Memoir vs fiction

So many of the books I’ve been reading over the last few years are memoirs or memoir-ish:

Something Other Than God – the story of how comedian Jen Fulwiler came to Christianity.

Let’s Pretend this Never Happened – Jenny Lawson, aka the Bloggess (funny but she likes to cuss – do not click if you are easily offended)

Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me – Mindy Kaling

…. and I could go on and on. 

Why memoirs now? Is this a product of our self-obsessed time? I read other authors and it’s not all about them. Don’t think I’m slamming these authors – each of these books is wonderful.  Yet they are all memoirs. For reasons I haven’t completely thought through, I have my knickers in a twist about the entire concept of writing so much about yourself. Even though I have a blog, the epitome of navel-gazing. Even though this blog post is written entirely in the first-person point of view.

One of the reasons I’ve been stuck so long in writing a book about my journey through a disastrous experience, and how it redirected my life, in so many ways is because I don’t want to do it as a memoir. I’m currently fictionalizing it as a novel. But – to anyone who knows me, it will be transparent. Good thing I’m not famous!