Me, Myself And I Mayhem

Me, Myself and I Mayhem

I am a facade. I am pretending to be something I am not. Look at me, posing as something I will probable never become. I continue to put on a show believing others believe in me. How can I believe I can accomplish what I can not do? I go through all the right motions putting on the charade. I create a semblance of what I think I could be but I must face the truth sometime. It is all only window dressing to pose the masquerade. It's a simple guise to hide the lies.

Am I hurting anyone by putting on this pretext? What kind of inhumanity to man am I inflicting with my selfish playacting? Has my elaborate camouflage even been working? Will I have to pay a price for my perfidy? Do I double down on my double-dealing double-crossing deceitfulness? Or do I come clean and confess to clear my conscious? Who is going to believe any semblance of an excuse for my blatant ruse? How can my assumed affectation be regarded by anyone as anything but putting on airs? Has my puny performance proved convincing to any of the all-powerful powers-that-be?

The stress of this mess is taking its toll. I find myself engrossed to continue the treachery. I get very little else accomplished. I spend most of my waking hours perpetuating the falsity. I have so many more directions to which I need to be devoting my energy. These other interests are left deserted, unfinished, undone, unfulfilled. I ask if this impersonation I have taken on is doing anything to nurture my real life relationships? Or is it truly only draining my limited reserves? Am I finding joy and passion pursuing this illusive goal? Is it only a fleeting thing?

--- I—I—I, starting to stutter I would say.

---And who do you think you are, I ask?

--- Only being Myself.

--- So self-analyzing?

--More self-effacing is what is happening. Why so self-conscious? Where is self-confidence? Self-accomplishment? Self-assurance? Sorry, can't help myself.

--What about Me?

--Don't get me started on Me. Me, Me, Me, Me, Me! That's all we hear about! Someone always thinks it is all about Me.

--Myself, I could take it or leave it to Me.

--No one ever asks Me. I just tells it like it is and poor little Me and Myself suffer along.

--Oh, come on, Guys. You both know what I am talking about. Look at those first three paragraphs. Three hundreds words into the script and still no charming character, no character development or building, and no character arc. No bewildering wilderness setting. No weather to weather. No protagonist to cheer on to victory or an antagonist to defy. Besides there isn't even a plot plotted. Don't get me started on descriptions.

Well, maybe descriptions should be started on. None exist. No sickly-sweet flowery ones, punch-in-the-gut poignant ones, no breathtaking scenery nor heart-stopping action. Nothing one can see, hear, smell or feel. No show or tell. Nothing to emote. Nothing overdone, becoming over-powering, or finally over-coming. Nothing that can bring a tear to an eye, an unexpected wit to elicit a laugh, or a twist to get angry or upset about. No surprise resolution. Only a bunch of pure nothingness.

--Instead, here Me, Myself and I sit arguing with each other. Like it is going to improve anything. That's why I am lamenting. Help me out. I am beside myself. Do we go on as is or throw in the towel and call it a day?

Me, Myself and I have been reading and studying all the terrific examples of real talented professionals in the business so by now should have a pretty good idea and blueprint of how it should be done. But yet we are stumped again and again as to how to proceed. Where do we begin? How do we create that flowing prose that captivates and entertains others? They manage to make it look so effortless. Like it comes natural to them. It is not natural and effortless to our inner being. We struggle and struggle for the inspiration to start the process.

Those in the know say to start with what you know. So we three search our memories and come up with episodes we remember well enough to reinvent with a little creative license to make a story. Sometimes the stories have been heart-rending, sometimes on the humorous side. Sometimes they get lots of positive responses from the community. Sometimes they barely draw any attention whatsoever. That's okay. We recognize it is not a numbers game and we are not simply trying to garnish massive amounts of praise. Although the kudos do wonders to boost the old, flailing morale. We appreciate and try to show gratitude for whatever encouragement is offered.

So the impetus is to make stuff up. Evidently, I am no good at that. Me and Myself keep to themselves when asked to contribute. Fantasy is all the rage. We don't see it. Science fiction is electrifying. We don't feel it. Horror is all-consuming. We can't stomach it. That leaves speculation, inspiration, drama, adventure, crime, suspense, romance and a few other categories to capture. All well and fine and well, out of our reach, sad to say.

So the consensuses seems to point to admitting defeat and say thanks but no thanks. Me, Myself and I just don't have what it takes to be short story writers. It has been fun experimenting but...such is life. You win some, you lose some.

There is a time and place for everything so maybe someday...in a land far, far away... in a galaxy out of this world...when one least expects it...

But, then again. If you write does that mean you are a writer. Maybe, just maybe, I can become a paper-back writer. It's the stuff made for song. Have I ever told anyone about the novel I spent a year writing and now need to devote time to getting it edited and out to the waiting world?

I am a facade. I am not a short story writer. Am I a novelist? I'll ask Me and Myself.