I created this video from a simple prompt — I got it from Pretty and Paid Playground Skool. a girl standing in the sun, speaking her story. But the message behind it is real. Most places ask you to consume content. Here in Memoir Skoll , we do something different. We witness the story as it unfolds. I share chapters as I write them.I create visual scenes inspired by those moments.And together, we watch a life being documented in real time — the victories, the lessons, and the growth. If you’ve ever wanted to tell your story…or simply be part of one that’s still being written…you’re welcome here. Want to read the chapters as they’re being written? Send me a message for the key. Fun fact: I’ve never taken a selfie in my life. I’m dyslexic, and getting the camera to go where I want it is harder than people think — so I put the camera on a stand and hit record and direct myself instead. #I Escaped Hollywood, Barely.

@Wendy Wiseman 📕❤️⭐️📸🎬 Welcome to the group — we’re truly glad you’re here.Every new member brings a new story, a new perspective, and a new energy to this space. We now have 80 (almost 81!) amazing members, and it makes me so happy to see this community growing one person at a time. And please know this —all of my members are welcome to read the story as it unfolds. If you ever find yourself curious about the memoir or interested in reading any of the chapters,I offer all my members a key. 🔑 I’m grateful you’re here, and I look forward to getting to know you. Where in the world are you joining us from, and what are you passionate about? 🌍 #I Escaped Hollywood, Barely.

Before I Was a Model — The Pants Parties Before I ever stepped in front of a camera, before the modeling agencies and photo shoots, our living room in the San Fernando Valley had already turned into a fashion showroom. We used to have what I called “pants parties.” That’s what we named them, and everyone at school knew exactly what that meant. It meant racks and racks of jeans — real jeans, the kind the cool girls wore — filling up our living room like a boutique that had suddenly appeared overnight. The clothes came straight from a warehouse downtown Los Angeles, from the manufacturing district where brands like Rag City Blues, Jordache, and Dittos were being produced. Back then, those names meant everything. If you had the right jeans, you felt like you belonged. My mother had a way of making things happen.She believed in relationships, in trading favors, in finding creative solutions when money was tight. She understood something I didn’t fully grasp at the time — that survival sometimes meant thinking differently. So the trucks would arrive, and suddenly our quiet living room transformed. Metal racks rolled in, heavy with denim in every shade of blue. The smell of new fabric filled the house. Tags dangled from every waistband. It felt exciting, almost magical. Then I would invite everyone from school. Girls would pile into our house, laughing, trying on jeans, holding them up to the mirror, asking each other,“Do these make my butt look good?”It was chaos and fun and teenage energy all at once. And the best part? The jeans were half price. To us, that felt like winning the lottery. Somehow, I always ended up with mine for free. I didn’t question it. I just knew my mother had figured something out again. She had a gift for bartering, for trading value in ways that didn’t always involve money. Sometimes it was connections. Sometimes it was favors. Sometimes it was simply trust. She even bartered clothes on Melrose back when Melrose Avenue was becoming the heartbeat of fashion in Los Angeles.

The decade of decadence. Big hair. Bright lights. Bigger dreams.If you remember the 1980s—or wish you could step inside them—Memoir Skool is where those stories come alive.Come write, share, and preserve the memories that shaped a generation.

I’m the author who survived the life everyone thought was glamorous. I’m the author who knows what it feels like to chase dreams, lose your way, and wonder if you’ll ever find yourself again.I’m the author who has lived through addiction, fear, broken relationships, and moments when everything felt uncertain — but kept going anyway. My ideal reader is someone who looks strong on the outside but feels tired, overwhelmed, or invisible on the inside.Someone who has made mistakes, faced setbacks, or carried shame they don’t talk about.Someone who is searching for hope, direction, and a reminder that their story is not over. I’ve been there.I’ve lived through seasons where survival was the only goal.I know what it’s like to feel lost and still keep moving forward. That’s why I wrote my book. I wrote it for the woman who feels like she’s starting over.For the dreamer who thinks it’s too late.For the person who needs proof that resilience is real and that healing is possible. My story isn’t about perfection. It is about perseverance and it is about faith, second chances, and finding your way back to yourself. That’s the author I am.