As a writer, I am one of the greenest newcomers you will ever encounter outside of grade school. I know my prose is clunky and my figurative language complete shit (I will never get over that "tractor beam" simile as long as I live). Self-indulgent tripe is my standard reading material and I'm completely ignorant of most classic and revered literature. But here I am dredging up the rot of my psyche and plopping it on the table for the entertainment of anyone who cares to come and poke at it. If I'm lucky, it might render a brief moment of connection, or even better, inspire a new viewpoint that hadn't been considered before, but truly, I'm just working through some demons and taking you along for the ride.
It is my dream to mix this brand of self-examination with my deranged imagination and translate that into something that can be read and enjoyed via paperback novel, preferably while you are sitting on the shitter. Please make sure to snap a picture of the bowl and text it to me when you are done. (<- This is what's called humor, please don't send me your toilet pictures.) In order to do that, I will be doing some excreting of my own in the form of these types of thoughts: I'm not clever enough, I'm not dark enough, I'm not tortured enough to ever be a True Writer™. How can I put my small, privileged hand to paper (so to speak) and produce great works to stand next to Faulkner and the Brontes and Hemmingway?
Well lesson one is that's simply not going to happen. This well dressed fellow up top taught me this; writing is not magic, it is just work and it is something I can learn. He didn't try to bullshit me and tell me that anyone can be a writer, because that simply isn't true. Whatever level you are, you can nudge that up only by a little bit. However, with at least decent proclivity for it, you can crank out words that someone might want to read someday and that's what I'm banking on.
I don't need college professors to write about me. I don't give a shit if a critic writes an article about how my stories are "the voice of a generation". I just want to entertain you, and entertain myself and (hopefully) tell the truth along the way. Making some money at it wouldn't be terrible either. I am perfectly happy having my works sit next to those bodice-rippers that your grandma buys from Walmart, hopefully without the "determined chins" and "chiseled abs", but with a scene or a moment that sticks with you even after you replace it to the back of your toilet seat.
This man right here makes me think I can do it. His stories aren't laced with obnoxious vocabulary or high-brow metaphors. He is a normal person writing about other normal people in extraordinary circumstances while repeatedly gut-punching his readers along the way. This is what I want to do. I'm not Stephen King, I will never be Stephen King, but gosh darn it if he doesn't make me feel like I could credit him on the back cover of my book one day. So here's to you, Mr. King; may I someday be able to attach you to my backside!
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