As you may know, TIWTPITF came out of my "Bad January," a suck-ass eight days I experienced last year. I like to think of myself as economical and creative, so I turned my grief and irritation into something that felt productive, cathartic, and even healing.
So I went on a rant, one that has lasted 17 months and shows no signs of slowing down.
But I'm still a nice person. Really. When I'm writing a first-person story or blog post, the "I" that I relate to you is not the real me, or rather, it's the me that I choose to share with you. Chuck Klosterman put it this way (in an essay about the Unabomber in Eating the Dinosaur): "I enjoying writing about my life, but I don't like people knowing anything about me." I don't mind people knowing things about me, but I can't stand when they assume things about me based on what I choose to write about myself. If you only read TIWTPITF, you may assume that I'm a hateful curmudgeon or a bitchy cynic. You may also think I'm funnier than a PT Cruiser full of clowns.
I am, but that's not all I am.
If you read my craft books (like the just-published Simple Gifts), you may conclude that I knock out homemade masterpieces like a machine and that I'm sweet as pie.
I'm currently crafted out. And many of my creations look, to put it kindly, shot in the ass.
However, I just might be the nicest person you've had the pleasure to meet.
Writing about myself has proven to be tricky. I'm a lot of things, I like a lot of things. The current wisdom would be to pick a lane and develop my brand. That would be smart, sure, but it might also make me claw my face off. I like addressing all facets of my personality and writing about my many interests. I like being nimble and able to switch gears. And I sure as hell like punching things in the face. That's a safe assumption.