inherently different

Today is Chuck Palahniuk’s birthday. Chuck is one of my favorite authors, not only because of his unique writing skill, but he has this uncanny ability to see through the bullshit and show you things as they are, not as people wish they were.

The author of Fight Club was born on this day in 1962, which means he is exactly 4 years older than me. If I was the type to be envious, I would be envious of Chuck and the level of work he has published in a relatively short period of time. His latest book to be turned into a movie, Choke, looks like it might be just as good as Fight Club and if the book is any indication, whatever you thought about Fight Club, you will find in spades with Choke.

I read Choke a few years ago and it changed my view of what contemporary fiction can be. If you like fiction, you owe it to yourself to explore Chuck’s world.

Join me in wishing Chuckie P a happy 46th.

Stephen King has been allotted more shelf space in my personal library than any other author. More than Charles Bukowski, more than Richard Matheson, more than Douglas Adams, hell more than all these authors combined.

I know that a great many critics think Stephen King’s work is crap. Steven King is aware that many critics believe his work is crap… like Stephen himself, I don’t give two shits. I truly believe he is not only one of the most productive and creative American writers of the last 50 years, but also one of the most inspiring.

My gf picked up two new (at least to me) King books for me a few days ago and I really am enjoying Blaze. It was written before Carrie, locked away in a trunk apparently and only recently released from captivity. I’m glad he chose to publish this book and I am sure millions of his fans agree.

And the number ONE weird thing about me (continuing the post detailing 7 weird things about me):

The human hand has 27 bones counting the bones in the wrist (there are 8 of those). Not counting the wrist, I have broken 17 of the remaining 19 bones in each hand. I have broken some of them playing street hockey, some fighting, some getting things slammed on them, and having my hand shoot through a car window during an accident.

Many times I was completely unaware that something had broken until either someone pointed out that there was something terribly wrong with my hand or I felt a sandy, grinding between bones. Once, my thumb got pushed out so that the bone stuck out of the back of my hand… I noticed that because my hand felt wet. It wasn’t water.

As a result, my fingers jut off in random directions and I cannot wear rings. My fingers constantly twitch too, especially when I am sleeping.

Despite this, I can still touch type around 120 words per minute.

A couple of days ago, I was talking to a friend of mine about one of my favorite topics, me. It seems that while this blog shares insight into who I am and what I believe, it does little to dispel the rumor that I was raised by wolves and ate my siblings upon exiting the womb. I’ve never been a proponent of making up what you don’t know as fact, but telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth can be boring. On occasion I like to let loose a nice, interesting, but wholly made up story.

Of course, I always let people in on the fiction. I don’t like telling tales that can be mistaken for fact. So in the interest of being forthright, lately I haven’t given this blog the attention it deserves and the reasons have been detailed from time to time. They have varied from too much work (slightly true), to too little inspiration (slightly more true). Now you can add confused to the mix.

I have been struggling with how much I should really write here. My GF reads this blog and while she and I share all our thoughts with each other, some of my more… um… colorful ideas tend to make her question her decision to abscond from the mainland for the sunny shores of Maui.

The thing is… if I can’t be myself here, I am only lying to myself about what this blog truly is. So, with that in mind I will attempt to write daily again and not second guess whether or not you are ready to read what I have to write. I think most of you are intelligent people willing and capable of self-censoring your intake… read what you like, ignore the rest.

Going forward, anything that is simply me practicing creative writing will be clearly marked. I don’t do this because I believe you are incapable of discerning truth from fiction, but to insure that I can simply write what comes to mind. This should increase my blog output ten fold because some of the thoughts that cross the vast expanse of my mind are not without passing interest to those of you who are attracted to my ridiculous mutterings.

               OVER BLACK WE SEE OPENING CREDITS

                                                          FADE IN:

INT. OFFICE - EARLY MORNING

A MAN sits typing on his keyboard. The light from the overhead lamp
flickers as if it could wink out at any moment.

It does not.

He stops to read what he has written and looks disgusted.
He hits the DELETE key repeatedly.

THE MAN

Christ on a fucking cracker. Can
this get anymore tedious? Ok, time
for a change.
The Man hits a few more keys and the words DELETE ENTIRE BLOG
flash on his screen.He hits the key.

                THE MAN

Come thursday. There will be daily
content. It will be different.
Inherently Different.