I don't generally pull back the curtain on my writing, because I'm pretty sure nobody gives much of a shit. But I feel like I should tell you about one of the things I've been doing off-and-on for the past...I don't know, the past six months, maybe?
Maybe longer, maybe not that long. Not important.
The important thing is I've been working on a series of stories that I hope to eventually compile into a book called My Imaginary Life. This probably isn't the wisest of ideas, for many reasons. One reason is because I can hardly spell "imaginary," and I'm pretty sure my computer judges me every time I spell it wrong.
Another--probably more important--reason is because it worries some of my friends and loved ones. You see, for each of these stories, I've plucked a few real details from my life. Sometimes just one or two, sometimes several.
It's like this: you know when someone says something shitty to you, and you wish you could say something clever and/or cool and/or hurtful and/or awesome? And hours later, you think of the exact perfect response?
That's what Imaginary Life is, kind of, but poisoned.
The stories are what might have happened, or sometimes what I wish would have happened. They aren't real, but some of the details are.
You might understand why something like this could worry my family. "Oh my goodness, he told us he passed out in the football stadium parking lot, but really he was out burying a body!?"
Or like, I go out to grab milk, and then write a story where I go out for milk and beat the ever-loving fuck out of some guy.
These stories aren't true at all, but by adding minuscule details that are, I can fall into them more when I'm writing them, and hopefully, you can fall into them more when you're reading them.
The downside is that my people think I'm even more messed up than they originally thought, and they get all worried.
So this is just a post to tell them to stop that. There are better things to be worried about.
Posted under The Rants on 5/25/10