The stories and other thoughts of a fantasist . . .
I would say no, for sure. The great thing about reading a book is the mystery that skulks beneath the words, hides away between layers of deceit and fantasy, murder and love, wonder and horror, to grab at you whenever you turn a page or reach another chapter. Some books are so good that you can’t get enough, even by reading it twice or even a third time. Some are meant to stay in the bookcase for all eternity. The book of my life would be one of those. Fair enough, there are good memories and bad ones, that is all there is to it. Category good, category bad. I have lived it once, which was more than enough for the first time. Where would all the wonder be if you already know the outcome of the storyline up until the chapter where you go into the store and buy the book of your life and start to read it. The next chapter would be about the future of which you have no part yet. Knowing what the future holds takes away the mystery that makes life worth pushing forward in the first place. No one should want to read past the chapter about the present. On some regards, there may be moments passed I would love to read in a book, even if just covered for a second. The good ones, yes. Or bad ones that miraculously turned good. That would be fun, but the author has to be someone looking down on it all, written from his point of view, of course. Otherwise, just write your own book, day by day by page by page. You will see the intrigue builds up by way of not knowing, as is generally the case. If someone really had to write a story about my life, I would depict myself as an innocent bystander who by the means of whatever conspiracy, saves the day by accumulating super powers or whatnot. Imagine . . .
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