After thoughtful consideration I have come to the conclusion that I despise Neal Stephenson. The man has discovered a portal to jack directly into my brain, read my innermost thoughts and story forms, and write them better than me. It is the last part that gets me. Someone capable of being you better than you is beyond a Skrull nightmare. He is, God mode.
I started listening to Fall: Or Dodge in Hell and discovered that everything I have been thinking and writing about in my most recent fiction was digested, reorganized and superiorly characterized within the first section of his book. I’m talking first scene. I cannot compete with that. I also refuse to pack up my shit and go home ( I mean how can I? He lives inside of my head). So, I am left with a terrible and simple choice largely reflective of the sports world I come from.
I have to embrace the suck.
In many ways you can argue that I’ve been bred to live in the dual reality of being a second class citizen and trying to stand out as something more. The nature of New York sports reflects that (just look at our teams). The nature of my family reflects that, me being one of a handful of men who exist within the femisphere. Finally, as a black man I come from a legacy of being considered and categorized as less than. Yet, still we rise. Therefore still I rise and will effort to find my space and my niche beneath the overarching greatness that is Neal.
So, I’m not gonna be the best at what I do. That doesn’t mean I cannot be damn good at it. However, it does mean that I have to start working harder and faster to avoid appearing as a shadow of that dude over there.
Some Thoughts:
- Bright days ahead. I’m excited and energized by the last few days of class.
- I ought to get started on that brighter version of me sometime here too…