The Real Story

I’ve written over a million trauma and drama-based books in my lifetime so far. Depending on your age, you have too, trust me.

You know the process; it starts in your head. First, it’s a devastating trauma about something that (might) happen if /when you take a risk, set a boundary or try something new. Your brain sits down in front of the computer, the word document is open, and you write your heart out. It’s a crashing blow of horrendous disasters and end of life catastrophes. You finish with immense sense of self closure and send it to the publishing house which lives in your brain’s Anxiety Department. That department has only one role, to market the fiction to the rest of your body as a documentary and convince the rest of your body to accept this narrative and portray it as a documentary (not a fiction.) So basically, you’re running a political campaign with all the bells and whistles of promised disappointments, lies and deceit. You turn a fiction into a reality, it’s magical. Who needs Hollywood when we have such a powerful marketing tool that’s free, always available and works overtime, for a lifetime?

You can guess what happens next right? Well, your marketing is so powerful that the fiction does turn into a reality and becomes a very real narrative, so real that even your body buys the bullshit and votes blindly to follow the brain. Now your body starts to act out too. You begin to feel uncomfortable and maybe even sick at the thought of ignoring the narrative that you just published. Your sweat glands let loose, your stomach begins to hurt, you may even become a frequent bathroom visitor. You might even be scared to leave or go to certain places without proper bathrooms, who knows? The sky is the limit on fictional writers, ya know?

So here comes the kicker, you ready? I am a liar and so are you. I am the most unauthentic of liars. I don’t lie to be liked, I don’t lie to be popular, or to make money, or even for validation. I lie to self-sabotage myself! What the f*ck? Seriously? Yes. I make a mockery of myself in my own head and then buy my own fictitious bullshit.

Ladies and gentlemen, no matter how many books I’ve written, at the end of the day, the joke is on me.

So what’s your next book about?