In Flanders Field...
Where have all the poppy seeds gone? Over the past several years I have noticed the availability of poppy seeds decaying geometrically. At first it was just now and again that poppy seed bagels couldn't be found at the grocery store, but now finding them is like discovering the lost ark. Poppy seed bagels are no longer carried by Tim Horton's. Fucking Tim Hortons. Think about that.
I asked a homely Pakistani at my local highway-side Tim's where the poppy seeds had gone, and she shrugged her lumpy shoulders and said, "Maybe they're too expensive or something, eh?"
Is it because people are failing their piss tests? Is it because NATO is razing the poppy fields in Afghanistan? Is it because the consumption of poppy seeds represents a lifestyle choice that runs fundamentally against the moral fabric of a healthy Western society?
I need answers, damn it. I need a fix.
Revoking the Literary License
A complaint from the field: a friend of mine -- who's been MIA for almost two years now -- reports to Littlestar (who managed to track him down, but blithely failed at finding my poppy seeds) that he was upset by something I'd written in my public diary. I stand gently accused of slandering him via fiction.
So, I looked up the passage in question and gave it a re-read, to see if I'd squashed fact for a storytelling effect or otherwise munged the perfect and objective record that is my personal version of events.
What was recounted were words uttered from his own mouth -- a direct quotation on a non-controversial subject, witnessed simultaneously by almost a hundred people.
What kills me is that I've dealt with this friend at some length in two of my stories, and both stories are rife with literary license. I've mixed together separate conversions, streamlined action by minimizing the cast and thus having some people say things that were actually said by others, amplified parts of his personality while diminishing others in order to create a character that served the tale better.
...But, naturally, he isn't begrudging me literary license in those instances because those instances make him look good. In my telling he is more suave and certain, more purposeful and clever than his actual self.
No -- the cry of abused literary license only comes up over something I embellished not at all. In print he finds his own words embarassing, and would rather blame me than take personal responsibility.
"I don't want people to get the wrong idea," he reportedly said.
This is a bizarre bit of egocentricism, in my opinion, since the three or four people on the whole planet who know who the real life person is who corresponds to the character were there when he made the statement in question.
No amount of Googling will successfully connect the character's name to this person. Nobody who knows him in meatspace associates him with the nick-name I use.
For me, the complaint boils down to this: don't write about things I say or do even if nobody knows it's me, except if it makes me look cool.
I add this to my list of previous complaints I've received from others: don't write about jokes I tell or off-the-cuff ideas I have because somebody will steal them (from Commodore Redacted); don't give me any kind of nick-name because it makes me feel like you're making fun of me, but also don't leave me out of your stories (from my mother-in-law); include me in your stories but don't mention how I dress, what I say, the industry I work for or what city I live in (from RockStar); if you ever mention me make sure to say I have a really big cock (from someone I never mentioned in a story).
My sister-in-law was once offended when I linked the name of the character representing her mother to an image of Jabba the Hutt. In my defense I claimed that her mother is a fat, ugly, destructive moron (in J-school they call this "checking your facts"). I said, "You know how I feel about your mother; I was writing a diary right after dealing with her in a gruesome and emotional situation in which she behaved very badly; I was detailing my feelings in a forum clearly labelled as a diary; what the fuck do you expect?"
To her credit, my sister-in-law retracted her objection.
Littlestar was pissed off when I mentioned a few weeks back about how Old Oak had tried to start a conversation with Slozo in China on the subject of arranging my murder. She said, "It was supposed to be a secret."
(From who? God forbid Old Oak feel his confidence was betrayed!)
I didn't argue that one. I had nothing to contribute beyond wondering what kind of sensitivity Littlestar might bring to bear on the subject were it her life that was being discussed as a mutable thing.
I once wrote a short post about coming down to visit my in-laws, in which I mentioned four things about them: 1) they had really cool easy-chairs; 2) they thought Condi Rice was the cat's pajamas; 3) their apartment is in the basement; 4) they smoke heavily and don't open the windows. The gist of the post was my envying their furniture and HDTV.
What did my in-laws take away from the post? 1) they're lazy; 2) they're stupid; 3) they live in a hovel; 4) they smell.
So, noting their hyper-sensitivity, I stopped including them in my posts altogether for a spell. And what did they take from that? That I pretend they don't exist, that I'm ashamed of them, etc., etc.
The basic rule of thumb I've gleaned over the past few years is that, no matter what you write about other people, those with poor self-esteem will freak out and those with healthy self-esteem will keep it all in perspective.
What this means is that, if you're reading this and wondering why I've never mentioned you in a diary, the short answer is probably because I think you lack the strength of character to deal with it. Sorry, but there it is.
If you do have poor self-esteem and I mention you anyway, it just means I don't really care about your feelings very much. That may not be a particularly warm sentiment, but it is a candid and logically consistent one.
Font of Fiction
For those of you who missed (or took a miss on) the serialized version of my latest novella, the complete story is now posted on my website: Night Flight Mike, featuring cameos by our own 256 and misslake.
Today also marked the conclusion of a short story called Bad Traffic.
My next story, The Reaper's Coleslaw, starts serializing on Thursday, September 28th on my weblog. This will be followed on Wednesday, October 4th by the debut of another novella, Sandy is a Spider.
|
