Here is yet another story about a fake "memoir": White Girl Writes Hood "Memoir."
How long does it take me to learn? First, you write a fake memoir. Make stuff up. The more dramatic the better. (Hey, I just remembered. My first love was killed in a hunting accident. And then I had to go live with my estranged aunt who was a crack addict. I lived on Top Ramen. I had to work at ShopKo. Oh wait, that was my sister.) Also, I could borrow a "plot" from a book that's already been published. That works too. (Wait, I already have a title, developed using an algorithm that combines all the titles from best selling books: Snow Falling on My Idaho Girlhood. Also, it sounds vaguely dirty, which helps. )
Then, when it comes out that it was all made up, I say that it was "emotionally true" or that I was speaking for those who cannot speak for themselves. Or that I don't understand what is meant by "lying" because I'm a "creative" writer. That means I can create stuff, right? Get over it.
Then I apologize. Sorry. I just didn't understand.
Then I get a story in the New York Times. Then I write a novel. Jackpot!! Because I've proved I can make stuff up right?
Why didn't I think of it sooner?