The Ceremonial Cherry Popping of a Blog

Writing fiction is the flawed process of collaging your memories, dreams and lies into something resembling a cohesive narrative. You have to be narcissistic enough to believe you have a point of view worth telling, and self deprecating enough to keep plugging away, because deep down you know there was a better way to write that sentence, sculpt that character, or show the reader something they haven't seen done uncountable times and with more grace and tact than you could ever manage. But we try. Because in a world of references within references, parodies, re-makes, re-imaginings, re-boots, re-starts, re-treads, I re-fuse to let myself get that lazy.  Nostalgia and the familiar is a powerful crutch that we all rely on, but sometimes we need to seek something new to us, to push us forward, make us grow, in a mental type-of hypertrophy. Sometimes reading can be a way to escape from the world, to withdraw from it, to hide from the painful humiliation of failing, but sometimes it can inspire you to seek out experiences as good or better than the ones you read.   Some writers seek truth, but I only seek my truth, with the hopes that at least some of it-maybe something in the corner or even in the peripheral-will remind you of a little of your own truth. And maybe we'll both be a little better off for it. Or maybe we won't.  Love, Joe