Insomnia can sometimes blur the line between reality and fantasy. If there is one. I woke this morning wondering if I had truly read an online news article about a man suing his parents for screwing up his life.
I submitted a story for a writing contest the other day. Though I had been aware of the contest and its promise of great wealth (from the perspective of a struggling writer) and fame (again, from the very limited perspective of a struggling writer), I had procrastinated until I realized the deadline was the same as the expiration date on a carton of milk I purchased. Funny how things creep up on you.
Determined to put something together before everything went sour, I scanned my blog for ideas and started stringing random thoughts together. As if that's something new. A sentence here, a paragraph there -- no matter what the topic, I amused myself finding ways in which to glue it all together. A far fetched association, a cleverly drafted transition, even cheap literary tricks like alliteration -- I dredged up whatever I could to transform a disjointed stream of unconsciousness into a cohesive tale with an important message. A message so elusive I had to actually state it several times, but a message none the less.
My most daunting challenge was deciding the category into which I would submit the "thing," as I have grown to think of it. Poetry didn't seem to be a viable option, although I am aware that really outstanding poems do not rhyme and this piece contains neither rhyme nor reason, which could make it not only outstanding but quite extraordinary. Nevertheless, I focused on "fiction" and "non-fiction" as my two most viable options, and I became paralyzed. As is the case with my blog, the "thing" is at the very least inspired by truth, although I do tend to embellish. Also, as is often the case with my blog, some of the most incredible parts are the ones that are completely grounded in fact. The stuff of life that is so bizarre it requires no embellishment, the truths that are indeed far stranger than fiction.
Ultimately, I decided the "thing" would fare better in the non-fiction category, with its segments that defy the imagination standing out in far more stark contrast to the fact based competition than they would among stories made up of pure fantasy. (I considered entering the "thing" in both categories, but with my chances for glory as slim as they are I didn't want to spring for two "reading fees" or risk some small scale version of a "how dare you lie to Oprah?" scandal.)
When I returned to my laptop at a more humane hour this morning, less handicapped by middle-of-the-night cobwebs, I searched for the article about the guy who sued his parents for screwing him up. There it was, a headline right smack in the middle of the quintessential kind of nonfiction otherwise known as news. Not a dream at all; a thirty-two year old guy was dragging his folks into court, demanding, among other things, that they purchase a Domino's franchise or two. I would imagine the statute of limitations has long expired for this thirty-two year old (I actually did some research on Illinois statutes, and figure at most I only need to fear liability for my negligent parenting for another few years), but I suppose he was just trying to make a point. He actually included an alternative prayer for relief, alleging he would drop the suit if his parents would agree to sit down with him for dinner. Once, mind you. Just once.
I'm assuming the parents will swallow their pride, pull up a few chairs and order a pizza, maybe even their son's favorite kind. Or maybe they'll hire an attorney and spend their life's savings on proving the kid wrong. Who's to say? The truth is, more often than not, stranger than fiction.
No comments:
Post a Comment