The reflection in the mirror bares the truth. My smile lines are growing deeper, the crinkles around my eyes seem to have multiplied, and the skin on my neck is no longer as taut as it used to be. Dare I say it out loud, “I’m getting older.”
A book is nearly secondary to the other intrinsic gifts bestowed when writing one’s story. Memoir has the power to serve the author first, before its readers.
