Three people in mid life finding out that their mother has left them money, but who have little idea where it is?
And before they can get some of the money they know is waiting to be claimed by them, it mysteriously gets moved to a different location?
That’s my memoir. Would anybody want to read it?
I’m encouraged by the enthusiasm of people who’ve followed the story of my search for the money my mother left to my siblings and me and all the revelations my quest has dumped into my unwilling lap.
I recently dug up a manuscript I wrote years ago about women and money. A publisher, Basic Books, I think it was, had expressed interest in it.
But just before the deal was sealed, the editor I’d been working with left the company. The next editor wanted my manuscript rewritten in an entirely different format—at my own expense.
Since I’d already spent a small fortune collecting women’s stories of their histories with and attitudes towards money, I wasn’t having any of that. Instead, I just shelved the book.
But, I can see that parts of that manuscript are going to come in handy, as I finish writing My Mother’s Money. Nothing wrong with a little recycling, is there?