“Fiction is the truth inside the lie.” – Stephen King
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m the grow old gracefully type. I don’t feel very old, but some things just aren’t the same as they were in my twenties and early thirties. Here’s a few things off the top of my head I’m noticing.
I was reading a short story collection by Clive Barker last night before bed. That man writes strong prose, ladies and gentlemen. Very strong. So I asked myself why he was strong and the babbling I do weak. I sort of came up with this:
Just tell the story.
My last post was about the new kid at work being a d-bag. He has now climbed out of said category and is a pretty cool guy. (Today, OP was a pretty cool guy…)
So the other night, I’m supposed to close the auto store with the new kid. When I say new, I mean it–he’s been there all of four days. The store closes at nine. I was scheduled until nine-fifteen, the new kid until nine. That means I was the official closer.
Well, folks, I have ADD something fierce. I’m off the charts on most online tests. One test I took, which was an actual ADD assessment that just wasn’t used anymore, said that a score of 70 necessitated a visit to the doctor; I scored 104. Yes, the ADD is strong with this one, Luke.