I have to say I’m a little surprised the initial content on this website is so fiction-oriented. When I envisioned this project, I saw myself regaling you with amusing anecdotes from my daily life that would have you doubled over with laughter, gasping for breath, screaming “stop! stop! you’re killing me!” before sharing it with thousands of your friends (OMG!!! LMFAO!!!) because it was the funniest damn thing you’d ever read. All around the world folks of every race, religion, and creed would look across the table at their spouse or partner and declare (in whatever their native tongue might be) “you’ll never be as witty as he is, so I’m leaving you.” Several unfortunate souls would have to seek medical attention because something, somewhere got strained as a result of all the hilarity. Out of necessity–and due to the enormous responsibility that accompanied my extraordinary comedic gifts–I’d make a practice of saying the following prayer before sharing each and every post: Please don’t let anyone LITERALLY die from laughter as a result of reading this. Amen. Basically, that was the plan.
However, early on in this process things started going in another direction and I didn’t seem to be able to change course. I’d sit down at the desk with the intention of writing a humorous little essay and the next thing I’d know, I’d be working on one of the short stories or scribbling notes for a play, spending all my time and energy focusing on fictional people in fictional places. I was troubled by this development because it wasn’t part of the plan. And here’s the thing about me–I like a good plan and I like sticking to it. I was still ruminating on all of this when I got this text from my cousin, a forensic genealogist. He’s always sharing interesting family tidbits:
This back and forth was my “aha!” moment, oddly enough. Because while engaged in a simple, brief text exchange I was well on my way to writing a murder mystery that included a nifty little plot twist. I could even picture the killer, one Mrs._________ dressed in mid-century attire, “discovering” the deceased couple as she surreptitiously removes the canning jar–you know, the one that contained the arsenic-laced apricot preserves she’d given them–from the scene of the crime. The point is, my mind is crammed with stories wanting to get out and when something unlocks one of them–like a simple text–I’m off and running. I recently read a horoscope that said the reason a lot of Geminis become writers is because all that junk in their heads has to get out somehow. So there’s that, I suppose. Because guys, there’s a LOT of junk in there.
By the way, I redacted the text with my cousin because what if Mrs. _________ or some member of the E______ family is still alive (she’d have to be at least 90, I suppose), finds this one particular post in the gargantuan, endless cyber ocean that is the Internet, and decides to sue my ass for wrongful incrimination, or libel, or some shit like that? And yes, that’s exactly how my mind works. It’s exhausting.
So, to sum it all up–fiction for now, funny coming soon. Maybe.