I've been trying to get my (ageing) relatives to write down family stories they have heard.  So far, zip.  I think the grandkiddies would love to have a book of these memories.  I don't know whether they would be inspired by my tales of drug-dealing. It's an open secret among my contemporaries.

My father and maternal grandfather were bootleggers.  My paternal great-great-grandfather was scalped by a Cherokee, and died of sepsis.

Stories like this need to be preserved.  Be sure and mention in your autobiography why Aunt Emma fell face forward into punchbowl during the reception after Cousin Claude's wedding.  The reason why his fiancee chose peach rather than white as the color of her wedding-gown could furnish a whole town with gossip.  

Just make stuff up.  Many of my relatives seem to do this.  Then they accuse me of the fault.  Dangit, I'm pretty sure I orbited the Moon during the 1970s.   I remember it as though it were yesterday...............

I have about 200 pages of memories, so far.  I doubt that they will be published, but one day I will send them to a cooperative laser-printer (my printer HP II is no longer supported by HP or Microsoft) and have something to pass on to my ungrateful colateral descendants.  I'm going to leave out all the naughty bits about marriage.

Really, yours is the most well-written diary of the week.

Dip your toe into the water.  

And, if you choose not to do so, I'll trust your wisdom.  Some tales must not be told, some tales must be told - and Marcel Proust proved that some tales are too tiresome to tell.  I don't care what cookie he ate.  

Watch out!  My latest letter-to-the-editor has been accepted for publication by NYT.

Keep it short, keep it sarcastic, if you wish to get a letter published by NYT.

Your writing deserves more thoughtful analysis, and praise.  Your essay would certainly deserve a place on the Op-Ed space, and I encourage you to submit it there.