I've noticed that the memoir tables at Barnes and Noble are getting bigger and bigger, and as I browse the back covers and look at the authors' photographs, I'm struck by their dewy-eyed, unwrinkled youth. I have to say, I'm perplexed. What 25 year old has had a life so chock full of events that it merits a book contract? I mean, at 25, your life just isn't that interesting.
Is there such a dearth of good fiction writers out there that "What I Did on My Summer Vacation" now constitutes a turn-on for the publishing industry?
Sigh.
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