What if you opened up your mind? To the public?
What are you going to do with all of those ideas zipping around in your head anyway?
There’s something decidedly thrilling about letting it all hang out.
As my billions, millions, many fans know, I’ve been slipping in here some wild acts of adventure. I almost wrote fiction, but it’s so real that I’m not sure it is fiction.
fiction: class of literature comprising works of imaginative narration, especially in prose form
“Imaginative narration” is what it is. I’m narrating what’s going in my imagination. However, it’s so real that the lines are blurred between what’s real and what’s imagination.
What is imagination, anyway?
imagination: the faculty of producing ideal creations consistent with reality
“Consistent with reality”!? That’s where we are. We’re creating consistent with reality. Then what’s reality? Reality to whom? Based on what? If it happens in my mind, is that not reality enough?
reality: resemblance to what is real
Resemblance?! I have loads of resemblance!
What is real and what is not? What is imagination and what is not? What is fiction and what is not?
Does any of this matter? A character is being born and I’m just here to take notes. I’m like that stenographer in the courtroom who uses that refurbished weegee board to somehow keep track of everything that goes on.
I’m just the messenger here.
It’s not longer me here. I’m just trying to keep up with the program. To somehow stretch the gap between reality and imagination and possibly move mountains so that they are together and one. Is that fiction? If so, I’m all in for the ride and … my fingers wanted me to write this, I’m not kidding:
I am your humble servant.
Hold on, it’s going to be a wild ride.
P.S. To answer the question, “What if you opened up your mind? To the public?” If you do that, you can call yourself a writer. You might even go so far as to call yourself a fiction writer or a novelist.
