“Warsh, Rainse, Repeat” …Mocking Mavericks.

Okay…wait. Let me stop laughing and catch my breath. I’ve attempted to write this post three separate times and not trying to spend months making one itty-bitty point. Blogging is supposed to be fun spontaneous thoughts. Not thesis-level writing. What lands on the page should stay on the page.

At any rate, this charade started when I got to thinking about the wannabe literary mavericks of the world asking niggling questions like, “what did the author mean?” Goodness, that question once upon a time got on my last nerve. One time it scraped my nerves so bad, I let my pen go to work. That’s when a real mockery happened. All be if I didn't pass the damn test... and with the same flying colors as my very kinky essay. But no worries. That was a long ago by-gone story I must've told a zillion times. Nobody got hurt. Apparently the teacher was never the wiser, and the author had, peacefully, checked out centuries before I got to drafting the masterpiece.

However, here's the only traumatizing part. I’m not the only one kicking rocks at this topic. There are memes still on social medias sweaten’ the mavs. I collect them to stave off the wrinkles. Truth is, despite the fact that many authors, particularly fiction writers, such as I am, (obviously doing right now), live in our heads, we never-the-less are so busy hoping our prose ‘MAKES SENSE’ THE FIRST TIME, that we have little wherewithal to be excavating tomes of convoluted phrases…on purpose. 

FUNNY STORY.

Currently ringing in both my ears is the time a reader asked if ‘my’ main character was me!?! 

I swear. I liked to have swallowed my tongue. The gap between the question and my response was so mammoth, my entire shoe collection could fit in my mouth. I couldn’t believe it. And all because I failed to describe my main character. I mean, really? Sane writers never describe themselves in third person.

Alrighty, in all seriousness I just finished reading three books, one that initially prompted this post. ‘Positive Obsession’ by Susana M. Morris had my mind moving trying to get a good glimpse of Octavia E. Butler via dog-eared notes, diaries, and in all likelihood a generous number of second-hand sources dictating what the sci-fi writer meant. And funnier, as if anyone needs to be fooling around with extra humor in current times, here’s the real kink promising to sufficiently wrap up this matter. 

My other thoughts about this biography, plus two memoirs I just read, are here, here and here. In other words, books have a long passionate history of holding all sorts of gems, to include pearls of wisdom and secrets too, reading between lines. 

#Reading #Writing #JustBlogged