Tall Tales and Tiny Lies

I find it funny when I writing impulse scrambles fighter jets in my mind. I pause for a sitrep.

Funnier still when a typo is left in the opening sentence of a very short story. Um. Yeah. Isn’t that hilarious? “when a writing impuse” is the phrase I was seeking.

My mind does this: Do I have time? How much time do I have? What’s the urgency of the idea? Will I forget it if I roll over and go back to sleep? Does it matter?

And that’s it, it’s 4:32 am and I’m up. I don’t have a coffee fetish or anything, but I was having this discussion with a zombie cashier at HEB yesterday, “You know most people in the world drink awful coffee.”

She was merely watching me do my self-checkout. She was an observer. “Do you need bags?” Also a saleswoman.

All of that was true. Still is. My coffee this morning is just okay. I don’t have a coffee fetish. I used to. I do notice when my pods are from an inferior manufacturer. Not all coffee is alike. I wonder if caffeine levels are similar for different brands. I know the light/dark thing, that is so confusing and backward. If it tastes awful and black it should be stronger right? More masculine.

I found it quite funny on a TikTok post I made from a New York City sidewalk cafe where I deliciously poured cream into my thick ceramic mug of black elixir. Trolls attacked my masculinity. “You ruined it.”

Sort of like my dad railing at me for getting my steak “well done.”

“Should’ve gotten you a hamburger,” he’d say.

“That would be fine.”

“Why would you ruin a good steak like that?”

“Same way I can’t understand why you put pepper on your French fries.”

And we agreed to disagree for the rest of our lives. His was shorter than mine, at this point. All but one member of my immediate family has turned to dust or startlight or whatever you believe. The collective unconscious, according to Jung. Now, I’m just trying to show off.

I’ve lost my place.

Oh, oh, oh. Stories and writing.

“I’d like to thank the academy of arts and short stories for this honor.”

Do writers talking (writing) about writing bore everyone else? Are there writers in this crowd? Can I get a show of hands? Well, good for us. I’ll now speak to the five other writers in this room.”

Write. Fuck the critics. And if you have the means of production, by god, use it. Waiting for editors, book deals, agents, movie deals, and all that stuff is a distraction. If the book is done, put it out. There’s no cost anymore. My books will stay “in print” now forever unless the Russians bomb Amazon HQ. You can do the same. Own your publishing. Sure, very few people will read it. But that’s not the point.

The point of writing is this: to be happy.

If writing is hard, don’t do it. If writing makes you think of difficult things from your past, maybe give it a rest. Not everyone is cut out to be a writer. Besides, there’s no money in it.

Good night. I’ll be here for another twenty years or so if you want to get in touch.

Read more Short-Short Stories from John.