For purely meaningless and incomprehensible reasons I have decided to write using mainly metaphors to describe and explain my innerworkings. Could I have been more direct and obvious? - of course. Could I have not used an amateurish writing crutch? - I hope so. Could I have not used any expressions that didn't make my points directly clearer?- sure. Could I have written this without such a long, redundant opening that any editor would have axed? - surprisingly, yes. Could I continue to ask questions all night and get so distracted that both you, the reader, and I totally forget what the whole point was to start with? Has that already happened? For argument's sake, let's say "no" and forge ahead, because what is reading if not a constant battle to sift through all of the meaningless drivel and self-esteem reaffirmation from the writer and an attempt to either feel smarter or just less bored by the reader. I aim to satisfy all of those- I will try to balance my own desire to impress myself and make myself proud with an impulse to help you feel smarter and that your time spent reading this has been a good way to avoid boredom for a little while before it pokes it's ugly head up again. When/if too many ugly heads start poking up too often and unexpectedly, go see someone, just not me.
Writing is interesting (or at least I should say, it can be interesting or should be interesting) in that with a little creativity I can invent my own reality. It is my world and no one is really living in it. I can write about anything or anyone I want and it can be as ridiculous as I want it to be. The power of this is not lost on me- I am fully aware of where the power is at all times and how incredibly shiny it is. In my writing I can bare my soul or fry some sole, I can analyze the many uses for bread or I can hypothetically have bred a bird-fish hybrid for purposes of becoming my new best friend or sale depending on how much I can get for it. I can decide to come across sweetly, bombastically, sarcastically, sardonically, as a character who only eats sardines or one who loves gymnastics (but not the whole competitive gymnastics culture) or one who stares misguidedly out windows and yet, I choose to write to you honestly, from my heart. Why would I do this? Is it an example of mistrust, do I fear reprisals, do I seek love and compliments, have I coated myself with such a thick layer of protective crust that I am impervious to your glaring and prying eyes and the rest of the features of the faces that inevitably come with those eyes- the answer is maybe. I'll put it this way- writing honestly about who I am and why I am this way is important, but not necessarily "funny" or "now" or "fresh". I so desire to be considered "now" as opposed to the usual "then" or "yesterday". For this reason and because I always wanted to try "selling out", I have aimed for somewhere between 35% and 65% of the truth. Can you handle that precise an array of the truth? Probably, or at least you will be exposed to it now and be that much better prepared if it ever comes up again. Let's call it pseudo-quasi-autobiographical-ish near-non-fiction - if somehow that catches on I want to use hindsight to trademark that genre. "Never try using hindsight instead of actual sight" someone somewhere told me. This is actually very good advice. But, since hindsight is so much fun, I have been applying "hind-ness" to my other senses. I tried to use hind-tasting to upgrade last night's tuna casserole from mediocre to average with uncertain results.
And what of you the readers? What is your role in all of this? Are you meant to be solely passive participants? Does the reading just happen to you or can you be more influential? I would actively read more often but I'm just too exhausted. "Know your audience" writing teachers have been saying to their naive charges since ancient times when the expression was better known as "knowth thine audienth". In ancient times it was much easier to know your audience since there were far fewer people. I mean you could probably run into your audience on the way to the market to buy some figs and an olive leaf and if they didn't like your writing, you could run into them again on the way home, only this time you'd be riding in your chariot and then they would almost definitely like the next piece much more. I am interested in knowing you all as much as someone can know someone else. I mean there is "knowing" and there is "knowing" and we both know one is creepy and spine-tingling the other...let's just say it is grand! To say - without you, my audience, I am nothing - would be completely false. You are important, but I have a life outside of this and away from you too, you know. Anyways, thanks for reading, skimming or looking at briefly so you can tell me you read it. I do apologize for any eye-rolling, sighing, head shaking, or facepalming that occurs as a result of reading this or anything else I have or will write. Just so you know the random thoughts and odd ideas that flow from my brain are not a cause for concern- though I see why some may think that. I love my brain and look for ways to express that love without making other internal organs jealous (the spleen is really juvenile, let me tell you). Actually, I don't just love my brain, I love all brains - they are just so smart! Of all of the ways to demonstrate a love for one's brain, this is probably the most socially acceptable and least potentially embarrassing. When it comes to potentially embarrassing material, I could write a book, literally and I could also sing a song - which would only add to the embarrassment, which would beget another song about embarrassing moments which would invariably lead to another song and so on until I had enough material for an anthology. This piece has been of particular fun to write - I love metaphors and often wish I could live life more metaphorcally. I so wanted to go to symbolism camp as a kid, but I was too busy quilting. If I am to talk about myself, what is better than metaphorical language to help with the job? That question is meant to be rhetorical, but even if it wasn't - I can't hear you right now! I mean we are not even in the same building (I think). Okay- enough pre-ambling, let's get to it!
You know what, while I was busy writing, this sort of got away from me. Now this is too long so...stay tuned for part 2 (the actual piece I has set out to write- fair to say I got a little off-track. Thanks for your help!) This has become so long that readers are probably ready for a break, there is some pizza with my name on it (admit it! you are not quite sure if I am being literal or not), the "cows" "need" "milking", my writing is unnecessarily using up more than my share of atoms, I am beshirching something, and the owl just called my name. Actually, let's call the whole thing off- when the intro surpasses the length of the piece itself it becomes a piece and the intended piece is rendered meaningless (even more so then it would have been- hard to believe that is possible). Sorry to have wasted your time when you could have been eating brownies and watching the Price is Right, or eating brownies with the TV off, or watching the Price is Right and trying to figure out what that strange, craving you are feeling is actually for (hint - it's brownies). For those who love metaphors, and are now angry that I have not written what I promised I was going to, just use something I heard of called "Google" you may find some there.
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