The side effects of paint fumes.

Creative Writing Class Assignment #3 - Why do you want to write? And flesh out a dialogue about your topic.

Also, stay tuned for the next episode of "The side effects of paint fumes by Brandon" where I'll explore different perspectives, by writing in first person about a medium sized boy lost in a newly formed jungle, titled "No Shave November : Below the Belt"

1. I want to write ________ because ________.

- I want to write a novel because I love to entertain.
- I want to write my story because I need to get it out of me.
- I want to write humorous creative nonfiction about a version of myself because sometimes I feel like a sidekick character in someone else's biography.
- I want to write something that makes people take sick days from work because they can't wait to finish it.

2. I'm going to write a ________ about ________.

- I'm going to write a novel about the prosperity and perils of mental health problems (in a satirical, self deprecating way, because self deprecating is the best deprecating).

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Dialogue with an Overdue Library Book


Characters
Book - "Write Your Novel in a Month"
Me - Me




Book - "Hey... Hey! Up here! Dude, can you please move Barry Greensteins face off my back for a few days?"

Me - "Wait... is that... how...??"

Book - "Do you see anyone else in here genius?"

Me - "I... I think I took my crazy pills this morning. My books are talking to me? Okay, deep breaths, you're just imagining..."

Book - "Listen, while you're having your mini crisis can you mash that George Petty Pin Up's book on my face for a bit? That cover sketch sends a shiver down my stiff, glued spine."

Me - "So, I've had you from the library for almost a year now, only opened you a few times, and you're just now deciding to speak to me, to ask me to move you on my shelf? Don't you want to be returned to the library or something?Isn't that, like, your home?"

Book - "Yea, I can't look you in the eye anymore man. I've seen some 'thangs sitting up here behind you on the shelf. To be honest, back in the book jail, you were the first person to take me out for a conjugal visit in a while, and I wanna get to know those hunnies up on the top shelf. And for the love of Christ will you please take this greasy Arbys receipt you're using as a bookmark out of me! Plus, you do see the irony in this right? Writing about a conversation you're having with an overdue library book that's about writing a book in a month? "

Me - "Hold on, so you can speak, hear me, and SEE me? And did we just break the fourth wall, in writing? Did we just invent a thing? Or is there some kind of Shakespearean meta-literary phrase for it?"

Book - "Nah man, I was just messing with you. We don't have eyes on you. I mean, it's not hard to discern what'd happening down there from the noises, but we can only hear you and imagine. Haven't talked with any Shakespeare. I'm usually in a different section of shelves."

Me - "We? So, all of you have always been able to hear me, and communicate.. forever?"

Book - "Yup. Well, that Einstein biography up there has such a heavy German accent on his English it's barely understandable, so who knows what he's seen. And the Marilyn Manson autobiography says some creepy shit, so we all avoid conversations with him. That Sublime guitar tablature says it's been with you since you were a teenager. He has some craaazy stories. Seriously brother, I've been around some pretty raunchy fiction, but you're a freak!"

Book#2 (Huck Finn) - "Yeaaaaa **racial slur**"

Me - "Wow, did he just say what I think he said? That was a hard 'e r'"

Book - "Yea, you really should trade him in for the watered down revised versions they're reading in high schools now."

Me - "There's a logical explanation for this. Just gimme a second to process... I'm trying to understand the science of how this is possible. You're paper, and ink, and some plastic lamination, how.."

Book - "Hey man, I don't know. You're the one taking crazy pills."

Blunder Years

Creative Writing Class Assignment #2 - Light a candle and describe it.



Reading through the other submissions, I think the teacher was looking for some flowery prose about how the flickering flame dances over the wax with the soft rhythm of a belly dancer, but my mental playground has always been a few streets over from the swing sets.

In the summer of 1997 during a trip to Northland mall in Columbus Ohio, specifically to pick up the newly released, and now all-time-classic album "The Great Milenko", I purchased my first piece of home decor that wasn't Jimi Hendrix, Bob Marley, or black light related. (I don't think when you asked for descriptive details, you imagined me talking about the tube sock that hung out from being poorly tucked under my futon mattress, that glowed snowy white when we flipped on the black light, but I think it's a cornerstone for setting the scene of my high school bedroom.) Strolling through Lazarus, passing by Foot Locker on the way to Sam Goody, Spencer Gifts called my name. If that store had a program similar to 'Marlboro miles' I surely would've qualified for a free 12" Plasma Light Ball every month. My 6', 135lb frame carried massively over sized 36 waist/36 length Paco jeans that drug across the floor and left little piles of dust every time I stopped, like Andy Dufresne in Shawshank Redemption emptying pockets full of concrete wall a handful at a time in the rec yard. I knew within seconds of entering the store, and seeing it on display that I had to have the 5 inch by 6 inch wax candle sculpture of a meditating, shirtless Buddha. Future inspiration for every computer screen name from '97-'05ish, including the 'aspiring hacker-esque' "Inlyghtened1". Almost 20 years later, after surviving moves to 8 different houses and apartments, outlasting 4 live-in girlfriends, and spending the last few years safely tucked in a shoe box alongside broken Christmas ornaments, I knew tonight was the special moment I had saved the candle for all these years. Well, actually it was the only one I had in my apartment with any life left. Even though my shelves are littered with the remnants of Vanilla dollar store scented candles, most of them have burnt down to wick-less decorations, which I'm jotting down as a working title for my first Bukowski inspired romance novel, "Wick-less: The flame may have burnt out, but it still looks pretty on a shelf, until you find out it was mixing wax with one of the candles at work, so now you can't even look it in the face, but you have so much time invested in burning it that you can't just throw it away". Like I said, it's a working title. So as I sit here in the dark at 2 am, reliving that summer of '97, it seems a fitting symbolism of those times watching the maroon head of the Buddha puddle into a small murder scene after knocking over the lit candle on the plate it was sitting on, while reaching to move my cell phone away from the condensation of my hours old, large fountain pop. I am a well contained mess.

Hi, my name's Brandon and I'm an alcoholic.

Started a new writing class tonight. Assignment #1 was to describe yourself and what you hope to accomplish with this course. I expect a "see me after class" note.



1. Sure, why not include the most uncomfortable part of a job interview, or first date as the introduction to the class. My only recent experience describing myself is from an online dating profile, so I'll try not to sell myself too much. I'm a 37 year old man(soon to be 38), with all my own hair and teeth, plus an extra snaggletooth, so I'm at that perfect middle ground where the 20 year old women call me "the creepy old guy", and the 40+ women call me "a catch". I'm a small business owner. Never married, and my Fathers Days are spent celebrating that I don't have any paternal responsibilities tying me to any crazy ex-girlfriends. I'm not actually an alcoholic, but whenever someone says "tell me a little about yourself", I immediately picture standing up from a metal folding chair, addressing a lopsided circle of chain smoking single mothers, and unkempt court ordered men, explaining why I am where I am at this point in my life, except with online classes we don't even get the free doughnuts. My therapist would say I use humor and judgement as coping mechanisms for my coming-of-middle-age-life-crisis, but really I'm just a recovering cynic. My 3 favorite things are Cinnamon Gummy Bears, brunettes, and people watching in silent contempt. Okay, maybe not silent, but under my breath. Okay, maybe not under my breath, but just out loud to close friends. It's comforting knowing I won't be lonely in hell.

2. I've wanted to write something of substance for the last few years. I take writing courses online whenever I get a chance, but I'm that full time construction worker you talked about in Chapter 1, so it's been a while and I wanted a refresher course. I hope this course inspires me to become a better liar on paper.