The title of this post is not meant to invoke images of my broadening rear end, though until I took measures, that was becoming a regrettable side effect of the writing path. Rather, it’s meant to convey the idea that we can re-author our very selves through the process of crafting fiction.
I can best explain by providing a personal example: Until little over a year ago, if you were to meet me, you’d believe “Jan” should be spelled “Zzzzzz…” Hypnotic manufacturers viewed my presence as threat to their financial health. When I posted on message boards, they handed out complimentary pillows.
I exaggerate, but in truth, no one beyond my family would describe me as “fun,” least of all myself.
Then I hit a place where I needed a metaphoric kick in my writing pants. I signed up for an online course, and in the safe atmosphere created by the instructor, took a deep breath and let the silly out. The result? An audience kind enough to laugh and birth of a dark desire.
See, I’d been after a keyboard spatter, dammit. Perhaps even a coffeed monitor. I hadn’t been precisely aware of those goals until that moment, but that hadn’t stopped my subconscious from craving them.
Since then, while at times I’ve become a bit like the class clown of kindergarten, I’m thrilled by the changes that stuck.