titling

Author Jennifer Crusie's attempts to come up with the title for her nonexistent autobiography:

Gandhi’s title for his autobiography was The Story of My Experiments with Truth. That would be a good title for mine, too, since rationalization is my chief form of recreation, but I don’t think that’s what he was getting at. Lucille Ball’s was called Love, Lucy, but I don’t think Argh, Jenny has the same vibe. The Dalai Lama’s is Freedom in Exile. Mine would be Freedom in Ohio. Uh, no. MacKenzie Phillips’s was High on Arrival. I suppose I could call mine Screaming for Chocolate at Birth, but it’s not the same thing. Agatha Christie called hers An Autobiography which I think was just lazy of her.

So I looked for other inspiration. We have a new cookbook called Good, Cheap, and Easy. I’d use that but we’ve decided to get three hamsters and name them that, so it’s been used. Jean Kerr’s autobio was made into a movie; it’s called Please Don’t Eat the Daisies. Mine would have to be Please Don’t Pee on the Pillows or Drop the Crochet Hook or Die, Dog, neither of which has the sprightly vibe of Kerr’s. Also I’m not sprightly. Or I could just go for what I have decided is the summary of my life: It’s Here Somewhere. And of course there’s always the title that Lani and both claim, so whoever writes her autobio first gets it: You’d Hardly Be the First. And yet, not quite right yet. And there’s Nothing But Good Times Ahead, but since death grows ever nearer, that might be more optimism than I’m ready to flaunt, especially since God laughs when I make plans.