the punk-rock heiress who introduced me to the joys of the mosh pit at age three; (3) a seductive high school student whose constant humiliation of my sexual organs delayed my puberty. Note: a companion memoir of happy American family life is ready for publication after news of this one’s falsehood is leaked.
Me & Uncle Jihadi: On the Road with Mr. b
Follows my three youthful years evading capture in the high mountains of Pakistan and Afghanistan with my uncle, Mr. bin Laden—better known to me as Mr. b, which he insisted on being called. Documents his frequent binges of self-invented role-playing games, most involving characters from the novels of P.G. Wodehouse (not everyone knew he was a fan!). True to its subtitle, it possesses a rollicking Kerouacian tone imbued with the smoky flavors of Senegalese Muslim reggae. Original manuscript, once final edits are settled, can be typed out on a highly auctionable scroll of hand-made paper for authenticity.
One Year of Silence: On a Rock with a Renegade Monk
After my first mommy from hell abandoned me, I fell under the spell of a Rasputin-esque monk who founded his own brotherhood based on complete silence. This beach vacation page-turner recounts how we survived on the coast of Nova Scotia eating only the detritus of human civilization that washed ashore, learning the language of sea birds and inventing entire hieroglyphic languages each low tide, only to have them washed away by the ocean. “The fleetingness of language has never been rendered so deftly!”—as a famous writer might say in a blurb.
Two for the Head: Reinventing Myself Through Music
Growing up on the mean streets of Killadephia wasn’t easy—especially when, at age six, I got shot in the head by two bullets meant for another gang’s top assassin. But immediately upon waking from my eighteen-month coma, I discovered a new reason for living: music, particularly that which I could suddenly perform on the baritone saxophone. Though barely tall enough to reach the mouthpiece, I somehow managed to muster enough air to play this instrument that I had never even heard of before my tragic accident. And what music! Transformative not only for me but for all those who heard it, including my fellow gang-bangers—who joined me in pursuing my newfound love for music and became ambassadors of peace in the hood.
I reiterate that these are only a few of my current/possible projects. I am flexible and can write to meet perceived demand. Looking forward to your decision,
Dorian
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