Well...
I finally wrote a starting to my story that does not irk me. Naturally it is not perfect, or anywhere near, but at least I don't have the urge to rip it into little pieces and throw it to the winds :D
Books concerning the abuse of those who least deserve it have always been popular. We enjoy feeling pity and the pressing need for justice that is a part of being human. Obligingly, most books satisfy this need, and those who are guilty are duly punished in one way or another. Sadly, reality is not so kind; many who seem to deserve hardships go free and many who do not often crumble under the weight that the world drops on them.
This then, is not a typical book, and I do not believe that giving it such a title would be suitable, as ‘book’ might suggest that this is a construct, which I can assure you it is not. You see, a construct, though it can be many things, tends to tell a reader exactly what they want to read. Why else would anyone read it? I don not, of course, mean to suggest that you would wish for all the events in a story to happen, just that fiction has a way of pandering to its readers’ expectations.
I am telling you this because I want you to understand that the following writings will offer you no such luxury. I have no intention of telling you what you want to hear, indeed, I am sure you have been told that all too often. Besides, I have little choice in the matter, as this is not a construct. This is neither book, nor story, nor tale. It is a record of the lives that chanced to cross with mine; a collection of realities.
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So there you have it, and no, it is in no way autobiographical.
Books concerning the abuse of those who least deserve it have always been popular. We enjoy feeling pity and the pressing need for justice that is a part of being human. Obligingly, most books satisfy this need, and those who are guilty are duly punished in one way or another. Sadly, reality is not so kind; many who seem to deserve hardships go free and many who do not often crumble under the weight that the world drops on them.
This then, is not a typical book, and I do not believe that giving it such a title would be suitable, as ‘book’ might suggest that this is a construct, which I can assure you it is not. You see, a construct, though it can be many things, tends to tell a reader exactly what they want to read. Why else would anyone read it? I don not, of course, mean to suggest that you would wish for all the events in a story to happen, just that fiction has a way of pandering to its readers’ expectations.
I am telling you this because I want you to understand that the following writings will offer you no such luxury. I have no intention of telling you what you want to hear, indeed, I am sure you have been told that all too often. Besides, I have little choice in the matter, as this is not a construct. This is neither book, nor story, nor tale. It is a record of the lives that chanced to cross with mine; a collection of realities.
--------------
So there you have it, and no, it is in no way autobiographical.