I’m not anyone.
I’m not famous. Neither movie star, nor musician. Not much of an athlete. I was never addicted to drugs, involved in organised crime, or any of the other things that generally make for the subject of an autobiography. I haven’t killed anyone (I once accidentally beat up a person, but we’ll get to that later) or even truly loved anyone, that I know of. I’m not even spectacularly well-travelled – soon, France, soon. No, I’m a farmer’s son who lives on the outskirts of Wexford, a county that, if you look at the shape of Ireland on the map the right way, is literally the arse-end of the country. I live out in the countryside, what some would call the sticks or the boonies or the sticks, but to me is just home. Or, jokingly “Texas Chainsaw Massacre Country”. I’m pushing 30, and I haven’t even had what most people call a full life yet. Aside from being slightly taller than most and having a modicum of writing ability, there is very little that is spectacular about me.
So why should you listen to the story of my life?
There are three reasons that I’m going to give you, and you will have to decide if they’re good enough to read on or not. The first is that, to my knowledge, there are very few biographies out there of normal people. People who aren’t in any kind of separate class to the reader, through their adventures, mishaps, doings and whatnot. This is mostly because normal is boring. But, luckily for me, I’ve lived in a place that is by turns interesting, disturbing and boring all at once. I’ve met and interacted – and still interact – with some colourful characters from all walks of life, and had some experiences that will, for some at least, be patently abnormal. The contents of this tome (fancy name for a blog, right?) will be those stories I’ve told, that when people hear them, they laugh and go “What?! That didn’t happen!”. I’ll also be revealing a few tales I’ve kept to myself, for whatever reason. With any luck, you, the reader will find them as interesting as I and the few I’ve told them to do.
Reason number two is that this autobiography hasn’t been ghost written. This is not me writing “with” anyone, either for research purposes, or for the purposes of making it sound more writerly by making it more lurid and sexy. Very few people have ever found me sexy, and I just plain don’t have the money to retain the services of someone who can. Such is life. But the important thing is that the stories I’ve heard, seen and been involved in will be told as I saw them, with my feelings and opinions, and not a collaboration with a hired hand to produce the best results. This is the most “auto” autobiography you’re ever going to see. There’ll be as little lying as possible, and I won’t try and make myself look good. I like to think I’m a deft combination of imperfect and lazy. There’s also no guarantee that you’ll care, so if you’re into suspense, you ought to be on the edge of your seat as you wait to see if the story gets really good or if it descends into shit.
Third and final reason to read, then. This better be a good one…Oh yeah, it’s going to be free.
Now, before I embark on chapter 1, some short warnings: This is not a tell-all, so if you know me and are expecting embarrassing secrets about anyone but me, you won’t find them. Like I said, I can ill afford legal representation. Plus most close friends of mine will have heard most of these anyway. If you’re looking for a glamour-girl-meets-simple-farmer tale of sex, drugs, and other peoples’ dirty laundry, you’ll be half disappointed.
Next, this is not researched in any way, aside from a few dates pulled off Wikipedia (and some juicy info off WikiLeaks that I’ll claim as my own!) because, as previously stated, this is a true autobiography, pulled from memory, and as such timelines may become skewed, though events, to the best of my knowledge, will not. As a good friend of mine once said when we were heading down an anonymous backroad somewhere between Kilkenny and Galway “it’s all part of the adventure”
Is there anything else to say before this intro is done and I can get on with reminiscing like it was 1999 (Prince jokes, no good bio should be without them)?
Oh yeah, the reason it’s called “Leave It There”. No, it isn’t a riff on the Beatles’ “Let It Be” – we’ll get to my problems with them in an upcoming chapter – but because I intend to write it in the few free hours I get a day when not working at my day job or pursuing my career as, funnily enough, a writer. So during a chapter, I may just have to “Leave It There” because it’s time to work. It’s not a clever gimmick to create cliff-hanger endings to chapters, or an excuse to procrastinate if I have an off-day. It’s not designed, it’s not even been that well thought-out.
This is just the life of a nobody.
