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Know Jack #392 Lying to Myself

I’m not a multitasker. So, when I go off into my fictional worlds to visit my imaginary friends, I’m there. Sometimes my touch with what’s going on around me becomes tenuous. There is some debate as to whether this is actually my normal state and my writing is nothing more than a walk deeper into the dark unknown. Generally, I’m ambivalent about the whole thing.


My hope in doing this is that all the trendiest influencers and positivity guru vibrators are on to something. If quantum theory can say that our mind creates an undeniable reality, who am I to doubt it especially if it makes my fictional people and places sound real?


The trouble is, I’m not a smart man—I can employ all the positive thinking I’m capable of and I can still tell reality from fiction. Even Hemmingway’s admonition to “write drunk, edit sober” isn’t able to blur the line enough to think my fictional world has become real.


If I were a better writer, I could make up an alternate reality that not only would I believe it was real but everyone else in the universe would be compelled to believe it too. I see writers of this caliber at work, and it boggles my mind.


Personally, I think their stories are wasted when confined to writing legal briefs, op-ed pieces, and media sound bites. I mean think of the literary masterpieces that could be written by someone with male genitalia who has all the world agreeing he’s a woman. Now that’s fiction that really sells.


I thought about trying that as a writing exercise, but then my inability to accept fiction as reality reared its ugly head and I was back writing about rougarous again.


Don’t get me wrong, I like my fictional worlds. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t spend so much time righting the wrongs in Zion or chasing werewolves across north Texas. In my worlds, I get to be the hero (the villain too if I want to). I can be the drop-dead handsome, billionaire Mensa member, with doctorates in philosophy and physics, who gets the gorgeous girl. What’s not to like about that?


Well, the answer may be that it’s just not true. I checked the mirror for confirmation. Yep, not true. No matter how hard I try or who I share this identity with—no one believes it. My hope is that with AI making the writing scene, I can become a transwriter, sort of like the $6,000,000 man.


Maranatha



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