I am a memoir writer. That means I write the truth of my life; whether it be good , bad or ugly. Some of my family members think a lot of what I reveal veers toward the bad or ugly; but when I read through my various blog posts, social media activity and even my memoir, I don’t think my authentic self has been revealed yet. I intend to change that. Even in an authentic memoir, you choose what you reveal and how you reveal yourself. What you leave out and how you tell the story can be more revealing than the gritty truth. I call this truth selective truth. I intended to be real and I can say my memoir was real. But somewhere along the way, a bit of hell got paved with those good intentions when I tried to sell said memoir. I became “nice.”
According to “Sharon” at www.dailywritingtips.com, NICE IS NOT NICE AT ALL. I now give you the history of nice according to their website–
“My high school English teacher banned the use of the word nice. She said it was a lazy adjective. Although she was a bit harsh, there was some truth in what she said.
It is said that nice originates from the Latin nescio meaning ‘I don’t know’. So what Mrs C was getting at was that if you used the word nice, you probably didn’t know what to say.
Even after Roman times, nice just wasn’t a good word to use. In the 13th century it meant foolish, so saying someone was nice was insulting rather than complimentary. Through the centuries nice had different meanings, including timid, extravagant, elegant, wanton, dainty, strange, thin, modest, shy and precise (this last meaning still survives in the phrase ‘nice and early’).
By the 18th century the meaning had started to change to the more modern sense of agreeable or kind. That still didn’t cut any ice with my English teacher, though, who remained opposed to using nice all through my school career. How many synonyms can you find for nice?”
I am foolish, strange extravagant and even wanton at times, but these meanings aren’t used any more for nice. Nice is just bland. I am not bland. But wanting to make my online presence positive and kind and not attract toxic people or game players like in “Farmville” I ended up “nice.” Don’t get me wrong. I believe in kindness above all but without a bit of spice, kindness is just nice. (Poetry not intended) or is it? he he
I am writing another memoir that will not only prove I’m not nice but will uncover my badassness. I’ll start here in a bold way. One day, short of cash and long of time, I was recruited by “Tammy” of Toronto to be employed as a phone sex operator or PSO as it’s called in the “Biz’ I failed terribly in my 2 days of training leading me to a good chapter in my next book which will be. “ It’s not easy being easy” Who knew men wanted a PSO to be demure and act like their girlfriend? I thought it was about sex!
Then there was the time I stole not a loaf of bread like Jean Val Jean in “Les Miserables” but 2 Motrin’s out of a bottle in my local drug store. I know. “Thou shall not steal” but thou didn’t have a headache with no money. What to do, what to do?. I know some people would say my crimes are minor but certainly they couldn’t be classified as “nice?”
I once went out to dinner with a drunk matador in Spain. I knew he was falling down drunk and bad but hey, how many people can say they had dinner with a matador? NO Bull! Now, I’m an animal advocate but at 23, that decision was as cool as cool got and not nice at all. I didn’t let him in my room( he was a visiting matador from Mexico and the hotel had lost his reservation) but naughty as I was, I drew the line to him possibly saying to me. “Lie down, I want to talk to you.” He slept in the lobby and I was left with a good memory that lingers until today. I could have shared that in my memoir and not be considered nice, but my book was written with a passionate message of healing from mental illness and it just didn’t fit in. I can’t even tell this true story to my Facebook or Twitter friends, because it sounds like I’m bragging about what an interesting life I have or had and isn’t that what some people hate about Facebook and Twitter; all those people telling you every detail about their exciting lives while you’re sitting in your ratty bathrobe getting phone calls from perverts hoping to make a dollar or two? Well, I can go on and tell you other ways I’m not nice, but you’ll have to wait for my next memoir for that. I promise you one thing, it won’t be nice.