I once briefly dated a guy who theorized all the ladies love true crime stories and Lifetime TV movies starring Valerie Bertinelli (pre-weight loss) as a woman in peril. The why escapes me now, but probably for the same reason so many read romance novels.
The spectacle of it all.
There’s a show I used to tune into regularly, every Monday-thru-Friday morning on A&E (as a work from home writer, buzz helps the right brain overtake the left). City Confidential told lavish and platitude-ridden* stories of crime and punishment, flooding the screen with images and Paul Winfield narration that wove a larger tale. Words so lush you could smell the green grass and desperation of small towns and touch the pulse of gritty cities.
*Like this gem, “As empty as a high school dropouts afternoon.”
I do something similar when writing this blog, building a story around the food I eat and the people I eat it with. Sharing memories invoked and Seinfeld-like daily observations. Because I’m not chef, or a critic. I didn’t go to culinary school and I most often describe red wine that tickles my palate as simply “plummy and happy to my soul.”
My name is Jodie and I’m a food memoirist.
What the saucier stuff? That's over at my blog Out of Me Head, more than stories about a fat belly and male genitalia, and rated C for Cheeky.
