How many people (of all ages) fantasize about grabbing a backpack and hitting the road with the goal to see a whole lot of places without dying? How many women do it on their own, while dealing with the inherent risk of presumptuous males who assume the aforementioned women are actually searching for a Prince Charming who will rescue them from all of this? Not sure how many, but I am one of them.
My memoir is not solely a travelogue (although OMG, you gotta go to the National Portrait Gallery in DC). Instead, I compare and contrast my twentysomething self with my sixtysomething self. After doing so, I impart the non-preachy lessons I learned, which I have retained to this day. I also intersperse history and fun facts where useful and interesting. More accurately, I try to invoke my inner Cliff Clavin ("it's a little known fact that [fill in the blank]"). No, I never invoke Cliff's actual name, and don't get carried away.
A favorite vignette is when I explain the concept of the extinct phone booth and phone book for the benefit of the kids. Of course, my ulterior motive is to manipulate them into promoting my book on their social media because they are learning so much about the dark ages during which smartphones didn't exist. But don't tell them that.
According to my colleagues who have read excerpts, it's really funny in many parts, although sometimes I descend into sad vignettes so as not to portray myself as an eternal optimist (which I am not). Not for long, though; laughter is better, as is the sense of relief when my readers realize I didn't die because of some dumb decisions. Yes, there is an entire chapter devoted to those decisions.
I want my readers to feel as though they traveled with me. However, being a lone wolf, I am very glad they did not.
You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll cringe. Not necessarily in that order.
