Daily Prompt: “Fuck this Shit”. The End.


I can’t think of anyone that I would want in my life on a daily basis for a year while I spill my twisted life for them to write about.

I’m sure Stephen King would get a big kick out of it.  He would create a wonderfully dark tale about secret murders, animal torture, and heads exploding with fly maggots.  I would like that, but it wouldn’t be my biography, it would be just a story.

What is anything written down but just a story to entertain?  Just like this blog.  It’s mostly about me, but first and foremost it’s simply a series of short stories based upon my life.  I don’t particularly give a shit about the accuracy of the whats and whens as much as I care about gathering the observations, experiences, and events of my life and using them in my writer’s toolchest.

Nobody in my family really cares about my blog, and that’s completely ok with me, I don’t really want anyone that I know reading every single word of it.  Otherwise I’d have to worry about what I write about.  This is my private space where I create stories.  All of the people who read my blog, whether they publically acknowledge having read it or not, give my life validity.  That’s all I care about.

If this blog evolves into something interesting like a book, that would be cool.  But I’m prepared for the more probable scenario which is I’ll simply pass away into anonymity.  When I die, the blog will simply go stale, lose all of its followers, and after a time it will be deleted, as it should be.

Will it make me happy to have my life deleted with one click of a button?  In the space of eternity, that’s exactly how long my life lasted.  In the context of humanity and the universe, I was a mere atom that came and went.  I’m not sad about that at all.  I hope I will have left the world a better place, but only time will tell.  In any case, I will be elsewhere, busy doing whatever dead people do.  I’m sure they don’t sit around fretting about who’s saying what about them.

When I was a senior in high school, I won the title of Beauty Queen.  The high school newspaper sent a reporter to interview me and write an article about me.  I was so give-a-shitless about being interviewed, she got disgusted and walked away.  That’s how I imagine a biographer would react to me.  He’d say “fuck this shit” and walk out of my house, slamming the door shut.

What’s the point of writing about me?  My life is a collection of short stories with some embellishments as is the right of a writer.  And so, voila.  What I’ve written in my blogs is all I have to say for myself.  I was here, and one day I’ll disappear.  That’s the way it should be.

If you could have any author –living or dead – write your biography, who would you choose?
Ghostwriter

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Daily Prompt: “Fuck this Shit”. The End.

10 thoughts on “Daily Prompt: “Fuck this Shit”. The End.

  1. There are a limited number of things that are true. On second thought, a mind that believes a limited number of things are true is limited. So what’s true? That you don’t give a shit? Or that you do give a shit but can’t say so? Or both? Or neither? I love your don’t-give-a-shit style, but I’m not so sure I believe you don’t give a shit. Because if you really didn’t, you wouldn’t be writing. What’s important here-to me-is that you ARE writing. And contrary to those who believe there are already too many blogs, I say more is better. Because, you!

    Liked by 1 person

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