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Wednesday, 1 November 2006

Yesterday I completed my memoir, for my final assignment for one of my classes. It isn't due to be handed in until Friday, but I've done so much work on it, so much polishing and trimming, that every part is as complete as I can make it.

I gave it to two people to read, for their feedback. Both enjoyed it, so I'm confident it will please my tutor. Because it is a memoir, it contains stuff about my past. In fact, it centres on my family. I told mum last weekend that I wouldn't let her or dad read it because "it contains stuff that's too personal". But the real reason is that he'd freak out if he saw what I'd done to the memoir he had sent me earlier.

I used parts of his memoir — in which he talks about his father — when writing the piece. So it's sort of a memoir within a memoir. Very postmodern. Mise en abime, and that sort of thing. And because he's a very private person, he'd feel betrayed if he saw the things I'd taken from his writings for my own purposes.

But I feel justified, after what he'd done to me. There are things like this in every family, I'll wager. Things that you just don't forget, because they seem so unnatural. Now they're there for posterity to view, and to judge. A form of revenge? Well, at least the record is straight now.

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