I confess - or had often confessed - myself a writer. In the making, of course, for I've never been published and only Hyne knows where I ever be published (Internet posting of fics and short stories doesn't count). Stories have been circulating in my mind since fuck knows when, taking here and there the shape of short stories, and often the shape of novels that go on and on and on and hardly ever finish. (Currently I'm spinning around three novels in my head, one of which has already four chapters typed down.) Then there are other things in my head that occupy my mind - the central stage, so to say - from time to time, like topics I'd love to develop and eventually publish within the frame of my career - for I have slowly reached the age where I actually believe I have a valid thing to say about economics and would like to throw in my two cents into the general discussion -, but then also is all the matter about work, thesis, about this and that, all continuosly rolling around in my head. Yes, I get busy, I get quite out of time, I get crammed up with things to do and things to solve and things to think about, and all this other things, my stories, my theories, my books, my movies, my pictures, my blueprints get shelved up back for another moment, while the desk of my head, my central stage is occupied by other things, so called urgent, important things.
Eventually, when you look around, it seems as if there were lots of people that don't work that way. Sure, you would love to gain a small sneak-peak inside their skulls and peep at out of their mental pictures. Borrow the mental novel they are currently engaged in, sit down in the same mental movie and check out the latest piece they've been watching in their heads during the boring meeting, while commuting, while politely smiling at someone in the party when they really wished to be away.
It does happen, here and there, that you get that sneak-peak. Some people write blogs, and some of those use the blog as a sort of journal or arena to display the collection of stories and essays they spin around their heads (which is why blogs can turn so addictive and some are down right guilty pleasures!). Other people sometimes open up and tell you about this "silly story" they've been playing in their heads. I remember there's this lady at the office that once felt compelled to tell me she often imagine the lives of others, and she had imagined one day my life and told me about it.
Some stories are, well, plain bad. Some stories are boring and you get for free. These are the stories and excuses of the liars, the unreliable people who always resource to excuses nobody is really interested in, and well, the stories of the attention whores. These are stories you'd rather file away as "channels I'm not interested in subscribing to". Yes Timmy, there are crappy stories out there. (Personally I file all the "The life of Moms who think they have something to say", "Mom's Wonderful Life with their Children" and the omniprescent "The Wonderful, Blessed Story of the Christian That Will Get Saved For Being Straight, Devote, Bible Thumbler and Family Loving".)
But there are stories that could feed the most wonderful books. Have to admit that I have spun a few stories in my head around some of those stories. Some start less-than-delectable, but the right view, and the right mind can turn them into something fantastic. Some twisted, chaotic lives feed a few stories I'd like to harness into full novels. One of those is the sickening, twisted life of an old acquintance of mine, who was dead set in living in a surreal world. There's something disgustingly pleasurable in the unnatural choices of people, and though you can't wait to get them out of your life, remembering them does fill you with fascination. Almost like reading gruesome stories of tragedies and devastation: you really don't want to be there, but you can't tear yourself from watching the chaos, not to mention how awesome it feels when the tables turn around and the whole fantasy life crashes over the liar, or the "super awesome" plan fires back.
Truth is, whether people around you are plain, boring or stupid, there are always a good story lurking around.