The night my last living grandparent died was the night I started writing my first (unpublished) book. One of these days, I’ll get that finished along with the countless other projects I’ve wanted to do for a long time. Piece by piece, they are each getting done.

Grandma was a pistol, as she would call many, and her story started before she was even born with her/our famous family.

In the last 1800s, the Harris Family owned thousands of acres in Northern Missouri and raised world-famous Hereford bulls. The American Hereford Association in Kansas City, along with several family members, have countless sale bills and other artifacts from that time. Pretty cool stuff.

The older I get and the more books I read, I want to write another book — a book about my life.

I don’t know how many people will actually read it, but just like in The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks, I want to capture as much as I can so I can read back on my life later on when I can’t recall things as well as I used to.

In random places, I keep ever-growing lists of what I think the title of my book should be. This morning when I woke up I thought to myself, maybe these should be chapter names instead of a title.

So far I’ve come up with 14. Because of the things that have happened to me, I’ve even considered writing the book under a different name so the truth REALLY could be written. Remember the post I wrote about salt and sugar? Well, recently I’ve discovered someone who I thought was sugar was actually salt – and if you’ve ever over-salted something, you know how nasty that can taste. Thankfully, getting a taste of that nasty salt gave me the closure I needed to make peace with that part of my past. I’m very grateful for that.

Have you every thought about writing a book? If so, what would the title be?