There are three major reasons I will probably never write an autobiography.
The first is just actually writing stuff in an order that makes sense. It's all connected, you see, like various threads. There are a few main "support" threads, like school, work, friends, family, fandom, and some "chunks" of my life, like Prune Bran. But each thread weaves back and forth through time as small threads that seemed insignificant wove into larger threads and altered their path. Because of this, some of my writing is almost forced into complicated self-referencing flashbacks that would be more confusing that a Kurt Vonnegut timeline.
The second major hurdle is that some of the stuff that happens to me can be incredulous at times. I can be safe knowing some of you already have witnessed these things, like being an Emcee at various science fiction cons, for instance. While I think nothing of getting up in front of a few hundred people with no script and introducing guests, to a lot of "mundanes," this not only seems improbable, but outright made up. I laugh at those people, because if I wanted to make stuff up, it would be my owning yachts and mansions, stuff like that. Stuff worth boasting about. Not trying to pronounce "Somtow Sucharitkul" or being three degrees from Kevin Bacon (no, really, I was in a horror film with Conrad Brooks, who was in "Ed Wood" with Bill Murray, who was in "Wild Things" with Kevin Bacon). But there's stuff that happens to me I just flat learned not to tell anyone about, and the big problem is, some of that is influential. Some of it majorly so. But I know better these days what I can and can't tell. A lot of it is stuff that happened to others that must be kept secret, like if a dear friend admitted he was gay but didn't want anyone to know. I can't post her, "Bitch, please! You were the LAST to find out. You are such a raging queen that you should be wearing a red dress with hearts all over it, chopping off people's heads. Mmm-HM!" But some of the major stuff is so far out there... I just can't tell it with any hope anyone but myself would believe. So major gaps will have to be left out, which may be confusing to a new reader ("Wait... a lesbian trapped in a male's body? Bastet's social worker? WTF?")
The third major issue is... well, what's the point? Maybe I have been a fiction writer for too long, but I don't think my life has any plot or message to deliver. I mean, yeah, some have argued, "You survived," but that's too vague: that's like calling the moral of the Bible "self-improvement." The Bible has no real plot, either, but I don't want anyone forming my life as a basis of religion, that would be messed up. And it's not like my life is better or more interesting than anyone else's. I write this blog for three reasons: to communicate what I am up to, to record my experience so I can link to them later instead of re-typing them, and to get comments from my readers (I LOVE getting comments). I am not writing a story, not generating any sort of thread other than a stream of consciousness. I think people would prefer bite-sized essays, even thought sometimes I ramble on a bit (or as the famous quote goes, "I'm sorry this letter is so long, but I didn't have time to make it short."). If they get really long, I'll edit them down, smooth them out, and try and wrap it up at the end with some conclusive summary the way my sixth grade teacher, Ms. Ray, taught me to do, and not abruptly end on some half-cocked non-sequitur.
Sorry, Ms. Ray.