I was born on August 19,1933 …” Yawn. Mind wanders. Go to kitchen and look for something to eat. Sit back down at computer. “…my mother's name was Rose Norton; my father was Paul Franklin …” Squirm in seat. Memories of having to write about summer vacations in grade school come flooding back. Check e-mail. Return to word processor. “My earliest childhood memory is …” Suddenly realize that it will take forever to record the past 66 years. And who would want to read it, anyway? Shut down computer. Turn on TV. Get more snacks.

Ever have this problem? Me, too. And I have only 42 years to write about. But I bet my 16-year-old daughter would have the same problem. Why does writing your life story have to be so overwhelming?