My childhood memoir releases tomorrow, July 6. The whole process of writing this book was a fascinating exercise in memory. I felt it necessary to write a short preface about how I would deal with my memories. Here’s the first part of the preface:

Memories linger in one’s mind as factual events decades later. I would be mistaken, however, to assume my memories or the interpretation of my memories are completely accurate. Memories sift down through thousands of experiences and images in one’s mind, weeding themselves out through a giant sieve of remembrances and leaving behind poignant moments of pain, joy, and reflection. I believe in my memories and in many ways cherish them. They are pillars in my foundation. In some ways, they form the very center of my being, so, of course, I have a strong desire for them to be true. I can see, however, a circumstance in which someone who was present in one of my memories might read what I wrote and make a point of clarification. I can hear my brother saying, “That never happened,” or “It didn’t happen that way. Here’s what really happened.”

As I bring these memories to life in this short book, I have no desire or intention of researching anything. I don’t care if one of my memories could be proven to be factually incorrect. For me, that’s not the point of this exercise. What happens in these pages is bound by my memories and the creative way I hope to present them. They are for me, because they belong to only me. I will be stingy with my memories, and this attempt to revive them in story form is my way of holding them dear.