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My worst fears have come to life. Fiction is as bad here as I was worried it
would be. That goes for print media as well as film and television. You make
up stories, of course, but there’s no beauty in it, no thrill. When I was
first starting out as a writer, I was accused of always getting right to the
point. The tales themselves were interesting, but I wasn’t telling them in
interesting ways. I wasn’t keeping the audience engaged. That’s how it is
here, but with everything. I started to read a book that was narratively
similar to The Grapes of Wrath, but it played more like a list of
things that happened. John drove himself and his daughter to the abandoned
shack in the middle of woods where he recalled hiding when he was a young boy.
It was dirty, but still standing, so they cleaned it up, and stayed the night.
They ate blueberries for dinner, and also for breakfast the next morning. In
my world, that excerpt would be expanded across two or more pages. What were
they feeling during the drive? What were they thinking? They were running from
the anti-authorities, so were they scared? The book made me feel nothing. I
don’t know, I just can’t get into anything. Everything I’ve tried has been so
boring, it makes me want to jump off another cliff on the off-chance that it
sends me to another universe. That’s not exactly how I ended up here in the
first place, but it was what ultimately led me here. My landlord doesn’t own a
computer, and since I don’t have a job yet, I can’t afford one of my own. I’ve
been using an old phone of hers that still works with DataWave. For any
possible readers from any other universe, that is what they call WiFi here.
Anyway, writing these little posts is hard enough on the little screen, I
wouldn’t be able to create an entire story with it. Maybe when I get a job,
I’ll buy a real machine, and start making up my own stories. I’ve not been a
writer since I lived on my Earth, but maybe it’s time. I think y’all need to
understand what true creativity looks like.
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