A while ago (I don’t know at this point, probably like 3 years), I started to write a book.
It starts off:
This is a love story. Every word is true. It’s just a question of perspective.
So when I hit a big fat brick wall and couldn’t write anymore, I started this blog, with the hopes that it would help me kick myself in the creative ass. Has it worked? Not so much. I have not been able to go back to that book, but I’ve started another.
So, as a conduit to the final product, this blog has not really been all that productive. But at the very least, it’s a vehicle for entertaining myself.
Back to the point. The original book, which was to be titled, A Question of Perspective, was about a couple of things. But the underlying concept was the main character’s emotional development over the course of some challenging shit. With some romantic escapades thrown in. It’s like 75% autobiography and 25% fiction/artistic license.
I’ve given it to some folks to read, to get their impressions. Notably: if it’s funny; if it makes any sense at all; if it’s just an exercise in stroking my own ego; and if I should keep going or just label it sort-of true, really long journal entry, and call it a day.
Some of the stuff in there can be (and has been) taken out of context (and I mean that literally, out of context of the story itself, and also out of context like, it’s a fucking book, not-a-literal-interpretation-of-what-happened-now-can-you-please-get-over-yourself ) and caused some, let’s say, argument.
On perspective, I refer you to today’s post from The Bloggess on butter patterns and having some perspective. It all could always be so much worse.
