During my memoir mania, I had it in my head that the function of the memoir was to take a horrible, painful, or at least quirky experience and write a purpose into it. A memoir wasn’t a memoir unless it gave some sort of meaning to the random twists of fate. The Adderall Diaries took that assumption, crushed it to powder, and snorted it in a bathroom stall.
Some love for The Adderall Diaries, published by Graywolf Press, on the Graywolf site written by a former Graywolf intern.
