Too close to home

From Maud, her (and my) worst nightmare: Mom finds out about Blog.

I don't know if my mom has found this blog yet, but she admitted to hunting down Maud's blog (horrifying, and true). She even phoned me to gloat about it, adding the threat, "It's only a matter of time before I figure out which of her links is you." So far she has guessed that I am a hit song, an old hag, and a muse; which, beyond being the greatest compliments I've received to date, illustrates my mother's unique ability to use wishful thinking as a means of constructing a reality.

So Mom? If you're reading this?...welcome. And don't worry. Although I have mentioned a few things here and there about abandonment and alcoholism, a mother's gun-wielding, daughter-molesting, heroin addict boyfriends, spending more of my childhood in the back rooms of bars than in school, or leaving home at 16 because my coked-addled folks demanded we live underneath the dining table so "The Man" couldn't photograph us from the invisible (due to cloaking, of course) helicopters outside --I'm not talking about you. Heavens no. It's called creative non-fiction. You take a grain of truth and create a story from it, you change people's names and write under a pseudonym, like Antigeist. This is just a private, anonymous diary in which I occasionally (*wink*) make things up. It's not a biography, I would never, for example, mention your name, your status as a well-respected, widely known player in the entertainment industry, or point readers to your website, or your thousands of print, television, and radio interviews. I honor your privacy too much to do that. I mean, did you read that Mommy Dearest book? Man, did THAT make her mom look bad.

And her mom was just a bitchy narcissist.