It’s September 1989 and I’m sitting in a cramped circular university classroom that’s intimate but strangely vast at the same time.
In walks the esteemed but much dreaded creative writing professor who promises us that after emerging bloodied and bruised from his red pen massacre we WILL be better writers.
Everyone but me of course will fulfill this destiny and go on to great things.
Eventually, as everyone already knows, I put this great man in an early grave . My repeated lack of success and insistence on continuing to make the same dreaded mistakes a testament and constant reminder of his only failure in life. Curiously enough this point is driven home for you the reader by the rapid tense changes and dangling modifiers already at work here in this post.
The heat of the room, the promise of clear concise writing, the laser focus and true aim of the teacher.
I remember his question to me on that very first day, “What is it you hope to achieve here?”
Because I didn’t have the right answer to his query he sighed audibly and launched directly into a reading of two of his most critically acclaimed works.
One was a long-winded rant about removing an embedded tick from his testicles and the other a horrifying tale that gave vomit inducing details of the first glimpse he ever got of his grandmothers vagina.
It was an accidental sighting of elderly poon of course but still that did nothing to deaden the blow.
Over the years I’ve had countless teachers, therapists, job interviewers and friends ask me the same question; what is it you are getting at?
What do you hope to get out of all this? What kind of results are you looking for? Do you have a plan?
You know what people?
I don’t fucking know.
There are so many people out there with great energy and world-changing ideas that know how to execute to get to their end point.
I envy them.
Take for instance this blog.
Does it have a point, like a spear that can nail down things people need to know right where they can see them? Or is it just a grouping of mildly amusing anecdotal blurbs that barely qualify as something busy people should waste time reading?
If tangents and unrelated non sequiturs are a crime then I am the most vile perpetrator of these acts.
There are so many people out there with the knockout combo of such aim, focus and purpose that their goal is always in sight.
Like a good cook they add the ingredients, move them around with their talent spoon, toss a shot of spice over their shoulder into the mix and after arriving at the end of the experiment you the reader have been schooled in all the things you didn’t think you were ready to know but now embrace enthusiastically.
Never having thought of an analytical compare and contrast of the several types of foreign film dramas available at the local underground cinema you now know that your inner cinephile can no longer be restrained as you watch the next set of subtitled dramas from Czechoslovakia with a furrowed brow and marble notebook.
Nevermind that you’re now officially a humorless bastard with mean streak, this is where it’s AT!
Besides, the only thing you ever learned from my blog is that I like fur clothing, fancy the idea of owning a cloned mammoth and that when I run out of toilet paper I’m not above wiping my ass with other household items.
So let’s just say that even though it brings me great joy to tell you these things, I’m polluting already rancid waters in the moat surrounding my imaginary castle.
I will tell you that there are many qualities I love and appreciate in the people I read but none more than urgency and skill.
Some people can weave words into beautifully crafted sentences but can fail to move me. That is not to say they are not fantastic writers, they are, but there is something about the desperate force that impels someone to heave the inner workings of their mind straight into yours that fascinates me.
I want to smell your humanity.
And that last sentence is exactly the type of shit that killed the professor.