Tom Robbins and Philip K. Dick Fistfight in an Alternate Reality
“. . .spinning a web of words, pale walls of dreams, between myself and all I see.” --John Gardner, Grendel
“What do you want to do with your life?” he asked.
A hidden question lay concealed in the curiosity: Why are
you taking my course in creative writing? Are you dedicated to the art of
literature, or are you taking my course because you think that someday, maybe
you would like to write--if you get around to it?
“I want to write like Sherman Alexie,” I said.
Judging by the faint smile my comment drew from him, I
saw I had satisfied him. So, I laid it on thick. “and tell a story like
Stendhal,”
This time I registered a faint frown. He took my remark
as an attempt to bullshit him, and I regretted my feeble attempt to impress.
I was speaking with honesty, though; I did want to
write and tell stories like the masters. I had been writing in journals for
years but got stuck in that Dear-Diary-type of writing that is the mark of the
amateur. I wanted more. I wanted Tim O'Brien and Virginia Woolf to pour out of
my pen. Tom Robbins and Philip K. Dick inspired me. Why couldn't I write with
their kind of easy voice and distinctive style? I needed some education. That
need took me to the Richland College in Dallas, Texas, a two-year college
situated on a casual and intimate campus in the northeast quadrant of the city.
The Richland courses made me a better writer, but the
voices of doubt crept in again and I gave up writing for years but continued to
think like a writer--or more on target, like a writer-not-writing. Then, a
friend introduced me to some motivational videos on YouTube. There I learned
the difference between in-field and out-field thinking *. My hypergraphia
transformed from to-do lists and Facebook arguments to writing for publication
and the reactivation of a long-dormant blog.
A Facebook bet from a guy steeped in woo and
superstitious nonsense bet me—as a challenge to my philosophical materialism—that
I couldn’t spend the night in an abandoned prison, a wager leading to the “My
Time in Prison” (MTiP) project. Over time, my challenger and I drifted apart,
and the project got put on hold while I researched abandoned prisons in Texas
and dealt with the busy-ness of the holidays. In a couple of days, the holiday
season will fade into history and we will enter a new year; one in which I hope
for fewer deaths by pandemic disease, and an end to rapacious capitalism, political
incompetence, and ideological drama.
The MTiP project is holding for warmer weather, a suitable
prison within driving distance from Dallas, and a project cost estimate. So,
for now, I’ll concentrate on reviving this blog that I had all but abandoned.
I’m kinda hidden over here in a far corner of the internet, but that’s okay.
I’m not looking for fame. I’m looking for an outlet for a severe case of
hypergraphia. I was looking for a theme and my betting buddy gave me one: he revived
a life-long interest in unreality—deception, propaganda, superstition, religion,
woo, Russian bots, fake news, paranormal fantasies, and conspiracy theories; an
interest that will take me into some up close and personal knowledge of haunted
places and religious “beyond space-time” fog.
It’s going to be fun.
* https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/moments-matter/201708/locus-control
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